He would have discussed the case with whoever answered. After routine questions were asked and an electronic report was created, one of my medical examiners on call would have been contacted. Most likely that doctor would have responded but only after a truck and all needed supplies and personnel were deployed first.

If I ended up at the scene at all, it wouldn’t be now. It might not be for another hour at least. I probably could have finished my dinner with Benton first, and if I’d had enough wine I wouldn’t have shown up at all. I wasn’t supposed to be working tonight. I was to be with my husband and go pick up my sister. But Marino bypassed all of the usual protocols and checks and balances just as he always does.

I won’t tell him that I don’t really mind. When he calls I know it’s serious. We have a routine that’s familiar and comfortably rutted like an old wagon trail. I watch him lift open the tailgate, and of course no light goes on. I may as well be staring into a cave.

“I’VE GOT GLOVES, COVERALLS,” he says halfheartedly because he knows I can’t wear anything that might fit him. “And the usual stuff, except no thermometer. I should just toss one in so you have it if you need it. I keep meaning to get around to it.”

“We’re going to have to wait,” I say it again, and I have no doubt he won’t be the only one who’s about to get impatient.

Everyone will be champing at the bit to collect whatever forensic treasures might be out here. Every cop—and Marino most of all—will want to know what happened to the victim. I can’t begin to answer that until I examine her, and I can’t do that until I deem it safe. Right now it’s not.

Turning on the lights at this exposed location would be the same as doing it inside a glass house. Anyone around us will have a ringside seat, and as I spell this out, Marino agrees reluctantly.

“We’ll start with photographs. We’ll get the lay of the land,” I say as we continue to discuss what makes the most sense. “I’m sure the truck will be here any minute.”

“But it will be another good twenty or thirty minutes after that with all the setting up to be done.” Marino is halfway inside the back of his SUV, using his phone flashlight to illuminate the precisely arranged and packed crime-scene accoutrements and equipment. “And it’s going to be hard as hell to see in the meantime.” His voice is muffled inside as he roots around. “And my damn night vision’s not what it used to be either. It’s like everything turns to shit the minute you hit forty.”