Red Mist: Scarpetta (Book 19)
With high-tension suspense and cutting-edge technology, Patricia Cornwell—the world’s #1 bestselling crime writer—once again proves her exceptional ability to entertain and enthrall in this remarkable novel featuring chief medical examiner Dr. Kay Scarpetta.
On her quest to find out exactly what happened to her former deputy chief, Jack Fielding, murdered six months before, Scarpetta drives to the Georgia Prison for Women to meet a convicted sex offender and the mother of a vicious and diabolically brilliant killer. Against the advice of her FBI criminal intelligence agent husband, Benton Wesley, Scarpetta is determined to hear this woman out.
Scarpetta has both personal and professional reasons to learn more about a string of grisly killings: the murder of a Savannah family years earlier, a young woman on death row, and then other inexplicable deaths that begin to occur at a breathtaking pace. Driven by inner forces, Scarpetta discovers connections that compel her to conclude that what she thought ended with Fielding’s death and an attempt on her own life is only the beginning of something far more destructive: a terrifying terrain of conspiracy and potential terrorism on an international scale.
And she is the only one who can stop it.
what happened to Jaime, I feel morally obliged; in fact, I must. This isn’t just about her. I can’t save her. I am worried about others. Homicidal poisonings are rare and greatly feared because there isn’t always an intended victim, and even when there is, it might not be that person who dies. Barrie Lou Rivers apparently didn’t care who ate her arsenic-laced tuna-fish sandwiches. Whatever cruel and coldly calculated point she intended to make didn’t necessarily involve a specific individual,
wearing gloves or knowing there was any reason for concern,” I continue. “I’m sure Colin has contacts at the CDC, and if not, I do. I suggest making a call and letting them decide exactly how they want to handle transport, for example, which will be subject to regulatory control, since what we’re talking about is the potential of pathogens or toxins present in body fluids and tissues collected at autopsy, and in foods and food containers, et cetera. But the first step for us is to package all
“People delay, they put it off,” I say, as we roll our carts along, and hanging vines growing from the balconies on every floor remind me of Tara Grimm and all the devil’s ivy in her office that she lets grow out of control to teach people a life lesson. Be careful what you let take root, because one day that’s all there is. Something took root in her, and all that’s left is evil. “They keep hoping they’ll feel better or can fix the problem themselves and then reach the point of no return,” I
Defense—I have no statutory authority outside of Massachusetts. I will ask before I do the smallest thing. Built into the wall opposite the toilet are the two gray metal shelves arranged with books and notepads, and an assortment of clear plastic containers that are supposed to prevent the concealment of contraband. I open each and recognize the scents of cocoa butter, Noxzema, balsam shampoo, mint mouthwash, and peppermint toothpaste. In a plastic soap dish is a thick white cake of Ivory soap,
There are a lot of mothers in here, Dr. Scarpetta. Grandmothers, too. Even a few great-grandmothers. Most of these inmates have children. They don’t tolerate anyone who harms a child,” she goes on in a slow, quiet voice that is as hard as metal. “I got wind of a plot, and for Kathleen’s own protection I transferred her to Bravo Pod, where she’ll remain until I feel it’s safe to move her.” “I’m curious about what’s been in the news, exactly.” I try to draw out details of what I suspect is a