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 heavily rolled up, 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 calmly told him. “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 nervously began. “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.