Page 87 of Unnatural Death

“I wanted to make sure you know what I’ve found out. I realize what I’m about to pass on is circumstantial. But I dropped by Faye Hanaday’s lab earlier.”

“I was just there, and she said she’d talked to you.” I use the sleeve of my jacket to wipe condensation off my side window.

“She showed me the matching bullet fragments from the AR-fifteen we recovered from the ex-cons’ truck,” Fruge says. “I know that one of those pieces of shrapnel came from Lucy’s neck, and the same weapon was used to shoot up electrical power substations.”

“That’s what Faye told me,” I reply.

“I want you to be aware that there may be multiple bad things going on at once.”

“I’m aware.”

“And that it seems they’re all connected.”

“I’m aware of that possibility as well.” I glance in my rear-view mirror, her SUV close enough behind me that no one could get between us.

“The FBI is doing its own thing. Patty Mullet is. I guess you know what that means.”

“I do indeed.”

“Point is, I don’t have much of a say going forward,” Fruge explains. “I’m warning you not to count on Patty shooting straight with you, Doctor Scarpetta.”

“I’ve never counted on that. Just the opposite.”

“And I’m pretty sure she has it in for Lucy.” Fruge’s headlights glare in my mirrors.

“What did Patty tell you?” I ask.

“She was bad-mouthing. Not that this is anything new. But it was worse than usual. She’s implying Lucy might have gone rogue.”

“The only person who seems to have done that is Patty,” I reply in a measured tone that masks what I’m really feeling.

“I agree. When she had me on the phone, I kept wondering what’s wrong with her,” Fruge says. “You ask me, she seems a little out of control.”

“I agree.” I slow down, turning right onto King Street, where we’ll stay all the way to the waterfront. From there I’m just minutes from home.

“I’m afraid we’re dealing with a cluster fuck,” Fruge says as I adjust the defrost, the wipers making their rubbery sweeps. “The creepy deaths inside Buckingham Run. The two ex-cons dead inside your cooler. The dentist who supposedly killed herself. All are connected one way or another to The Republic. To domestic terrorism. And that’s really scary.”

The Alexandria City High School is dark, the Chinquapin Park and garden cloaked in white. The snow must be almost four inches deep judging by what I see piled on tree boughs and mailboxes. I’m keeping my speed below twenty miles an hour and can feel the ice beneath the snow in spots.

“I feel like some kind of coup is going on and nobody’s told us,” Fruge says.

“And you may be right,” I reply. “How does Nan Romero fit in? I’m not understanding her connection to The Republic.”

“She was Huck and Brittany Manson’s dentist. This is why I wanted a private moment with you.”

“That was an important detail for you to find out,” I commend her, and my car fishtails a little. “Talk about six degrees of separation.”

“They’d been her patients for the past eight years.”

“Is this the reason the FBI is suddenly interested? Because of their connection to the Mansons?” My car slips and slides some more.

“I’m the one who found that out, and Patty saidthanks very much, andwe’ll handle it from here. She basically indicated my services no longer were required even though the case is the jurisdiction of Alexandria P.D. Or it was,” Fruge is saying, and I feel my tires slipping again.

Gently tapping the brakes, I slow down, the wipers thumping monotonously like a metronome. A white construction van with flashing yellow hazard lights is on the roadside and hasn’t been there long. The windshield is barely covered in snow. I see no sign of the driver.

“I went through Nan’s list of patients,” Fruge is explaining. “It doesn’t appear that either Brittany or Huck had been to her office since last spring for routine teeth cleaning.”

“I agree it’s interesting, possibly significant that they knew each other,” I reply. “If you’re suggesting they had something to do with Nan Romero’s death, even if indirectly? Why? What would be the motive in your opinion?”

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