Page 2 of Unnatural Death

Fabian intends to have another go at me in hopes I might change my mind, and I understand his frustration. I also am keenly aware that he craves drama and iseasily bored and underutilized, as he puts it. When he was growing up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, he was earning money giving swamp tours by the time he could drive a car.

His father is a coroner, and Fabian grew up in adeadly environment, he often quips. He’s not afraid of much, and there’s no type of case he wouldn’t handle given the opportunity. But he can’t be involved with Buckingham Run for a lot of reasons. The Secret Service wouldn’t allow Fabian at the scene, and I’m not to discuss the details with him or anyone unauthorized. More to the point, I need him here.

“I’ve helped Lucy haul everything out to the chopper, and she let me look inside the cockpit.” His Louisiana accent is more New York than Southern. “OMG, that thing issick. She says it can go more than two hundred miles an hour. And mini–machine guns can be swivel-mounted. Plus, it can see through fog. You sure I can’t come with you, Doctor Scarpetta? I promise I’ll be helpful.”

His straight black hair would be halfway down his back were it not pinned up under a surgical cap, black with a skull pattern. Black scrubs show off his goth tattoos and a lean body that’s whippet strong and fast. People find him sexy.Dreamyis what my secretary, Shannon, says, describing him as a combination of Cher and Harry Styles.

“I’ve never been in a chopper, certainly nothing like that thing in our parking lot. It’s smoking hot and straight out ofThe Avengers,” Fabian says excitedly. “If you bring me with you, I know you won’t regret it.”

“I’m not running the investigation or calling the shots.” I repeat what I’ve told him several times now.

“You’re in charge of the bodies,” he says. “Seems like you could have anyone help that you decide.”

“Access to the scene is extremely restricted for safety and other reasons. The priority should be that you help where most needed,” I reply with patience I’m not feeling. “We’re short- staffed and overwhelmed by cases, Fabian. That’s the biggest reason why you’re staying here. I can’t have you and Marino at the scene with me …”

“So much for on-the-job training,” Fabian says. When he gives me one of his wounded looks, I feel like a bad mentor, and that’s his intention.

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed.” I find myself apologizing to him often these days, because he doesn’t take no for an answer.

I don’t like being put in the position of denying him what he wants and inevitably sparking a drama. My forensic psychologist husband says that subconsciously Fabian sets me up to be the idealized and overly involved mother who’s the root of his troubles. We have a parent-child relationship with oedipal overtones, according to Benton. All I know is Fabian can be a holy terror when he doesn’t get his way.

“It’s important I have some idea of what to expect,” he’s saying. “Everything’s so hush-hush, like something really bizarre is going on. I asked Lucy a few very basic questions and she wouldn’t say anything except two people are dead inside Buckingham Run. And obviously, the Secret Service has taken over the investigation. That right there tells me plenty. Whatever’s going on must be a really big deal.”

“There’s not much known yet and it’s unwise to speculate.” I won’t get into this with him. “I need you to look after things here during Marino’s and my absence. The semi-trailer needs deconning and setting up. I know the Secret Service is in charge and will be bringing in special equipment. We have to abide by their protocols. And everything must be ready for us when we return with the bodies.”

“Why doesheget to be there instead of me?” Fabian says, and I hope the day comes when he and Marino get along.

After Lucy located the victims, her first call after me wasn’t going to be Fabian. She’s known Marino most of her life. Lucy told him to meet her at the Secret Service hangar outside of Washington, D.C., in southern Maryland. From there Lucy flew him to the scene as the sun was coming up. He’s my boots on the ground until I arrive, and in Fabian’s mind that was like winning the lottery.

“I’m the one who needs the experience.” He continues making his argument in the corridor. “Marino grabs all the good cases, leaving me to take care of chicken shit that doesn’t teach me anything new.”

“Gathering the proper equipment and supplies for a complicated scene isn’t chicken shit,” I reply. “If I get there and don’t have what we need, it could be catastrophic.”

“As my mom keeps reminding me, this isn’t what Isigned up for.” Fabian is fond of making quote marks in the air. “I’m supposed to bean investigator, not a grip or a gofer.” More air quotes. “Doctor Reddy pretty much gave me free rein, which is why I took the job to begin with. Not that I’m sorry he’s gone. But I don’t get to do half of what I used to.”

I didn’t hire Fabian. My predecessor, the former chief medical examiner, did, and that’s unfortunate. Elvin Reddy ran the Virginia M.E. system into the ground and would do the same to me given the opportunity. We worked together briefly when both of us were getting started and have an unpleasant history. At first, I couldn’t be sure about Fabian or anybody else working here.

Loyalty hasn’t been a given, and it’s been tricky knowing who to trust. But I don’t want to be unfair. Innocent until proven guilty is the way it’s supposed to work, and I can’t afford for Fabian to quit. We’re down to three death investigators, including Marino. The other one is part-time on the way to retired. As much as Fabian may get on my nerves now and then, I know he’s talented. I feel a responsibility toward him and a certain fondness.

“I have plenty that you can help me with as long as you abide by my instructions,” I reply. “There are always investigations that need following up on.”

“That’s what I want to do.” His mood is instantly brighter. “Finding out the important details that tell the story is my special sauce. That’s why I was such a damn good P.A.,” he adds modestly about his start as a physician’s assistant. “I’d find out details from the patients that the docs would never imagine. Stuff that was a game changer in terms of a diagnosis. Like my dad’s always saying, the big thing islistening…” Air quotes again.

“We’ll have to finish talking about this later, Fabian …”

“You know,hearwhat someone’s saying to you and pay attention. But you know how rare that is …?”

“I certainly do, and I’ve got to go.”

I can see on a wall-mounted video monitor that Henry Addams has pulled up to our security gate. He’ll be driving into the vehicle bay any minute.

“Addams Family is here to pick up Nan Romero, the suspected suicide from yesterday morning.” I indicate what’s on the monitor.

“I’ll take care of it.” Fabian is in much better spirits. “By the way, that’s a weird one. I don’t know what Doctor Schlaefer’s said to you.”

“We’ve not had a spare moment to talk,” I answer.

“The painter’s tape bothers me,” Fabian volunteers as he walks with me. “I can’t imagine anyone wrapping their lower face like that. Especially a woman.”

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