The Body Farm: Scarpetta (Book 5)
When an eleven-year-old girl is found murdered, Kay Scarpetta, Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Virginia, gets another chance at stopping one of the most heartless and horrifying serial killers of her career: the demented Temple Gault.
stay for a while,” Wesley added to both of us. “Goddam,” Marino said again. “That son of a bitch.” He looked straight at me and I knew exactly what he was thinking. A part of me hoped he was wrong. But if Gault wasn’t playing his usual malignant games, I wasn’t certain the alternative was better. “Does this house have a basement?” I asked. “Yes,” Wesley answered. “What about a big refrigerator?” I asked. “I haven’t see one. But I haven’t been in the basement.” Inside the bedroom, Katz
honest forensic pathologist will admit that autopsy artifacts are ghastly. There is nothing quite like the Y incision in any premortem surgical procedure, for it looks like its name. The scalpel goes from each clavicle to sternum, runs the length of the torso, and ends at the pubis after a small detour around the navel. The incision made from ear to ear at the back of the head before sawing open the skull is not attractive, either. Of course, injuries to the dead do not heal. They can only be
a SIDS? I need to know in case it might have been coded another way.” “Supposedly, the child was a year old when she died. And that bothers me considerably. As you know, the peak age for SIDS is three to four months old. Over six months old, and SIDS is unlikely. After a year, you’re almost always talking about some other subtle form of sudden death. So yes, the death could have been coded a different way.” She played with her tea bag. “If this was Idaho, I’d just call Jane and she could run
good with computers, but you are not a forensic scientist. The case against you is very simple.” I put forth my theory with the certitude of any good lawyer who knows how to play the game. “You asked Lucy to assist you in a so-called research project involving the biometric lock system at ERE” “Research project? There is no research project,” she said hatefully. “And that’s the point, Miss Grethen. There is no research project. You lied to her so you could get her to let you make a cast of her
homecoming weekend, I discovered, and everywhere I looked I found jackets and sweaters in flaming orange, and alumni of all ages drinking and laughing and obsessing about this afternoon’s game. Their raucous instant replays rose from every corner, and if I did not focus on any one conversation, what I heard was a constant roar. The Vols had beat the Gamecocks, and it had been a battle as serious as any fought in the history of the world. When men in UT hats on either side occasionally turned my