Marino looked baffled. 'She doesn't have a head. How can you say that?'

'I can say it because there's blood in her airway.' They got closer to see what I was talking about.

'One way that could have happened,' I went on, 'is if she had a basilar skull fracture and blood dripped down the back of her throat, and she aspirated it into her airway.' Wesley looked carefully at the body with the demeanor of one who has seen mutilation and death a million times. He stared at the space where the head should be, as if he could imagine it.

'She has hemorrhage in muscle tissue.' I paused to let this sink in. 'She was still alive when the dismemberment began.'

'Jesus Christ,' Marino exclaimed in disgust as he lit a cigarette. 'Don't tell me that.'

'I'm not saying she was conscious,' I added. 'Most likely this was at or about the time of death. But she still had a blood pressure, feeble as it might have been. This was true around the neck, anyway. But not the arms and legs.'

'Then he severed her head first,' Wesley said to me.

'Yes.'

He was scanning X-rays on the walls.

'This doesn't fit with his victimology,' he said. 'Not at all.'

'Everything about this case doesn't fit,' I replied. 'Except that once again, a saw was used. I've also found some cuts on bone that are consistent with a knife.'

'What else can you tell us about her?' Wesley said, and I could feel his eyes on me as I

dropped another section of organ into the stock jar of formalin.

'She has some sort of eruptions that might be shingles, and two scars of the right kidney that would indicate pyelonephritis, or kidney infection. Cervix is elongated

and stellate, which could suggest she's had children. Her myocardium, or heart muscle, is soft.'

'Meaning?'

'Toxins do that. Toxins produced by microorganisms.' I looked up at him. 'As I've mentioned, she was sick.'

Marino was walking around, looking at the torso from different angles. 'Do you have any idea with what?'

'Based on secretions in her lungs, I know she had bronchitis. At the moment, I don't know what else, except her liver's in pretty grim shape.'

'From drinking,' Wesley said.

'Yellowish, nodular. Yes,' I said. 'And I would say that at one time she smoked.'

'She's skin and bones,' Marino said.

'She wasn't eating,' I said. 'Her stomach is tubular, empty and clean.' I showed them. Wesley moved to a nearby desk and pulled out a chair. He stared off in thought as I yanked a cord down from an overhead reel and plugged in the Stryker saw. Marino, who liked this part of the procedure the least stepped back from the table. No one spoke as I sawed off the ends of arms and legs, a bony dust drifting on the air, the electric whir louder than a dentist's drill. I placed each section into a labeled carton, and said what I thought.

'I don't think we're dealing with the same killer this time.'

'I don't know what to think,' Marino said. 'But we got two big things in common. A

torso, and it was dumped in central Virginia.

'He's had a varied victimology all along,' said Wesley, wearing his surgical mask loose around his neck. 'One black, two whites, all female, and one black male. The five in Dublin were mixed, as well. But again, all were young.'

'So would you now expect him to choose an old woman?' I asked him.

'Frankly, I wouldn't. But these people aren't an exact science, Kay. This is somebody who does whatever the hell he feels like whenever he feels like it.'

'The dismemberment isn't the same, it's not through the joints,' I reminded them. 'And

I think she was clothed or wrapped in something.'

'This one may have bothered him more,' Wesley said, taking the mask off altogether and dropping it on top of the desk. 'His urge to kill again may have been overwhelming, and she may have been easy.' He looked at the torso. 'So he strikes,

but his M.O. shifts because the victimology has suddenly shifted, and he doesn't really like it. He leaves her at least partially dressed or covered because raping and killing an old woman aren't what turn him on. And he cuts off her head first so he doesn't have

to look at her.'

'You see any sign of rape?' Marino asked me.

'You rarely do,' I said. 'I'm about to finish up here. She'll go in the freezer like the other ones in the hope we eventually get an identification. I've got muscle tissue and marrow for DNA, hoping that we'll eventually have a missing person to compare it with.'

I was discouraged, and it showed. Wesley collected his coat from the back of a door, leaving a small puddle on the floor.

'I'd like to see the photograph sent to you over AOL,' he said to me.

'That doesn't fit the M.O., either, by the way,' I said as I began suturing the Y-incision.

'I wasn't sent anything in the earlier cases.'

Marino was in a hurry, as if he had somewhere else to go. 'I'm heading out to Sussex,' he said, walking to the door. 'Gotta meet Lone Ranger Ring so he can give me lessons in how to investigate homicides.'

He abruptly left, and I knew the real reason why. Despite his preaching to me about marriage, my relationship with Wesley secretly bothered Marino. A part of him would always be jealous.

'Rose can show you the photograph,' I said to Wesley as I washed the body with hose and sponge. 'She knows how to get into my e-mail.'

Disappointment glinted in his eyes before he could mask it. I carried the cartons of bone ends to a distant counter where they would be boiled in a weak solution of bleach, to completely deflesh and degrease them. He stayed where he was, waiting and watching until I got back. I did not want him to go, but I did not know what to do with him anymore.

'Can't we talk, Kay?' he finally said. 'I've hardly seen you. Not in months. I know we're both busy, and this isn't a good time. But…'

'Benton,' I interrupted with feeling. 'Not here.'

'Of course not. I'm not suggesting we talk here.'

'It will just be more of the same.'

'I promise it won't.' He checked the clock on the wall. 'Look, it's already late. Why don't I just stay in town. We'll have dinner.'

I hesitated, ambivalence bouncing from one end of my brain to the other. I was afraid to see him and afraid not to see him.

'All right,' I said. 'My house at seven. I'll throw together something. Don't expect much.'

'I can take you out. I don't want you to go to any trouble.'

'The last place I want to be right now is out in public,' I said.

His eyes lingered on me a little longer as I labeled tags and tubes and various types of containers. The strike of his heels was sharp on tile as he left, and I heard him speak to someone as elevator doors opened in the hall. Seconds later, Wingo walked in.

'I would have got here sooner.' He went to a cart and began putting on new shoe covers, mask and gloves. 'But it's a zoo upstairs.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' I asked, untying my gown in back as he slipped into a fresh one.

'Reporters.' He put on a face shield and looked at me through clear plastic. 'In the lobby. Casing the building in their television vans.' He looked tensely at me. 'Hate to tell you, but now Channel Eight's got you blocked in. Their van's right behind your car so you can't get out, and nobody's in it.'

Anger rose like heat. 'Call the police and get them towed,' I said from the locker room.

'You finish up here. I'm going upstairs to take care of this.'

Slamming my balled-up gown into the laundry bin, I grabbed off gloves, shoe covers and cap. I vigorously scrubbed with antibacterial soap and yanked open my locker, my hands suddenly clumsy. I was very upset, this case, the press, Wesley, everything was getting to me.

'Dr Scarpetta?'

Wingo was suddenly in the doorway as I fumbled with buttons on my blouse, and his walking in on me while I was dressing was nothing new. It never bothered either of us, for I was as comfortable with him as I would be with a woman.