I take off the ill-fitting gloves he gave to me, and the huge shoe covers fitted with rubber bands. I drop them into a bright red biohazard trash bag.

I COLLECT MY GEAR, grabbing a scene case, what’s essentially a large tough plastic tool chest. I pick a box of purple nitrile gloves size small, several pairs of shoe covers with traction soles, and packaged hooded coveralls. I leave Rusty and Harold to their construction project, and follow the path, reentering the clearing.

I direct the flashlight downward and slightly ahead of me, careful I don’t step on any possible evidence even though Marino and I already have been over this area. I never stop looking down and around because it’s quite possible to walk past something several times without noticing it. So far I’ve seen nothing except the victim’s scattered personal effects that we’ve already marked with cones. The park is clean. Any scrap of litter I notice appears to have been out here for a while.

I’m aware of my breathing, of the sound of my feet on the gritty path, then the swishing as I walk through grass. I hear the steady rush of traffic on the bridge, the rumble of trucks and cars, and the whine of a motorcycle on John F. Kennedy Street. The air is hot and heavy. It doesn’t move. I slow down as a figure materializes in the darkness up ahead, striding toward me. The female officer I saw earlier approaches me with purpose.

“Doctor Scarpetta?” She’s keyed up, almost breathless, stopping several feet from me, directing her flashlight at the ground. “You ever notice how you find something when you’re not looking for it?” The shiny steel nameplate on her short-sleeved dark blue uniform shirt reads N. E. FLANDERS.

“It happens all the time,” I reply. “What did you find?”

“I was walking over to check on your guys, see if they needed anything.” She stares off in the direction of Rusty and Harold. “And I noticed something. It’s probably nothing but it’s a little strange. I think someone was sick in the bushes over there. I’m pretty sure it’s recent.” She turns and points behind her. “In the woods just off the path and not very far from the bike and the body.”

“Investigator Barclay mentioned that one of the girls might have been sick,” I reply, and I get the feeling Officer Flanders knows nothing about this because he didn’t bother sharing information. “He told me that when he first got here he saw one of them coming out of the bushes, and that it appeared she might have thrown up.”

“Someone did for sure.”

“I’m happy to look if that’s what you’re asking. I was headed that way.”

“What time frame are we talking about for getting some lights on out here?”