'That's all right.'

'You know, I've seen a lot of things, at the hospital and the funeral home and all,' he began nervously. 'And nothing got to me, you know?'

He slowed at the toll plaza and tossed a token into the basket. The red striped arm went up and we rolled on as people in a hurry darted past us. Ruffin rolled his window back up.

'It's normal for what you're seeing now to get to you,' I finished his thought for him, or thought I did.

But this was not what he wanted to tell me.

'You see, most of the time I get to the morgue before you in the morning,' he said instead, his eyes riveted forward as he drove. 'So I'm the one who answers the phones and gets things ready for you, right? You know, because I'm there alone.'

I nodded, having not a clue as to what he was about to say.

'Well, starting about two months ago, when we were still in the old building, the phone started ringing at around six-thirty in the morning, just after I got in. And when I would pick it up, nobody was there.'

'How often has this happened?' I asked.

'Maybe three times a week. Sometimes every day. And it's still happening.'

He was getting my attention now.

'It's happening since we moved.' I wanted to make sure.

'Of course, we have the same number,' he reminded me. 'But yes, ma'am. In fact it happened again this morning, and I've started getting a little spooked. I'm just wondering if we should try to get the calls traced to see what's going on.'

'Tell me exactly what happens when you pick up the phone,' I said as we drove exactly at the speed limit along the interstate.

'I say Morgue, ' he said. 'And whoever it is doesn't say a word. There's silence, almost like the line is dead. So I say Hello? a few times and finally hang up. I can tell there's someone there. It's just something I sense.'

'Why haven't you told me this before?'

'I wanted to make sure it wasn't just me overreacting. Or maybe being too imaginative, because I got to tell you it's kind of creepy in there first thing in the morning when the sun's not up yet and no one else is around.'

'And you say this started about two months ago?'

'More or less,' he answered. 'I didn't really count the first few, you know.'

I was irritated that he had waited until now to pass this along to me, but there was no point in belaboring that.

'I'll pass this along to Captain Marino,' I said. 'In the meantime, Chuck, you need to tell me if this happens again, okay?'

He nodded, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

'Just beyond the next light, we're looking for a big beige building. It will be on our left, in the nine thousand block, just past JoPa's.'

Cole's was fifteen minutes from closing, and there were but two other cars in the lot when we parked. Ruffin and I got out, and air conditioning was frigid as we entered a wide open space with aisles of metal shelves all the way up to the ceiling. Crowded on them was everything from restaurant-sized ladles and spoons, to food warmers for cafeteria lines, to giant coffeemakers and mixers. But it was potware that I was interested in, and after a quick scan I found the section I needed, halfway to the back, near electric skillets and measuring cups.

I began lifting great aluminum pans and pots when a sales clerk suddenly appeared. He was balding and big-bellied, and sporting a tattoo of a naked woman playing cards on his right forearm.

'Can I help you?' he said to Ruffin.

'I need the biggest cooking pot you've got,' I answered.

'That'd be forty quarts.'

He reached up to a shelf too high for me and handed the monstrous pot to Ruffin.

'I'll need a lid,' I said.

'Will have to be ordered.'

'What about something deep and rectangular,' I then said as I envisioned long bones.

'Got a twenty-quart pan.'

He reached up to another shelf, and metal clanged as he lifted out a pan that had probably been intended for vats of whipped potatoes, vegetables or cobbler.

'And I don't suppose you have a lid for that either,' I said.

'Yeah.'

Different-sized lids clattered as he pulled one out.

'It's got the notch right here for the ladle. I guess you'll be wanting a ladle, too.'

'No, thank you,' I said. 'Just something long to stir with, either wooden or plastic. And heat-resistant gloves. Two pairs. What else?'

I looked at Ruffin as I thought.

'Maybe we should get a twenty-quart pot, too, for smaller jobs?' I mused.

'That'd be a good idea,' he agreed. 'That big pot's going to be mighty heavy when it's filled with water. And there's no point in using it if something smaller will work, but I think you're going to need the bigger pot this time, or it all won't fit. You know?'

The salesman was getting more confused as he listened to our evasive conversation.

'You tell me what you're planning to cook, and maybe I can give you some advice,' he offered, again to Ruffin.

'Different things,' I replied. 'Mostly I'll be boiling things.'

'Oh, I see,' he said, even though he didn't. 'Well, will there be anything else?'

'That's it,' I answered him with a smile.

At the counter, he rang up one hundred and seventy-seven dollars of restaurant cookware while I got out my billfold and hunted for my MasterCard.

'Do you by chance give discounts to state government?' I asked as he took my card from me.

'No,' he said, rubbing his double chin as he frowned at my card. 'I think I've heard your name on the news before.'

He stared suspiciously at me.

'I know.'

He snapped his fingers.

'You're the lady who ran for the senate a few years back. Or maybe it was for lieutenant governor?' he said, pleased.

'Not me,' I answered. 'I try to stay out of politics.'

'You and me both,' he said loudly as Ruffin and I carried our purchases out the door. 'They're all crooks, every single one of 'em!'

When we returned to the morgue, I gave Ruffin instructions to remove the remains of the burn victim from the refrigerator and wheel them and the new pots into the decomposition room. I shuffled through telephone messages, most of them from reporters, and realized I was nervously pulling at my hair when Rose appeared in the doorway that joined my office to hers.

'You look like you've had a bad day,' she said.

'No worse than usual.'

'How about a cup of cinnamon tea?'

'I don't think so,' I said. 'But thanks.'

Rose placed a stack of death certificates on my desk, adding to the never-ending pile of documents for me to initial or sign. She was dressed this day in a smart navy blue pants suit and bright purple blouse, her shoes, typically, black leather lace-ups for walking.

Rose was well past retirement age, although it didn't show in her face, which was regal and subtly made up. But her hair had gotten finer and had turned completely white, while arthritis nibbled at her fingers, lower back, and hips, making it increasingly uncomfortable for her to sit at her desk and take care of me as she had from my first day at this job.

'It's almost six,' she said, looking kindly at me.

I glanced up at the clock as I began to scan paperwork and sign my name.

'I have a dinner at the church,' she diplomatically let me know.

'That's nice,' I said, frowning as I read. 'Damn it, how many times do I have to tell Dr Carmichael that you don't sign out a death as cardiac arrest. Jesus, everybody dies of cardiac arrest. You die, your heart quits, right? And he's done the respiratory arrest number too, no matter how many times I've amended his certificates.'

I sighed in annoyance.

'He's been the M.E. in Halifax County for how many years?' I continued my tirade. 'Twenty-five at least?'

'Dr Scarpetta, don't forget he's an obstetrician. And an ancient one at that,' Rose reminded me. 'A nice man who's not capable of learning anything new. He still types his reports on an old manual Royal, flying capitals and all. And the reason I mentioned the church dinner is, I'm supposed to be there in ten minutes.'