Kay Scarpet - Cruel And Unusual Part 4

The sinus headache had arrived and I had fallen like a city under siege. My eyes were watering; my skull was two sizes too small.

Susan pulled the thick electrical cord down from its reel and plugged in the Stryker saw. She snapped new blades in scalpels and checked the knives on the surgical cart. She disappeared into the X-ray room and returned with Eddies films, which she fixed to light boxes. She scurried about frenetically and then did something she had never done before. She b.u.mped hard against the surgical cart she had been arranging and sent two quart jars of formalin crashing to the floor.

I ran to her as she jumped back, gasping, waving fumes from her face and sending broken gla.s.s skittering across the floor as her feet almost went out from under her.

"Did it get your face?"

I grabbed her arm and hurried her toward the locker room.

"I donat think so. No. Oh, G.o.d. Itas on my feet and legs. I think on my arm, too."

"Youare sure itas not in your eyes or mouth?"

I helped her strip off her greens.

"Iam sure."

I ducked inside the shower and turned on the water as she practically tore off the rest of her clothes.

I made her stand beneath a blast of tepid water for a very long time as I donned mask, safety gla.s.ses, and thick rubber gloves. I soaked up the hazardous chemical with formalin pillows, supplied by the state for biochemical emergencies like this. I swept up gla.s.s and tied everything inside double plastic bags. Then I hosed down the floor, washed myself, and changed into fresh greens. Susan eventually emerged from the shower, bright pink and scared.

"Dr. Scarpetta, Iam so sorry," she said.

"My only concern is you. Are you all right?"

"I feel weak and a little dizzy. I can still smell the fumes."

"Iall finish up here," I said. "Why donat you go home."

"I think Iall just rest for a while first. Maybe Iad better go upstairs."

My lab coat was draped over the back of a chair, and I reached inside a pocket and got out my keys. "Here," I said, handing them to her. "You can lie down on the couch in my office. Get on the intercom immediately if the dizziness doesnat go away or you start feeling worse."

She reappeared about an hour later, her winter coat on and b.u.t.toned up to her chin.

"How do you feel?" I asked as I sutured the Y incision.

"A little shaky but okay."

She watched me in silence for a moment, then added, "I thought of something while I was upstairs. I donat think you should list me as a witness in this case."

I glanced up at her in surprise. It was routine for anyone present during an autopsy to be listed as a witness on the official report. Susanas request wasnat of great importance, but it was peculiar.

"I didnat partic.i.p.ate in the autopsy," she went on. "I mean, I helped with the external exam but wasnat present when you did the post. And I know this is going to be a big case - if they ever catch anyone. If it ever goes to court. And I just think itas better if Iam not listed, since, like I said, I really wasnat present."

"Fine," I said. "I have no problem with that."

She placed my keys on a counter and left.

Marino was home when I tried him from my car phone as I slowed at a tollbooth about an hour later.

"Do you know the warden at Spring Street?" I asked him.

"Frank Donahue. Where are you?"

"In my car."

"I thought so. Probably half the truckers in Virginia are listening to us on their CBs."

"They wonat hear much."

"I heard about the kid," he said. "You finished with him?"

"Yes. Iall call you from home. Thereas something you can do for me in the meantime. I need to look over a few things at the pen right away."

"The problem with looking over the pen is it looks back."

"Thatas why youare going with me," I said.

If nothing else, after two miserable semesters of my former professoras tutelage I had learned to be prepared. So it was on Sat.u.r.day afternoon that Marino and I were en route to the state penitentiary. Skies were leaden, wind thrashing trees along the roadsides, the universe in a state of cold agitation, as if reflecting my mood.

"You want my private opinion," Marino said to me as we drove, "I think youare letting Grueman jerk you around."

"Not at all."

"Then why is it every time thereas an execution and heas involved, you act jerked around?"

"And how would you handle the situation?"

He pushed in the cigarette lighter. "Same way you are. Iad take a d.a.m.n look at death row and the chair, doc.u.ment everything, and then tell him heas fall of s.h.i.t. Or better yet, tell the press heas full of s.h.i.t."

In this morningas paper Grueman was quoted as saying that Waddell had not been receiving proper nourishment and his body bore bruises I could not adequately explain.

"Whatas the deal, anyway?" Marino went on. "Was he defending these squirrels when you was in law school?"

"No. Several years ago he was asked to run Georgetownas Criminal Justice Clinic. Thatas when he began taking on death penalty cases pro bono."

"The guy must have a screw loose."

