Autopsy(Kay Scarpetta #25)(3)

“I’m sorry, is this about Friday night’s case?” I puzzle. “Are you thinking this missing person might be the murdered woman in my cooler?”

“It’s sounding like it could be. Alexandria P.D. called me after one of their officers did a wellness check on someone who’s vanished. I’m on my way to your neck of the woods, Colonial Landing on the waterfront,” he startles me by adding.

I know the new residential development all too well. Pete Marino and my sister Dorothy have a place there, the luxury townhomes an easy walk from the historic district where Benton and I bought an old estate that needs some fixing up. Lucy lives with us in the guesthouse, everybody safely close by for once. Or so I thought, not that any location is immune from violence.

But it’s rare in Old Town. Homicide is an anomaly, on average one a year, typically a robbery, a domestic fight that takes a fatal turn, based on the statistics I’ve studied. Rapes and assaults are uncommon, and mostly what the locals worry about is burglary and car break-ins.

“Gwen Hainey.” August tells me the name of the missing woman. “A thirty-three-year-old biomedical engineer at Thor Laboratories. About twenty miles from you in Vienna, one of those big tech companies off I-95.”

“I’m familiar with Thor, at least by reputation. What exactly does she do there?” I’m writing down the details.

“The person I talked to is the lab director, and he wouldn’t say. Only that she’s a scientist working on special projects, and as you may or may not know, a lot of what goes on is classified stuff for the government.”

“Among other things they’re pioneers in 3-D printing human skin, organs, blood vessels, and other body parts including ears.” I give him the upshot.

“For real?”

“As science fiction as it might sound, it’s already happening.”

“Just one more thing to make life more confusing and our jobs harder” is what he has to say about it, and I don’t know him well.

Friday night was the only time I’ve been around him so far, and he’s what I’d call a cool customer, a smooth operator. Understated. Hard to read. Recently divorced, he has no kids, and I get the impression he’s too busy for much of a social life.

“How do you get a DNA profile from artificial skin? What about fingerprints?” August’s voice over speakerphone.

“We’ll worry about that another day,” I reply. “When’s the last time anybody at Thor had contact with Gwen?”

“Apparently, not since Thanksgiving. She wasn’t at work today, wasn’t answering her phone, which hasn’t turned up so far.”

He goes on to explain that her lab director was concerned enough to call 911. The uniformed officer making the wellness check found Gwen’s front door locked, no sign of anyone.

“Officer Fruge.” August wonders if I might know her.

Fruge as in frugal, and I have a feeling the unusual name is one from my past. I wonder out loud if the officer he’s talking about is related to the controversial toxicologist I once worked with in Richmond.

“Yep, that’s the one,” he says. “Blaise Fruge is her daughter, and she was at the scene briefly Friday night, was the first responder.”

He says that the Alexandria police officer was on routine patrol when the body was discovered. She heard the radio call, and likely was gone by the time I showed up. But I wouldn’t have a clue who was there, the park crawling with police while I dealt with the body.

“A wannabe plus full of herself, and they’re the worst kind,” August adds as my fitness tracker bracelet vibrates, messages and e-mails landing. “You’ve got to watch her, and she thinks she’s the next Sherlock, but trust me, she’s not.”

“Let me make sure I understand,” I reply. “Officer Fruge responded to the body found on Daingerfield Island. And now she’s responded to a missing person report that may be connected. It would seem she gets around.”

“I don’t think she’s got a life, you want my opinion.”

“What happened when she arrived at Colonial Landing?”

“She had to get the manager to let her into Gwen Hainey’s townhome, and it’s clear that something violent went on.” August’s voice sounds over speakerphone as I glance at the text Benton just sent.

He’s heard from Maggie, and is on his way home, running late, and that’s strange. I didn’t know he was going anywhere today, thought he was working remotely. Texting him a quick reply, I ask if everything’s okay, while August continues to explain what Officer Fruge discovered inside the townhome.





CHAPTER 2

HER BACKPACK IS ON the kitchen table, wallet and keys inside, doesn’t seem to be anything rifled through. But like I mentioned, no sign of her phone,” August says as I get up from my desk. “We’ll request records from the carrier to see when she last made or answered any calls, and with whom.”

“What about her car?” I walk into my office bathroom where I keep changes of clothing.

“From what I understand, she worked from home several days a week.” His voice follows me as I move around. “The rest of the time she catches rides with colleagues or takes lift services. There’s no vehicle registered to her.”

“That seems a bit unusual,” I reply as Benton texts me: Driving back from an unexpected meeting.