Like a Chinese puzzle, my package was boxes within boxes containing BioPacks. Inside these were Bio-tubes of Lila Pruitt’s liver, spleen and spinal fluid, protected by fiberboard shields, and bubble and corrugated wrap. All of it was packed in dry ice with INFECTIOUS SUBSTANCE and DANGER stickers warning anyone who got beyond the first layer. Obviously, I could not let my cargo out of sight. In addition to its well-proven hazard, it could be evidence should it turn out that Pruitt was a homicide. At the Baltimore-Washington International airport, I found a pay phone and called Rose.

“USAMRIID has my medical bag and microscope.” I didn’t waste time. “See what you can do about getting them shipped overnight. I’m at BWI, en route to CDC.”

“I’ve been trying to page you,” she said.

“Maybe they can return that to me, too.” I tried to remember what else I was missing. “And the phone,” I added.

“You got a report back that you might find interesting. The animal hairs that turned up with the torso. Rabbit and monkey hairs.”

“Bizarre,” was the only thing I could think to say.

“I hate to tell you this news. The media’s been calling about the Carrie Grethen case. Apparently, something’s been leaked.”

“Goddamn it!” I exclaimed as I thought about Ring.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“How about calling Benton. I don’t know what to say. I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“You sound that way.”

I looked at my watch. “Rose, I’ve got to go fight my way on a plane. They didn’t want to let me through X-ray, and I know what’s going to happen when I try to board with this thing.”

It was exactly what I expected. When I walked into the cabin, a flight attendant took one look and smiled.

“Here.” She held out her hands. “Let me put this in baggage for you.”

“It’s got to stay with me,” I said.

“It won’t fit in an overhead rack or under your seat, ma’am.” Her smile got tight, the line behind me getting longer.

“Can we discuss this out of traffic?” I said, moving into the kitchen.

She was right next to me, hovering close. “Ma’am, this flight is overbooked. We simply don’t have room.”

“Here,” I said, showing her the paperwork.

Her eyes scanned the red-bordered Declaration For Dangerous Goods, and froze halfway down a column where it was typed that I was transporting “Infectious substances affecting humans.” She glanced nervously around the kitchen and moved me closer to the rest rooms.

“Regulations require that only a trained person can handle dangerous goods like these,” I reasonably explained. “So it has to stay with me.”

“What is it?” she whispered, her eyes round.

“Autopsy specimens.”

“Mother of God.”

She immediately grabbed her seating chart. Soon after, I was escorted to an empty row in first class, near the back.

“Just put it on the seat next to you. It’s not going to leak or anything?” she asked.