As I was getting my bag out of the trunk, I heard footsteps behind me and instantly wheeled around.

“Don’t shoot.” Marino held up his hands. It was cool enough out that I could see his breath.

“I wish you’d whistle or something when you walk up on me in the dark,” I said, slamming shut the trunk.

“Oh. And bad people don’t whistle. Only good guys like me do.” He grabbed my suitcase. “You want me to get that, too?”

He reached for the hard, black Pelican case I was taking with me to Memphis today, where it already had been numerous times before. Inside were human vertebrae and bone, evidence that could not leave me.

“This stays handcuffed to me,” I said, grabbing it and my briefcase. “I’m really sorry to put you out like this, Marino. Are you sure it’s necessary for you to come along?”

We had discussed this several times now, and I did not think he should accompany me. I did not see the point.

“Like I told you, some squirrel’s playing games with you,” he said. “Me, Wesley, Lucy, the entire friggin’ Bureau think I should come along. For one thing, you’ve made this exact same trip in every case, so it’s gotten predictable. And it’s been in the papers that you use this guy at UT.”

Parking lots were well lit and full of cars, and I could not help but notice people slowly driving past, looking for a place that wasn’t miles from the terminal. I wondered what else deadoc knew about me, and wished I had worn more than a trench coat. I was cold and had forgotten my gloves.

“Besides,” Marino added, “I’ve never been to Graceland.”

At first, I thought he was joking.

“It’s on my list,” he went on.

“What list?”

“The one I’ve had since I was a kid. Alaska, Las Vegas and the Grand Ole Opry,” he said as if the thought filled him with joy. “Don’t you have some place you would go if you could do anything you want?”

We were at the terminal now, and he held the door.

“Yes,” I said. “My own bed in my own home.”

I headed for the Delta desk, picked up our tickets and went upstairs. Typical for this hour, nothing was open except security. When I placed my hard case on the X-ray belt, I knew what was going to happen.

“Ma’am, you’re going to have to open that,” said the female guard.

I unlocked it and unsnapped the clasps. Inside, nestled in foam rubber, were labeled plastic bags containing the bones. The guard’s eyes widened.

“I’ve been through here before with this,” I patiently explained.

She started to reach for one of the plastic bags.

“Please don’t touch anything,” I warned. “This is evidence in a homicide.”

There were several other travelers behind me, now, and they were listening to every word I said.

“Well, I have to look at it.”

“You can’t.” I got out my brass medical examiner’s shield and showed it to her. “You touch anything here, and I’ll have to include you in the chain of evidence when this eventually goes to court. You’ll be subpoenaed.”