Page 89 of Unnatural Death

“It’s been out here no more than a few minutes. I need gloves, and an evidence box to put this in so it can be analyzed,” I reply. “I think we have a clue about what looked like a flock of birds flying in a pattern through the fog.”

“Definitely something electronic. Possible it broke off a car just now, maybe?” Fruge isn’t comprehending what I’m saying.

“I don’t believe so,” I answer. “I’m not a drone expert, but I’ve seen enough of their camera systems to recognize one, and that’s what this is. I’m pretty sure.”

“How could that be possible?” She stares up at the heavy snow falling.

“I’m telling you what I saw.”

“Are you expecting me to turn in this camera or whatever it is? I’m supposed to treat it as evidence?” Fruge asks as if it’s up to me. “Because in my mind it’s not related to anything. Most people aren’t going to believe you, Doctor Scarpetta. Just being honest.”

“I’ll collect it myself,” I reply as she opens the back of her SUV. “Lucy works with drones all the time. I’ll have her take a look.”

Then Fruge is handing me what I need to package the evidence. I put on a pair of exam gloves and a face mask. The small white cardboard box reminds me of the rescued cricket, and I seal the mini-camera system inside. I tuck the box in a pocket of my snow-covered jacket.

“A very small drone, and one of many,” I explain as Fruge watches me with a dubious expression, snowflakes sticking to her hair and eyelashes.

“Seriously?” She again looks up at the densely foggy sky. “Drones in this weather?”

“A swarm of them. Suddenly they were in front of me. Thank God my windshield served as a barrier. Or I hate to think what might have happened.” I envision Carrie’s misshapen ears, her scarred face. I remember the metallic taste of her blood spraying me when the drone she controlled flew into her head.

“Look, I know you deal with a lot of way-out stuff because of your work with the Doomsday Commission. Not to mention all you’ve seen in general.” Fruge follows me to my car. “But in reality, who the hell would do what you’re describing? Start with who would be capable?”

“Not your average person, obviously.” I can’t tell her about Carrie and the criminal company she keeps.

“But I’m not sure it’s physically possible to fly drones in a snowstorm.” Fruge continues to challenge my story.

“The blades would have an anti-icing system like some very high-tech helicopters. But you’re right. The typical drone couldn’t fly in these conditions.” I pop open my SUV’s hatchback. “Nothing about what just happened is typical. Nothing about this entire damn day has been.” I lift out my scene case. “The question is, where were the mini-drones deployed? Because I’m going to bet whoever did it wasn’t very far away when I was blindsided literally.”

I mention the white construction van pulled off on the roadside with its flashers on. I remind Fruge that where we saw it is maybe half a mile from here, and someone ought to look into it immediately.

“Except I’m guessing it’s already too late, that it’s long gone.” Opening the console between the front seats, I remove the remote gate openers for my home and office. I tuck them and the evidence box inside my briefcase.

“It didn’t appear to me that anybody was in it,” she replies. “You’re thinking a swarm of drones was released from the van?”

“I’m saying it could have been.”

* * *

I lift out other gear that I don’t want disappearing while my SUV is in the body shop. I turn off the flashers to preserve the battery as it occurs to me that the van driver should have done the same thing. Why were the flashers on? Was he not thinking? Or was he nearby? I imagine someone ducked out of sight, waiting for me to drive past.

I routinely take King Street on my way home from the office. Anybody interested could know that without going to a lot of trouble. Lucy constantly badgers me to change my routes, and most days I just can’t. The rest of the time I’m not thinking about it at all, the idea exhausting. On a night like this I wouldn’t want to cut through side roads and alleyways designed for horse-drawn carriages.

I lock my car and Fruge holds out her hand for the key. She’ll need it later for the tow company, the registration inside the console, I tell her. I climb into her unmarked Ford Interceptor, blacked out and with a beefy front bumper guard. I redirect blowing heat that feels like acid on my burns.

“It’s a good thing you were following me. I’m glad you insisted on it, frankly.” I lean back my head, and my nosebleed has almost stopped.

“We’re going to sit here while you tell me how you’re doing, Doctor Scarpetta. And don’t lie.” Emergency lights throb on Fruge’s intense face, the wipers sweeping snow off the windshield. “If something’s not feeling right, now’s the time to say it. I don’t want to start driving you home if you need to go to the E.R. And I know Mister Wesley would agree with me.” She rarely calls us by our first names.

“I’m going to tell him what’s happened. That’s for me to do,” I reply. “I don’t need the E.R. and I’m very sorry about this mess.”

I can hear Marino sayingI told you so. He didn’t want me driving tonight, and now I’m banged up, and my car is about to be towed. I’m riding with Fruge after all. I’ll be hitching lifts with Marino into the foreseeable future. It will be weeks before my car is out of the shop, and I dread the loaner I’ll end up with from the state motor pool.

“I’m just glad I can help.” Fruge is happy about it and I’m not, my face smarting something awful. My wrists and the heels of my hands are on fire.

I have a headache and am bewildered. I halfway wonder if I was so tired, I hallucinated. But I didn’t, and images of Carrie Grethen are sparking in my thoughts. I see her cocky smile, her crazy eyes. She’s been biding her time for seven years, and in some ways longer. Whatever she has in mind, it’s not just one thing. It’s already started.

“Seventy-Three.” Fruge is on the radio again. “Reporting a disabled vehicle, need two units responding to Ivy Hill Cemetery while I transport a subject from there.”

---