“Have you talked to Benton Wesley about this?” I interrupted.
“Didn’t have to. Talked to Susling, one of his colleagues at the Behavioral Science Unit in Quantico. He’s well known in the field, has published quite a lot on the subject.”
Thank God. I couldn’t endure knowing Wesley had just been sitting in my conference room several hours before and had made no mention of what I was now being told. He would be just as incensed as I was, I thought. The commissioner was wedging his foot in the investigation. He was going around me, around Wesley, around Marino, and taking matters into his own hands.
“The probability that sensational publicity, which has been ignited by loose talk, by leaks,” Amburgey went on, “the fact the city may be liable because of the 911 mishap, means we have to take serious measures, Dr. Scarpetta. All information dispensed to the public, from this point forward, will be channeled through Norm or Bill, as far as the police end of it goes. And nothing will be coming from your office unless it is released by me. Are we clear?”
There had never been a problem with my office before, and he knew it. We had never solicited publicity, and I’d always been circumspect when releasing information to the press.
What would the reporters—what would anybody— think when they were told they were being referred to the commissioner for information that historically had come from my agency? In the forty-two-year history of the Virginia medical examiner system, this had never happened. By gagging me it would appear I’d been relieved of my authority because I couldn’t be trusted.
I looked around. No one would meet my eyes. Boltz’s jaw was firmly set as he absently studied his coffee cup. He refused to grant me so much as a reassuring smile.
Amburgey began perusing his notes again. “The worst offender is Abby Turnbull, which isn’t anything new. She doesn’t win prizes for being passive.” This to me: “Are you two acquainted?”
“She rarely gets past my secretary.”
“I see.” He casually flipped another page.
“She’s dangerous,” Tanner volunteered. “The Times is part of one of the biggest chains in the country. They have their own wire service.”
“Well, there’s no question that Miss Turnbull is the one doing the damage. All the other reporters are simply reprinting her scoops and kicking the stuff around on the air,” Boltz slowly commented. “What we’ve got to find out is where the hell she’s getting the goods.” This to me: “We’d be wise to consider all channels. Who else, for example, has access to your records, Kay?”
“Copies are sent to the CA and to the police,” I replied evenly—he and Tanner were the CA and the police.
“What about the families of the victims?”
“So far I’ve gotten no requests from the women’s families, and in cases such as these I most likely would refer the relative to your office.”
“What about insurance companies?”
“If requested. But after the second homicide I instructed my clerks to refrain from sending out any reports, except to your office and to the police. The reports are provisional. I’ve been stalling for as long as possible to keep them out of circulation.”
Tanner asked, “Anybody else? What about Vital Statistics? Didn’t they used to keep your data on their mainframe, requiring you to send them copies of all your CME-1’s and autopsy reports?”
Startled, I didn’t respond right away. Tanner certainly had done his homework. There was no reason he should have been privy to such a mundane housekeeping concern.
“We stopped sending VS any paper reports after we became computerized,” I told him. “They’ll get data from us eventually. When they begin working on their annual report—”
Tanner interrupted with a suggestion that had the impact of a pointed gun.
“Well, that leaves your computer.” He began idly swirling the coffee in his Styrofoam cup. “I assume you have very restricted access to the data base.”
“That was my next question,” Amburgey muttered.
The timing was terrible.
I almost wished Margaret hadn’t told me about the computer violation.
I was desperately trying to think what to say as I was seized by panic. Was it possible the killer might have been caught earlier and this gifted young surgeon might still be alive had these leaks not occurred? Was it possible the anonymous “medical source” wasn’t a person after all, but my office computer?
I think it was one of the worst moments in my life when I had no choice but to admit, “Despite all precautions, it appears someone has gotten into our data. Today we discovered evidence that someone tried to pull up Lori Petersen’s case. It was a fruitless attempt because she hasn’t been entered into the computer yet.”