As I pull my door shut and set my briefcase by my feet, I ask Marino what else he instructed my two autopsy technicians Rusty and Harold to bring to the scene.

“And have they already left?” I pull my shoulder harness across me and the steel tongue snaps into the buckle that as usual I had to dig out of the crack in the seat. “Because I need protective clothing and a scene case. I don’t have anything with me, not even a pair of gloves. And there’s no time for me to stop by my office.”

“You need to relax,” Marino says. “I’ve got it covered.”

He looks the way he did when I saw him last, except he’s taken off his tie. I see it on the backseat, sloppily coiled like a polyester snake.

“Please assure me we’re keeping the lights off.” It’s not possible I’m going to relax. “We turn on portable floodlights and we may as well send out invitations and a press release.”

“Remember where I used to work? Remember who used to take care of all that and still knows how?” He checks his mirrors. “I know the drill.” His eyes are darting and he’s sweating. “I guess Benton’s staying?” Marino stares at the Faculty Club, boxy and dignified in the distant dark.

A pale gold light fills the tall twelve-paned windows, and I can see inside the drawing room, the masculine leather furniture, the sparkling chandelier, the gleaming baby grand, and I look for Benton. But there’s no way he’s lingering in front of windows for all the world to see.

“I’m not sure what he’s doing,” I reply. “He was on the phone with Washington when I was leaving.”

“Let me guess,” Marino says, and right off he’s assuming Benton’s call is related to what’s just happened in John F. Kennedy Park.

“I don’t have any idea,” I reply as we pull away from the curb. “I don’t know what’s going on but he did mention earlier that the terror alert is elevated.”

Marino turns on his emergency lights but not his siren. “Something’s going on, Doc. I’m just telling you. And he’s not passing along the info because that’s what the FBI does, doesn’t matter that you’re married to them.”

“I’m not married to the FBI. I’m married to Benton.” I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.