The familiar mechanical voice. Curt's fists clenched, and he drew a long breath.
At Captain Carter's signal, he spoke.
"I'm Curt Baxter. Whatever you want, say it."
"Yes, I led the autopsy on the March 18 Case. But I guarantee you—on everything I am—there was no falsification."
Bernice's scream cut through for an instant, then was muffled into silence.
Curt shot to his feet, and the iron chair yanked him back down.
The kidnapper sat facing the camera, the mosaic blur over his face warping and twitching.
"Professor Baxter. Millie Sullivan was your wife. She was tortured, murdered, and cut to pieces, and you went out of your way to cover for her killer."
"Have you slept a single night these past ten years?"
"Ex-wife."
Curt adjusted his glasses, eyes dismissive.
"Millie Sullivan was paranoid, delusional, and impossible. We were done long before any of this."
"We'd already filed for divorce before the March 18 Case."
"Sure, we'd had some unpleasantness over Bernice before that, but that was all in the past."
He laced his fingers together and straightened his back.
"I'm a forensic pathologist. I do my job with integrity. I always have."