"Heas very opposed to capital punishment and has managed to turn whoever he represents into a cause celebre. Waddell in particular."

"Yo. Saint Nick, the patron saint of dirtbags. Ainat that sweet," Marino said. "Why donat you send him color photos of Eddie Heath and ask if he wants to talk to the boyas family? See how he feels about the pig who committed that crime."

"Nothing will change Gruemanas opinions."

"He got kids? A wife? Anybody he cares about?"

"It doesnat make any difference, Marino. I donat guess youave got anything new on Eddie."

"No, and neither does Henrico. Weave got his clothes and a twenty-two bullet. Maybe the labs will get lucky with the stuff you turned in."

"What about VICAP?" I asked, referring to the FBIas Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, in which Marino and FBI profiler Benton Wesley were regional team partners.

"Trentas working on the forms and will send them off in a couple days," Marino said. "And I alerted Benton about the case last night."

"Was Eddie the type to get into a strangeras car?"

"According to his parents, he wasnat. Weare either dealing with a blitz attack or someone who earned the kidas confidence long enough to grab him."

"Does he have brothers and sisters?"

"One of each, both more than ten years older than him. I think Eddie was an accident," Marino said as the penitentiary came into view.

Years of neglect had faded its stucco veneer to a dirty, diluted shade of Pepto Bismol pink. Windows were dark and covered in thick plastic, tugged and torn by the wind. We took the Belvedere exit, then turned left on Spring Street, a shabby strip of pavement connecting two ent.i.ties that did not belong on the same map. It continued several blocks past the penitentiary, then simply quit at Gambles Hill, where Ethyl Corporationas white brick headquarters roosted on a rise of perfect lawn like a great white heron at the edge of a landfill.

Drizzle had turned to sleet when we parked and got gut of the car. I followed Marino past a Dumpster, then ramp leading to a loading dock occupied by a number of cats, their insouciance flickering with the wariness of the wild. The main entrance was a single gla.s.s door, and stepping inside what purported to be the lobby, we found ourselves behind bars. There were no chairs; the air was frigid and stale. To our right the Communication Center was accessible by a small window, which a st.u.r.dy woman in a guardas uniforms took her time sliding open.

"Can I help you?" Marino displayed his badge and laconically explained that we had an appointment with Frank Donahue, the warden. She told us to wait. The window shut again.

"Thatas Helen the Hun," Marino said to me. "Iave been down here more times than I can count and she always acts like she donat know me. But then, Iam not her type. Youall get better acquainted with her in a minute."

Beyond barred gates were a dingy corridor of tan tile and cinder block, and small offices that looked like cages. The view ended with the first block of cells, tiers painted inst.i.tutional green and spotted with rust. They were empty.

"When will the rest of the inmates be relocated?" I asked.

"By the end of the week."

"Whoas left?"

"Some real Virginia gentlemen, the squirrels with segregation status. Theyare all locked up tight and chained to their beds in C Cell, which is that way."

He pointed west. "We wonat be walking through there, so donat get antsy. I wouldnat put you through that. Some of these a.s.sholes havenat seen a woman in years - and Helen the Hun donat count."

A powerfully built young man dressed in Department of Corrections blues appeared down the corridor and headed our way. He peered at as through bars, his face attractive but hard, with a strong jaw and cold gray eyes. A dark red mustache hid an upper lip that I suspected could turn cruel.

Marino introduced us, adding, "Weare here to see the chair."

"My nameas Roberts and Iam here to give you the royal tour." Keys jingled against iron as he opened the heavy gates. "Donahueas out sick today."

The clang of doors shutting behind us echoed off walls. "Iam afraid we got to search you first. If youall step over there, maaam."

He began running a scanner over Marino as another barred door opened and "Helen" emerged from the Communication Center. She was an unsmiling woman built like a Baptist church, her shiny Sam Browne belt the only indication she had a waist. Her close-cropped hair was mannishly styled and dyed shoe-polish black, her eyes intense when they briefly met mine. The name tag pinned on a formidable breast read "Grimes."

"Your bag," she ordered.

I handed over my medical bag. She rifled through it, then roughly turned me this way and that as she subjected me to a salvo of probes and pats with the scanner and her hands. In all, the search couldnat have lasted more than twenty seconds, but she managed to acquaint herself with every inch of my flesh, crushing me against her stiffly armored bosom like a wide-bodied spider as thick fingers lingered and she breathed loudly through her mouth. Then she brusquely nodded that I checked out okay as she returned to her lair of cinder block and Liron.

