“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 naked women 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.”