cancer?”
“I don’t have it anymore.” He self-consciously touches the top of his ruddy bald head where he had several basal cell carcinomas
removed some months ago.
“Just because spots have been removed doesn’t mean you don’t wear sunblock. You should always wear a hat.”
“Blew off when we had the boat full throttle. I got a little burned.” He touches the top of his head again.
“I guess we don’t need to run the plate of that van I’ve been driving today. I guess we know it won’t come back to Lowcountry
Concierge Connection,” I then say. “Who was smoking in it, if not you?”
“You weren’t followed here, that’s what matters,” he says. “No one was going to follow you in the van. I forgot to clean out
the glove box. Should have known you’d look.”
“The kid who dropped it off to me, who was that? Because I don’t believe he really works for some VIP rental-car company called
Low-country Concierge Connection. Is that your rental van, and you got some charter-boat captain’s kid to drop it off to me?”
“It’s not a rental,” Marino says.
“Well, I guess I know why Bryce hasn’t returned my phone calls today. I have a feeling he got influenced, not that it hasn’t
happened before when you sneak around behind my back and get him to cooperate by telling him you have my best interests in
mind. Did you instruct him to cancel my hotel room, too?”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s turned out okay.”
“Good God, Marino,” I mutter. “Why would you have Bryce cancel my room? What the hell is the matter with you? What if they
hadn’t had another room available?”
“I knew they would.”
“I could have been killed in that damn van. It’s not drivable.”
“It was fine the other day.” He frowns. “What was it doing? I wouldn’t put you in something that’s not safe. And I would have known if you broke down.”
“
Not safe
is an understatement,” I reply. “Speeds up, slows down, lurching all over the road as if it’s having a grand mal seizure.”
“We had a lot of rain last night, a huge storm in South Carolina, even worse than here. It rained like hell, and it was sitting
out. It needs a new hood seal.”
“South Carolina?”
“Maybe the spark plugs got wet. Then maybe they got even more wet when you had it parked out there at the prison, and maybe
Joey hit potholes or something and the tires are out of alignment. A nice kid but dumb as a box of hair. He should have called
me if it was driving like shit. Well, I’m sorry about that. Yeah, I got a little place I just started renting. In Charleston,
a condo near the aquarium, with a pier and boat slips, an easy drive or motorcycle ride from here. I was going to tell you
about it, but things have happened.”
I look around and try to make sense of what things Marino might mean.
What has happened? What on earth?
“I had to make sure you weren’t followed, Doc,” he then says. “Let’s be honest, Benton knows your plans and has your itinerary
because Bryce copies him on the e-mails. They’re on the CFC computer.”
What he’s saying is the rental car Bryce reserved for me is on my itinerary but a malfunctioning cargo van with a bad hood
seal wouldn’t be, and my room at the Hyatt is moot because it was canceled. But I’m not sure what Marino is implying about
Benton.
“Put it this way,” Marino says, “there’s a Toyota Camry sitting in the lot at Lowcountry Concierge Connection with the name Dr. Kay Scarpetta on it. If anybody was hanging around, waiting for you to get in it because maybe they got access to your
itinerary, your e-mails, or found out your schedule some other way, you would have been a no-show. And if they called your
hotel, they would have found out you’d canceled your room because you missed your connection in Atlanta.”
“Why would Benton have me followed?”
“Maybe he wouldn’t. But maybe someone would see the
“I don’t have it anymore.” He self-consciously touches the top of his ruddy bald head where he had several basal cell carcinomas
removed some months ago.
“Just because spots have been removed doesn’t mean you don’t wear sunblock. You should always wear a hat.”
“Blew off when we had the boat full throttle. I got a little burned.” He touches the top of his head again.
“I guess we don’t need to run the plate of that van I’ve been driving today. I guess we know it won’t come back to Lowcountry
Concierge Connection,” I then say. “Who was smoking in it, if not you?”
“You weren’t followed here, that’s what matters,” he says. “No one was going to follow you in the van. I forgot to clean out
the glove box. Should have known you’d look.”
“The kid who dropped it off to me, who was that? Because I don’t believe he really works for some VIP rental-car company called
Low-country Concierge Connection. Is that your rental van, and you got some charter-boat captain’s kid to drop it off to me?”
“It’s not a rental,” Marino says.
“Well, I guess I know why Bryce hasn’t returned my phone calls today. I have a feeling he got influenced, not that it hasn’t
happened before when you sneak around behind my back and get him to cooperate by telling him you have my best interests in
mind. Did you instruct him to cancel my hotel room, too?”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s turned out okay.”
“Good God, Marino,” I mutter. “Why would you have Bryce cancel my room? What the hell is the matter with you? What if they
hadn’t had another room available?”
“I knew they would.”
“I could have been killed in that damn van. It’s not drivable.”
“It was fine the other day.” He frowns. “What was it doing? I wouldn’t put you in something that’s not safe. And I would have known if you broke down.”
“
Not safe
is an understatement,” I reply. “Speeds up, slows down, lurching all over the road as if it’s having a grand mal seizure.”
“We had a lot of rain last night, a huge storm in South Carolina, even worse than here. It rained like hell, and it was sitting
out. It needs a new hood seal.”
“South Carolina?”
“Maybe the spark plugs got wet. Then maybe they got even more wet when you had it parked out there at the prison, and maybe
Joey hit potholes or something and the tires are out of alignment. A nice kid but dumb as a box of hair. He should have called
me if it was driving like shit. Well, I’m sorry about that. Yeah, I got a little place I just started renting. In Charleston,
a condo near the aquarium, with a pier and boat slips, an easy drive or motorcycle ride from here. I was going to tell you
about it, but things have happened.”
I look around and try to make sense of what things Marino might mean.
What has happened? What on earth?
“I had to make sure you weren’t followed, Doc,” he then says. “Let’s be honest, Benton knows your plans and has your itinerary
because Bryce copies him on the e-mails. They’re on the CFC computer.”
What he’s saying is the rental car Bryce reserved for me is on my itinerary but a malfunctioning cargo van with a bad hood
seal wouldn’t be, and my room at the Hyatt is moot because it was canceled. But I’m not sure what Marino is implying about
Benton.
“Put it this way,” Marino says, “there’s a Toyota Camry sitting in the lot at Lowcountry Concierge Connection with the name Dr. Kay Scarpetta on it. If anybody was hanging around, waiting for you to get in it because maybe they got access to your
itinerary, your e-mails, or found out your schedule some other way, you would have been a no-show. And if they called your
hotel, they would have found out you’d canceled your room because you missed your connection in Atlanta.”
“Why would Benton have me followed?”
“Maybe he wouldn’t. But maybe someone would see the
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