Marino and I followed Roberts past bars and more bars, through a series of doors that he unlocked and relocked, the air cold and ringing with the dull chimes of unfriendly metal. He asked us nothing about ourselves and made no references that I would call remotely friendly. His preoccupation seemed to be his role, which this afternoon was tour guide or guard dog, I wasnat sure which.

A right turn and we entered the first cell block, a huge drafty s.p.a.ce of green cinder block and broken windows, with four tiers of cells rising to a false roof topped by toils of barbed wire. Sloppily piled along the middle of the brown tile floor were dozens of narrow, plastic covered mattresses, and scattered about were brooms, mops, and ratty red barber chairs. Leather tennis shoes, blue jeans, and other odd personal effects littered high windowsills, and left inside many of the cells were televisions, books, and footlockers. It appeared that when the inmates had been evacuated they had not been allowed to take all of their possessions with them, perhaps explaining the obscenities scrawled in Magic Marker on the walls.

More doors were unlocked, and we found ourselves outside in the yard, a square of browning gra.s.s surrounded by ugly cell blocks. There were no trees. Guard towers rose from each corner of the wall, the men inside wearing heavy coats and holding rifles. We moved quickly and in silence as sleet stung our cheeks. Down several steps, we turned into another opening leading to an iron door more ma.s.sive than any of the others I had seen.

"The east bas.e.m.e.nt," Roberts said, inserting a key in the lock. "This is the place where no one wants to be."

We stepped inside death row.

Against the east wall were five cells, each furnished with an iron bed and a white porcelain sink and toilet. In the center of the room were a large desk and several chairs where guards sat around the clock when death row was occupied.

"Waddell was in cell two." Roberts pointed. "According to the laws of the Commonwealth, an inmate must be transferred here fifteen days prior to his execution."

"Who had access to him while he was here?" Marino asked.

"Same people who always have access to death row. legal representatives, the clergy, and members of the death team."

"The death team?" I asked.

"Itas made up of Corrections officers and supervisors, the ident.i.ties of which are confidential. The team becomes involved when an inmate is shipped here from Mecklenburg. They guard him, set up everything from beginning to end."

"Donat sound like a very pleasant a.s.signment," Marino commented.

"Itas not an a.s.signment, itas a choice," Roberts replied with the machismo and inscrutability of coaches interviewed after the big game.

"It donat bother you?" Marino asked. "I mean, come on, I saw Waddell, go to the chair. Itas got to bother you."

"Doesnat bother me in the least. I go home afterward, drink a few beers, go to bed."

He reached in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, "Now, according to Donahue, you want to know everything that, happened. So Iam going to walk you ,through it."

He sat on top of the desk, smoking. "On the day of it, December thirteenth, Waddell was allowed a two-hour contact visit with members of his immediate family, which in this case was his mother. We put him in waist chains, leg irons; and cuffs and led him over to the visitorsa side around one P.M.

"At five P.M., he ate his last meal. His request was sirloin steak, salad, a baked potato, and pecan pie, which we had prepared for him at Bonanza Steak House. He didnat pick the restaurant. The inmates donat get to do that. And, as is the routine, there were two identical meals ordered. The inmate eats one, a member of the death team eats the other. And this is all to make sure some overly enthusiastic chef doesnat decide to speed up the inmateas journey to the Great Beyond by spicing the food with something extra like a.r.s.enic.

"Did Waddell eat his meal?" I asked, thinking about his empty stomach "He wasnat real hungry - asked us to save it for him to eat the next day."

"He must have thought Governor Norring was going to pardon him," Marino said.

"I donat know what he thought. Iam just reporting to you what Waddell said when he was served his meal. Afterward, at seven-thirty, personal property officers came to his cell to take an inventory of his property and ask him what he wanted done with it. Weare talking about one wrist.w.a.tch, one ring, various articles of clothing and mail, books, poetry. At eight P.M., he was taken from his cell. His head, face, and right ankle were shaved. He was weighed, showered, and dressed in the clothing he would wear to the chair. Then he was returned to his cell.

"At ten-forty-five, his death warrant was read to him, witnessed by the death team."

Roberts got up from the desk "Then he was led, without restraints, to the adjoining room."

"What was his demeanor at this point?" Marino asked as Roberts unlocked another door and opened it.

"Letas just say that his racial affiliation did not permit him to be white as a sheet. Otherwise, he wouldave been."

The room was smaller than I had imagined. About six from the back wall and centered on the shiny brown cement floor was the chair, a stark, rigid throne of dark polished oak Thick leather straps were looped around high slatted back, the two front legs, and the arm rests.