Chapter 38 Chapter Thirty-eight

Outside the window of Benton's high-rise office, the moonlight is reflected in the snowflakes, and the lights in the house are all off.He sat in front of the computer and browsed through the photos, and finally found the ones he wanted. There were a total of one hundred and ninety-seven photos, all of which were hideous and horrible. It was a test to find a few specific ones, and those pictures made him very frustrated.He was very disturbed, feeling that things were much more serious than they appeared, and that it was not over yet.The case upset him, which was rare in his extensive work experience.He was a little distracted and didn't copy down the serial numbers of the photos. It took him nearly half an hour to find the photos No. 62 and No. 74 he wanted.He convinced Detective Thrash.In murders, especially such murders, one can never try too hard.

There is no such thing as "all the truth as time goes by" in violent death cases.The scene either disappeared or was destroyed, and could never be restored.Corpses change too, especially after an autopsy, and there is no way to return to their original shape.So the State Police went all out to take a lot of photos, and Benton has been studying these astonishing photos and video records since he returned from visiting Bagir Jenrett.Benton thought to himself that he had worked in the investigation bureau for more than 20 years, so he should have seen enough.As an expert in criminal psychology, he thought he had seen all the weirdness in the world, but he had never seen such a thing.

Photographs Nos. 62 and 74 are not very clear, because the severed head of the unnamed woman above does not reveal much.They failed to fully reveal the terrifying appearance of the woman beyond recognition.Her ragged black hair was stained with brains, flesh tissue and dried blood.Photos No. 62 and No. 74 show close-ups of the corpse from neck to knee.Those two pictures made him feel that indescribable feeling, that feeling when something brought up some annoying memory in him, but he couldn't remember what it was.What were these images trying to tell him about something he already knew but couldn't control?

In photo No. 62, the body was lying face up on the autopsy table, and photo No. 74 was face down.He clicked back and forth between the two photos, studying her naked remains, puzzled by the bright red handprint between her shoulder blades and an area of ​​broken skin.It was a roughly six-by-eight-inch piece of ground flesh mixed with what the autopsy report described as "suspected wood splinters and earth." He considered the possibility that those red handprints might have existed before the woman was alive and had nothing to do with her murder.Maybe she got body paint done before meeting the killer.He had to imagine the possibility, but he didn't think so.It is more likely that the murderer turned her body into a grisly and suggestive "artifact" of sexual violence, reminiscent of two hands grabbing her breasts and forcing her to spread her legs, maybe right after she was kidnapped, maybe after her incapacity or death.Benton wasn't sure, he couldn't see a clue.He wished this was Scarpetta's case, that she had been there for an autopsy.If only she were here.

He browsed through more photos and reports.The victim was in her early 30s to early 40s. The autopsy results were as Dr. Lonsdale said in the morgue. Her body was found not long before her death. She was dumped in Walden Woods A rest stop in the village, not far from Walden Pond, belongs to the wealthy town of Lincoln.The results of body fluid sampling assays did not show a semen reaction.Benton's initial assessment was that the man who killed her and left her body in the woods might be indulging in BDSM fantasies, sexual fantasies that objectify their victims. Whether she is accurate or not, she is nothing to Jia Huo.She is not a person, but just a symbol, an item that he can dispose of at will, and the way he likes is to humiliate, intimidate, punish, torture in every possible way, force her to face the cruel death that is approaching, taste the mouth stuffed into the barrel of a gun The taste of watching him pull the trigger.Maybe he knew her, maybe he didn't know her at first.Maybe he followed her all the way and kidnapped her.According to the Massachusetts State Police, there are no missing persons files matching her profile in New England, and there are no missing persons files matching her profile anywhere.

Beyond the swimming pool is the breakwater of the bay.The bay was large enough to moor a sixty-foot boat, though Scarpetta had no boats and had never imagined owning one of any size or style. She watched the boats, especially at night, when the bow and stern lights moved like aircraft over the water, and the silence was only the rumble of the engines.When the cabin lights up, you can see men and women shuttle among them, or sit or toast, or laugh or look forward, or just stay there.She doesn't want to be like them. She didn't resemble those people at all, and she didn't want to have anything to do with them.Growing up poor and lonely, she was different from them and therefore unable to join them, when the choice was theirs, and now the choice is hers.She knew what she wanted, and she just looked on at the inappropriate, empty, gray, and horrible way of life.She had been dreading what would happen to her niece Lucy.It's natural to worry about someone you love deeply, but for Lucy, she always worries a little more.

