Body of Evidence: Scarpetta 2 (Kay Scarpetta)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Now in a new premium edition, #1 New York Times bestselling author Patricia Cornwell’s suspense fiction classic, featuring gutsy medical examiner Kay Scarpetta.
A reclusive author, Beryl Madison finds no safe haven from months of menacing phone calls—or the tormented feeling that her every move is being watched. When the writer is found slain in her own home, Kay Scarpetta pieces together the intricate forensic evidence—while unwittingly edging closer to a killer waiting in the shadows.
along with my family, and Lucy would be our frequent guest. I would visit Louie’s often and adopt PJ as our friend. I would watch sunlight dance over the sea and say prayers to a woman named Beryl Madison whose terrible death had given new meaning to my life and taught me to love again. After brunch, which we ate in the room, I pulled Beryl’s manuscript out of the knapsack while Mark looked on in disbelief. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked. “Yes. It’s exactly what you think it is,” I
these details and stated he must be following her. When asked if she was aware of anybody following her at any time, she stated she was not.” Marino turned to the second page, the confidential section of the report, and resumed: “Reed reports here Miss Madison was reluctant to divulge specific details pertaining to the actual threat communicated by the caller. When questioned at length, she finally stated the caller became ‘obscene’ and said when he imagined what she looked like with her clothes
morning, said he needed to see me right away. As you may have guessed, it’s about Beryl Madison.” He looked uncomfortable. “And?” I prodded him, my uneasiness increasing. He took a deep breath and said, “Sparacino knows about my connection, uh, about you and me. Our past . . .” My stare stopped him. “Kay . . .” “You bastard.” I pushed back my chair and dropped my napkin on the table. “Kay!” Mark grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the seat. I angrily shook him off and sat rigidly in my
condiments, and a bottle of tonic water. The freezer was a little more promising, but not much. There were a few packages of chicken breasts, Le Menus, and lean ground beef. Cooking, it appeared, was not a pleasure for Beryl but a utilitarian exercise. I knew what my own kitchen was like. This one was depressingly sterile. Motes of dust were suspended in the pale light seeping through slits of the gray designer blinds in the window over the sink. The drainboard and sink were empty and dry. The
don’t either,” I agreed. We headed out. I felt grimy with gun oil and gunshot residue. Shooting is much dirtier than most people might imagine. Marino was reaching back for his wallet as we walked. Next he was handing me a small white card. “I didn’t fill out an application,” I said, staring, rather dazed, at the license authorizing me to carry a concealed weapon. “Yeah, well, Judge Reinhard owed me a favor.” “Thank you, Marino,” I said. He smiled as he held open the door for me. * * *