The Bone Bed

red nods, and Donoghue says, “So it would be fair to say that truth is whatever you decide it is.”
    “It would not be fair to say that.”
    “It would be fair to say that if someone is married, so what.”
    “That’s your opinion, not mine,” I reply, because Steward isn’t going to do a damn thing.
    “It would be fair to say you don’t honor the law but do as you please.”
    “It most assuredly would not be fair to say that,” I reply.
    “But Benton Wesley was married.”
    “He was.”
    “And you took him from his wife and three daughters.”
    “He divorced his wife. I did not take
him from her or anyone.”
    “Dr. Scarpetta? Would it be accurate to say that truth is what you decide it is?” She tries again.
    “It would not be accurate to say that,” I repeat.
    “Was it accurate when you stated in an e-mail to Dan Steward that Channing Lott’s wife has turned into a bar of soap?”
    “That’s not what I said.”
    “I’m sorry. Then what did you say?”
    “On which occasion?”
    “Well, let me produce the e-mail,” she replies.
    It appears on the flat screens around the room, the e-mail addresses in it blacked out, redacted, and she asks me if I recognize what I’m seeing, and I do, and then she reads it out loud:
    Dan—
    To answer your question in general and by no means specifically about Mildred Lott. If a body were dumped in the ocean near Gloucester in March and remained submerged in cold water for months, hydrolysis and hydrogenation of the fatty cells that compose subcutaneous fat tissues would result in the formation of bacterial-resistant adipocere, a postmortem artifact that basically turns a body into soap.
    “Do you remember e-mailing that to Dan Steward, Dr. Scarpetta?”
    “I don’t remember those exact words.”
    “What do you remember, then?”
    “I remember telling Mr. Steward that if a body remains submerged in cold water for a period of weeks or months, the result would be a process of decomposition known as saponification.”
    “Turning into soap,” she emphasizes.
    “In a manner of speaking.”
    “Not in a manner of speaking, Dr. Scarpetta. That’s what you said in this e-mail, correct?”
    “I believe I said ‘basically turns into soap.’”
    “Just to clarify, can a dead human body literally turn into soap under any circumstances?” she asks.
    “Hydrolysis of fats and oils in the human body can indeed yield a crude soap. Also known as grave wax because of the way it looks.”
    “And the formation of this soap, or grave wax or adipocere, doesn’t happen overnight, correct?” she asks.
    “That’s correct. It can take weeks or months, depending on the temperature and other conditions.”
    “Which leads me to what’s been all over the news today.” Of course she was going to get to that. “The body you recovered from the water almost in view of where we are sitting? Indeed, if you walk outside this courtroom and look through those huge windows you can almost see where you were on the Coast Guard boat but a few hours ago, correct?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “Do you know the identity of this dead woman whose body you pulled out of the water several hours ago?”
    “At this time I don’t,” I answer, and of course Dan Steward is letting her get away with it.
    “Do you know how old she is?”
    “No.”
    “Can you estimate?”
    “I haven’t examined her yet.”
    “But you’ve obviously seen the body,” Donoghue continues. “You must have an opinion.”
    “I haven’t formed any opinions yet.”
    “The body is that of an adult female, correct?” She keeps going because Steward isn’t stopping her.
    “That’s correct.”
    “Older than sixteen? Older than eighteen?”
    “It’s safe to say the body is that of a mature adult female,” I reply.
    “Possibly in her fifties?”
    “I don’t know her age at this time.”
    “I repeat the word
possible.
Is it possible she’s in her late forties, in her fifties.”
    “It’s possible.”
    “With long white or platinum-blond hair.”
    “That’s correct.”
    “Dr. Scarpetta, are you aware that Mildred Lott is fifty and has long, very platinum-blond hair?”
    Speaking of her in the present tense, as if she’s not dead. If she’s not dead, then her husband couldn’t have had anything to do with murdering her.
    “I’m vaguely aware of her age and that her hair has been described as platinum blond,” I reply.
    “With the court’s permission, at this time I’d like to play