Point of Origin

'I think somehow they got tossed out,' he said.

'And probably should have,' I told him. 'Which means you and I have an errand to run.'

'Now?'

'Now.'

He wasted no time heading into the men's locker room to get out of his dirty, stinking scrubs and shower just long enough to get the shampoo out of his hair. He was still perspiring, his face pink from scrubbing, when we met in the corridor and I handed him a set of keys. The dark red office Tahoe was parked inside the bay, and I climbed up into the passenger's seat, letting Ruffin drive.

'We're going to Cole's Restaurant Supply,' I told him as the big engine came to life. 'About two blocks west of Parham, on Broad. Just get us on 64 and take the West Broad exit. I'll show you from there.'

He pushed a remote control on the visor and the bay door rolled up heavily, letting in sunlight that I had not noticed all day. Rush hour traffic had just begun and would be awful in another half hour. Ruffin drove like an old woman, dark glasses on and hunched forward as he kept his speed about five miles an hour less than the limit.

'You can go a little faster,' I told him calmly. 'It closes at five, so we sort of need to hurry along.'

He stepped on the gas, lurching us forward, and fumbled in the ashtray for toll tokens.

'You mind if I ask you something, Dr Scarpetta?' he said.

'Please. Go right ahead.'

'It's kind of bizarre.'

He glanced in the rearview mirror again.

'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.