"I'm starting to have some strange symptoms," said Lucy in the dark.They sat on teakwood chairs between two jetty posts. A table with drinks, cheese and crackers.They left the cheese and biscuits alone, and their second round of wine. "Sometimes I wish I smoked a lot," Lucy said, reaching for a shot of tequila. "Strange thought." "It wasn't strange when you used to smoke a lot, but now you still want to smoke." "It doesn't matter what I think." "You keep talking like that, like you don't feel like normal people," said Lucy, staring at the water in the dark. "Of course it matters. Whatever you want is important, especially when you When you can't get it."

"Do you want her?" Scarpetta asked. "Which her?" "The one you were with last," she reminded. "Your last prey was in Purvins." "I don't see them as prey, I see it as a short escape, like smoking weed. I think that's the saddest part, it doesn't make sense. It's just that it's different this time, and there are things I don't understand. I might have gotten into trouble, so blind, so stupid." She told Scarpetta about Stevie, about her tattoos, about those red handprints.She was a little embarrassed when describing the plot, but she tried to remain indifferent, as if she was talking about someone else's business, as if she was talking about a case.

Scarpetta listened quietly.She picked up her glass and thought about what Lucy had said. "Maybe that's nothing," Lucy went on, "just a coincidence. A lot of people like to get weird paint on their bodies, spray all kinds of strange paints made of acrylic and latex all over their bodies." "I'm tired of hearing about coincidences, and there's been a lot of them lately," Scarpetta said. "This tequila is good, and I have nothing against a weed." "Are you trying to scare me?" "Marijuana is not as bad as you think."

"Since when did you become a doctor?" "Really, I don't lie to you." "Why do you hate yourself so much, Lucy?" "What do you know, Auntie?" Lucy turned to look at her, her face strong and sharp in the soft light of the embankment. "You have no idea what I've done, so don't pretend to understand." "Sounds like the stuff of an indictment. Much of what you said tonight smacked of that. I apologize, from the bottom of my heart, if I overlooked you." "I'm not like you." "Of course it's different. Why do you keep saying it?"

"I don't want to go after something that lasts, someone I love, someone I'll be with forever. I don't need someone like Benton, I just want a one-night stand. Wanna know how many times I've had it? Even myself Not sure." "We haven't seen each other very much in the past year, is that the reason?" "It's easier that way." "Are you afraid I'll nag you?" "That's what it should be." "What I'm worried about is not who you sleep with, but something else. You are always alone in the academy, you don't interact with the students, you rarely stay there at all, and occasionally you go to the gym to exercise desperately, or else In a helicopter, or at a shooting range, or doing an experiment, it's like a dangerous machine." "Maybe I only get along with machines." "What you fail will fail you in turn, Lucy. You know that very well." "Including my body." "What about your heart and soul? Let's talk about that first." "It's cold, and I don't care about my health at all." "It's not cold at all. I value your health more than my own." "I think I fell for her trap, she knew I was thinking about things in the bar." She went back to the woman with the red handprint, similar to the victim in Benton's case. "You have to tell Benton about Stevie. What's her last name? How much do you know about her?" Scarpetta asked. "I don't know much. I don't believe there is any connection, but it's so strange. The time she was there coincided with the time when the woman was murdered and abandoned, and the place was very close." Scarpetta said nothing. "Perhaps tattoos are popular in that part of the world," Lucy went on. "Maybe people there like to have red handprints on their bodies. Don't blame me. I don't want to be told how stupid and careless I am." Scarpetta looked at her without saying a word. Lucy rubbed her eyes. "I don't mean to blame you, I just want to understand why you ignore everything in your life. The society is yours, that is your dream. You hate the strict law enforcement agencies, especially the Bureau of Investigation, so you organize Lost our own force, our own team. Now this unridden horse roams the parade ground. Where are you? Those of us who came together at your call feel abandoned .Most of the students in this period have never met you, and many teachers don't know you, even if they meet, they won't recognize you." Lucy wiped her eyes as she watched a boat with its sails furled gliding leisurely in the night. "I had a tumor," she said, "a brain tumor."