'I was wondering if you had time…' He hesitated. 'Well, I know you're busy today.' I tossed bloody Reeboks into my locker and slipped on the shoes I had worn to work. Then I put on my lab coat.

'Actually, Wingo' - I checked my anger so I did not take it out on him - 'I'd like to talk to you, too. When you finish down here, come see me in my office.'

He did not have to tell me. I had a feeling I knew. I rode the elevator upstairs, my mood darkened like a storm about to strike. Wesley was still in my office, studying what was on my computer screen, and I walked past in the hallway without slowing my stride. It was Rose I wanted to find. When I got to the front office, clerks were frantically answering phones that would not stop, while my secretary and administrator were before a window overlooking the front parking lot.

The rain had not relented, and this had not seemed to deter a single journalist, cameraman or photographer in this town. They seemed crazed, as if the story must be huge for everyone else to be braving a downpour.

'Where are Fielding and Grant?' I asked about my deputy chief and this year's fellow. My administrator was a retired sheriff who loved cologne and snappy suits. He stepped away from the window, while Rose continued to look out.

'Dr Fielding's in court,' he said. 'Dr Grant had to leave because his basement's flooding.'

Rose turned around with the demeanor of one ready to fight, as if her nest had been invaded. 'I put Jess in the filing room,' she said of the receptionist.

'So there's no one out front.' I looked toward the lobby.

'Oh, there are plenty of people, all right,' my secretary angrily said as phones rang and rang. 'I didn't want anybody sitting out there with all those vultures. I don't care if there is bulletproof glass.'

'How many reporters are in the lobby?'

'Fifteen, maybe twenty, last I checked,' my administrator answered. 'I went out there once and asked them to leave. They said they weren't going until they had a statement from you. So I thought we could write something up and…'

'I'll give them a statement, all right,' I snapped.

Rose put her hand on my arm. 'Dr Scarpetta, I'm not sure it's a good idea…' I interrupted her, too. 'Leave this to me.'

The lobby was small, and the thick glass partition made it impossible for any unauthorized person to get in. When I rounded the corner, I could not believe how many people were crammed into the room, the floor filthy with footprints and dirty puddles. As soon as they saw me, camera lights blazed. Reporters began shouting, shoving microphones and tape recorders close as flash guns went off in my face.

I raised my voice above all of them. 'Please! Quiet!'

'Dr Scarpetta…'

'Quiet!' I said more loudly, as I blindly stared out at aggressive people I could not make out. 'Now, I am going to ask you politely to leave,' I said.

'Is it the Butcher again?' a woman raised her voice above the rest.

'Everything is pending further investigation,' I said.

'Dr Scarpetta.'

I could just barely make out the television reporter as Patty Denver, whose pretty face was on billboards all over the city.

'Sources say you're working this as another victim in these serial killings,' she said.

'Can you verify that?' I did not respond.

'Is it true the victim is Asian, probably prepubescent, and came off a truck that is local?' she went on, to my dismay. 'And are we to assume that the killer may now be in Virginia?'

'Is the Butcher killing in Virginia now?'

'Possible he deliberately wanted the other bodies dumped here?'

I held up a hand to quiet them. 'This is not the time for assumptions,' I said. 'I can tell you only that we are treating this as a homicide. The victim is an unidentified white female. She is not prepubescent but an older adult, and we encourage people who might have information to call this office or the Sussex County Sheriff's Department.'

'What about the FBI?'

'The FBI is involved,' I said.

'Then you are treating this as the Butcher…'

Turning around, I entered a code on a keypad and the ' lock clicked free. I ignored the demanding voices, shutting the door behind me, my nerves humming with tension as I walked quickly down the hall. When I entered my office, Wesley was gone, and I sat behind my desk. I dialed Marino's pager number, and he called me right back.

'For God's sake, these leaks have got to stop!' I exclaimed over the line.

'We know damn well who it is,' Marino irritably said.

'Ring.' I had no doubt, but could not prove it.

'The drone was supposed to meet me at the landfill. That was almost an hour ago,' Marino went on.

'It doesn't appear the press had any trouble finding him.'

I told him what sources allegedly had divulged to a television crew.

'Goddamn idiot!' he said.

'Find him and tell him to keep his mouth shut,' I said. 'Reporters have practically put us out of business today, and now the city's going to believe there's a serial killer in their midst.'

'Yeah, well, unfortunately, that part could be true,' he said.

'I can't believe this.' I was only getting angrier. 'I have to release information to correct misinformation. I can't be put in this position, Marino.'

'Don't worry, I'm going to take care of this and a whole lot more,' he promised. 'I don't guess you know.'

'Know what?'

'Rumor has it that Ring's been seeing Patty Denver.'

'I thought she was married,' I said as I envisioned her from a few moments earlier.

'She is,' he said.

I began dictating case 1930-97, trying to focus my attention on what I was saying and reading from my notes.

'The body was received pouched and sealed,' I said into the tape recorder, rearranging paperwork smeared with blood from Wingo's gloves. 'The skin is doughy. The breasts are small, atrophic and wrinkled. There are skin folds over the abdomen suggestive of prior weight loss…'

'Dr Scarpetta?' Wingo was poking his head in the doorway. 'Oops. Sorry,' he said when he realized what I was doing. 'I guess now's not a good time.'

'Come in,' I said with a weary smile. 'Why don't you shut the door.'

He did and closed the one between my office and Rose's, too. Nervously, he pulled a chair close to my desk, and he was having a hard time meeting my eyes.

'Before you start, let me.' I was firm but kind. 'I've known you for many years, and your life is no secret to me. I don't make judgments. I don't label. In my mind, there

are only two categories of people in this world. Those who are good. And those who aren't. But I worry about you because your orientation places you at risk.'

He nodded. 'I know,' he said, eyes bright with tears.

'If you're immunosuppressed,' I went on, 'you need to tell me. You probably shouldn't be in the morgue, at least not for some cases.'

'I'm HIV positive.' His voice trembled and he began to cry.

I let him go for a while, his arms over his face, as if he could not bear for anyone to see him. His shoulders shook, tears spotting his greens as his nose ran. Getting up with a box of tissues, I came over to him.

'Here.' I set the tissues nearby. 'It's all right.' I put my arm around him and let him weep. 'Wingo, I want you to try to get hold of yourself so we can talk about this, okay?'

He nodded, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes. For a moment he nuzzled his head against me, and I held him like a child. I gave him time before I faced him straight on, gripping his shoulders.

'Now is the time for courage, Wingo,' I said. 'Let's see what we can do to fight this thing.'

'I can't tell my family,' he choked. 'My father hates me anyway. And when my mother tries, he gets worse. To her. You know?'