“Wait a minute!”

“Hey! You can’t do that!”

Their faces were disbelieving as I got out. Not bothering with an umbrella, I ran for the door and unlocked it.

“Hey!” the protests continued. “We can’t get out!”

Inside the bay, water was beaded on the oversized maroon station wagon and dripping to the concrete floor. I opened another door and walked into the corridor, looking around to see who else was here. White tile was spotless, the air heavy with industrial strength deodorizer, and as I walked to the morgue office, the massive stainless steel refrigerator door sucked open.

“Good morning!” Wingo said with a surprised grin. “You’re early.”

“Thanks for bringing the wagon in out of the rain,” I said.

“No more cases coming in that I know of, so I didn’t think it would hurt to stick it in the bay.”

“Did you see anybody out there when you drove it?” I asked.

He looked puzzled. “No. But that was about an hour ago.”

Wingo was the only member of my staff who routinely got to the office earlier than I did. He was lithe and attractive, with pretty features and shaggy dark hair. An obsessive-compulsive, he ironed his scrubs, washed the wagon and anatomical vans several times a week, and was forever polishing stainless steel until it shone like mirrors. His job was to run the morgue, and he did so with the precision and pride of a military leader. Carelessness and callousness were not allowed down here by either one of us, and no one dared dispose of hazardous waste or make sophomoric jokes about the dead.

“The landfill case is still in the fridge,” Wingo said to me. “Do you want me to bring it out?”

“Let’s wait until after staff meeting,” I said. “The longer she’s refrigerated, the better, and I don’t want anybody wandering in here to look.”

“That won’t happen,” he said as if I had just implied he might be delinquent in his duties.

“I don’t even want anybody on the staff wandering in out of curiosity.”

“Oh.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “I just don’t understand people.”

He never would, because he was not like them.

“I’ll let you alert security,” I said. “The media’s already in the parking lot.”

“You got to be kidding. This early?”

“Channel Eight was waiting for me when I pulled in.” I handed him the key to my car. “Give them a few minutes, and then let them go.”

“What do you mean, let them go?” He frowned, staring at the remote control key in his hand.

“They’re in my parking place.” I headed toward the elevator.

“They’re what?”

“You’ll see.” I boarded. “If they so much as touch my car, I’ll charge them with trespassing and malicious property damage. Then I’m going to have the A.G.’s office call their station’s general manager. I might sue.” I smiled at him through shutting doors.

My office was on the second floor of the Consolidated Lab Building, which had been constructed in the seventies and was soon to be abandoned by us and the scientists upstairs. At last, we were to get spacious quarters in the city’s new Biotech Park just off Broad Street, not far from the Marriott and the Coliseum.