Predator: Scarpetta (Book 14)
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Investigating the disappearance of two sisters in Florida, Dr. Kay Scarpetta follows clues that twist and turn, leading her into the psychopathic depths of a jailed serial killer's mind.
Bianco. You have both in your cellar, and as the Venetians say, ‘He who drinks well sleeps well, and he who sleeps well thinks no evil, does no evil and goes to heaven,’ or something like that.” “I’m afraid there’s not a wine on earth that will stop me from thinking about evil,” Benton says. “And I don’t believe in heaven. Only hell.” 54 On the ground floor of the Academy’s spacious stucco headquarters, the red light is on outside the firearms lab, and from the hallway, Marino hears the
intra-abdominal pressure due to sudden evisceration. Not exsanguination.” “Your case? The one in there?” He indicates the classroom. “Marino’s and mine. From years back. And one other thing,” she adds. “It’s a suicide, not a homicide.” 12 The Citation X flies south at just under mach one as Lucy uploads files on a virtual private network that is so firewall-protected not even Homeland Security can break in. At least, she believes her information infrastructure is secure. She believes
the first year after they disappeared. Then, it’s my opinion, he couldn’t bear to think about it. He lives in a real nice house in Hollywood.” Lucy looks around the store. “There’s no Christmas stuff here,” Larry says, in case that’s what she is wondering. She doesn’t ask anything about Mrs. Quincy’s son, Fred. She already knows from HIT that Fred Anderson Quincy is twenty-six years old. She knows his address and that he’s self-employed, into computer graphics, a Web designer. Larry goes on to
further information from me, you’ll have to get a court order or permission from the patient.” “Rather difficult to get permission from someone who’s vanished.” Dr. Self hangs up and walks out into the bright, hot morning, heading with purpose toward the men in white shirts that on closer inspection have a logo on the front, the same logo that is on their caps. In bold black print on the back of the shirts is Florida Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services. One inspector holds a PDA,
police department when she heard his loud pipes, and there he was. Trade ya, he said, swinging his leg over the seat like a cowboy getting off his horse. He hitched up his jeans and walked over to inspect her bike as she was locking it and getting a few items out of the saddlebags. I bet you would, she replied. How many times you dropped that thing? None. Huh. Well there’s only two types of riders. Those who’ve dropped their bikes and those who will. There’s a third kind, she said, feeling