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Zusatztext "Riveting....compelling....Scarpetta uses a microscope in her lab the way Sherlock Holmes wielded a magnifying glass." -- Cosmopolitan Informationen zum Autor Patricia Cornwell Klappentext #1 "New York Times" bestselling author Patricia Cornwell's heart-stopping thriller featuring gutsy medical examiner Kay Scarpetta In Richmond, Virginia, young lovers are dying. So far, four couples in the area have disappeared, only to be found months later as mutilated corpses. When the daughter of the president's newest drug czar vanishes along with her boyfriend, Dr. Kay Scarpetta knows time is short. Following a macabre trail of evidence that ties the present homicides to a grisly crime in the past, Kay must draw upon her own personal resources to track down a murderer who is as skilled at eliminating clues as Kay is at finding them.... All That Remains 1 Saturday, the last day of August, I started work before dawn. I did not witness mist burning off the grass or the sky turning brilliant blue. Steel tables were occupied by bodies all morning, and there are no windows in the morgue. Labor Day weekend had begun with a bang of car crashes and gunfire in the city of Richmond. It was two o’clock in the afternoon when I finally returned to my West End home and heard Bertha mopping in the kitchen. She cleaned for me every Saturday and knew from past instruction not to bother with the phone, which had just begun to ring. “I’m not here,” I said loudly as I opened the refrigerator. Bertha stopped mopping. “It was ringing a minute ago,” she said. “Rang a few minutes before that, too. Same man.” “No one’s home,” I repeated. “Whatever you say, Dr. Kay.” The mop moved across the floor again. I tried to ignore the disembodied answering machine message intruding upon the sun-washed kitchen. The Hanover tomatoes I took for granted during the summer I began to hoard with the approach of fall. There were only three left. Where was the chicken salad? A beep was followed by the familiar male voice. “Doc? It’s Marino . . .” Oh, Lord, I thought, shoving the refrigerator door shut with a hip. Richmond homicide detective Pete Marino had been on the street since midnight, and I had just seen him in the morgue as I was picking bullets out of one of his cases. He was supposed to be on his way to Lake Gaston for what was left of a weekend of fishing. I was looking forward to working in my yard. “I’ve been trying to get you, am heading out. You’ll have to try my pager . . .” Marino’s voice sounded urgent as I snatched up the receiver. “I’m here.” “That you or your goddam machine?” “Take a guess,” I snapped. “Bad news. They found another abandoned car. New Kent, the Sixty-four rest stop, westbound. Benton just got hold of me—” “Another couple?” I interrupted, my plans for the day forgotten. “Fred Cheney, white male, nineteen. Deborah Harvey, white female, nineteen. Last seen around eight last night when they drove off from the Harveys’ Richmond house, on their way to Spindrift.” “And the car’s in the westbound lane?” I inquired, for Spindrift, North Carolina, is three and a half hours east of Richmond. “Yo. Appears they was heading in the opposite direction, back into the city. A trooper found the car, a Jeep Cherokee, about an hour ago. No sign of the kids.” “I’m leaving now,” I told him. Bertha had not stopped mopping, but I knew she had picked up every word. “Be on my way soon as I finish up in here,” she assured me. “I’ll lock up and set the alarm. Don’t you worry, Dr. Kay.” Fear was running a...
