He executes another search, squinting his eyes, trying to come up with something he hasn't thought of, and then his fingers seem to type on without the rest of him and he types in the key words "Henrietta Walden." A waste of time, he thinks. Her name when she was a B-list out-of-work actress was Jen Thomas or something forgettable like that. He reaches for his Pepsi without looking at it and can't believe his good fortune. The search returns three results.
"Come on, be something," he says to the empty office as he clicks on the first entry.
A Henrietta Tail Walden died a hundred years ago, was some sort of wealthy abolitionist from Lynchburg, Virginia. Whoa, that must have gone over like a lead balloon. He can't imagine being an abolitionist in Virginia around the time of the Civil War. Gutsy lady, he'll give her that. He clicks on the second entry. This Henrietta Walden is alive but ancient and lives on a farm, also in Virginia, raises show horses and recently gave a million dollars to the NAACP. Probably a descendant of the first Henrietta Walden, he thinks, and he wonders if Jen Thomas borrowed the name Henrietta Walden from these somewhat noteworthy female abolitionist-types, one dead, one barely alive. If so, why? He envisions Henri's striking blond looks and uppity ball-busting attitude. Why would she be inspired by women who were passionate about the plight of blacks? Probably because it was the liberal Hollywood thing to do, he cynically decides, clicking on the third entry.
This one is a short article from The Hollywood Reporter. It was published in mid-October:
Former actress-turned-LAPD-cop Henri Walden has signed on with the prestigious international private protection agency The Last Precinct, owned and directed by a former special ops helicopter flying, Ferrari-driving Lucy Farinelli, who just so happens to be the niece of the famed real-life Quincy Dr. Kay Scarpetta. TLP, which is headquartered in a lesser Hollywood, the one in Florida, recently opened an office in Los Angeles and has expanded its cloak-and dagger activities to protecting stars. Although its clients are top-secret, the Reporter has learned that some of them are the biggest names on the A list and in the music industry and include such mega-luminaries as actor Gloria Rustic and rapper Rat Riddly.
"My most exciting, daring role yet," Walden said of her newest escapade. "Who better to protect stars than someone who once worked in the industry?"
"Work" may be a bit of an exaggeration, since the blond beauty had a lot of leisure time during her stint as an actress. Not that she needs the money. It is well known that her family has plenty of it. Walden is best known for playing small roles in big-budget films such as Quick Death and Don't Be There. Keep your eye out for Walden. She's the one with a gun.
Rudy prints the article and sits in the chair, his fingers lightly resting on the keyboard as he stares at the screen and contemplates whether Lucy knows about the article. How could she not be furious, if she knew, and if she does know, why didn't she fire Henri months ago? Why didn't Lucy tell him? Such a breach of protocol is hard to imagine. It shocks him that Lucy would allow it, assuming she did. He can't think of a single instance when someone who works for TLP gave an interview to the media or even indulged in loose talk unless it was part of a highly planned operation. There is only one way to find out, he thinks, reaching for the phone.
"Hey," he says when Lucy answers. "Where are you?"
"In St. Augustine. On a fuel stop." Her voice is wary. "I already know about the fucking bomb."
"Not what I'm calling about. I guess you talked to your aunt."
"Marino called. I don't have time to chat about it," she says angrily. "Something else going on?"
"Did you know your friend gave an interview about coming on board with us?"
"None of this is about her being my friend."
"We'll argue about that later," Rudy says, acting far calmer than he feels, and he is seething. "Just answer me. Did you know?"
"I know nothing about an article. What article?"
Rudy reads it to her over the phone, and after he's finished, he waits to see how she'll react, and he knows she will react and that makes him feel a little better. All along this hasn't been fair. Now, maybe Lucy will be forced to admit it. When Lucy doesn't respond, Rudy asks, "Are you there?"
"Yes," she answers him abruptly and testily. "I didn't know."
"Well, now you do. Now we have another whole solar system to take a look at. Like her rich family and whether there's any connection between it and the so-called Waldens and who the hell knows what else. But bottom line, did the psycho see this article, and if so, why and what the hell is that about? Not to mention, her acting name is this abolitionist's name and she's from Virginia. So are you, sort of. Maybe when you got hooked up with her it wasn't exactly coincidental."
"That's ridiculous. Now you're really going off," Lucy says hotly. "She was on a list of LAPD cops who worked security…"
"Oh bullshit," Rudy replies, and his anger is showing too. "Fuck the list. You interviewed local police and there she was. You knew damn well how inexperienced she was in private protection, but you hired her anyway."
"I don't want to talk about this on a cell phone. Not even on our cell phones."
"I don't either. Talk to the shrink." That's his code name for Benton Wesley. "Why don't you call him, I'm serious. Maybe he'll have some ideas. Tell him I'm e-mailing the article to him. We've got prints. Same psycho who did your pretty little sketch also left the little gift in your mailbox."
"Big surprise. Like I said, who wants two of them? I've talked to the shrink," she then says. "He'll be monitoring what I do here."
"Good thinking. Oh, I almost forgot. I found a hair sticking to the duct tape. The duct tape on the chemical bomb."
"Describe it."
"About six inches long, curly, dark. Looks like head hair, obviously. More later, call me from a land line. I got a lot of work to do," he says. "Maybe your friend knows something, if you can get her to tell the truth for once."
"Don't call her my friend," Lucy says. "Let's don't fight about this anymore."
39
After Kay Scarpetta entered the OCME with Marino slowly following her, doing his best to walk normally, Bruce at the security desk sat up straighter and got a look of dread on his face.
"Uh, I've been given instructions," Bruce says, refusing to meet her eyes. "The chief says no visitors. Maybe he doesn't mean you? Is he expecting you?"
"He isn't," Scarpetta says with ease. Nothing surprises her at this point. "He probably does mean me."
"Gee, I sure am sorry." Bruce is acutely embarrassed, his cheeks burning pink. "How'ya doing, Pete?"
Marino leans against the desk, his feet spread, his pants hanging lower than usual. If he got in a foot pursuit, he might lose his pants. "Been better," Marino says. "So Chief Little Thinks He's Big Man ain't letting us in. That what you're telling us, Bruce?"
"That guy," Bruce says, catching himself. Like most people, Bruce would like to keep his job. He wears a nice Prussian blue uniform, carries a gun, and works in a beautiful building. Better to hold on to what he's got, even if he can't stand Dr. Marcus.
"Huh," Marino says, stepping back from the console. "Well, hate to disappoint the Chief Little, but we ain't here to see him, anyway. Got evidence to drop off at the labs, at Trace. But I'm curious, what order did you get, exactly? I'm just curious about the wording."