“How are we doing?” The nurse appeared, breathing HEPA-filtered air.

“Don’t you get hot in that thing?” I pointed my fork.

“I guess I would if I stayed in it for long periods of time.” She was carrying a digital thermometer. “All right. This will just take a minute.”

She inserted it into my mouth while I stared up at the TV. Now a doctor was being interviewed about this year’s flu shot, and I shut my eyes until a beep said my time was up.

“Ninety-seven point nine. Your temperature’s actually a little low. Ninety-eight point six is normal.”

She wrapped a BP cuff around my upper arm.

“And your blood pressure.” She vigorously squeezed the bulb, pumping air. “One hundred and eight over seventy. I believe you’re almost dead.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. “I need a phone. No one knows where I am.”

“What you need is to get lots of rest.” Now she had out the stethoscope, which she pushed down the front of my scrubs. “Deep breaths.” It was cold everywhere she moved it, her face serious as she listened. “Again.” Then she moved it to my back as we continued the routine.

“Could you please have Colonel Fujitsubo stop by.”

“I’ll certainly leave him a message. Now you cover up.” She pulled the blanket up to my chin. “Let me get you some more water. How’s your headache?”

“Fine,” I lied. “You really must ask him to stop by.”

“I’m sure he will when he can. I know he’s very busy.”

Her patronizing manner was beginning to really get to me. “Excuse me,” I said in a demanding tone. “I have repeatedly requested a phone, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m in prison.”

“You know what they call this place,” she sang. “And usually, patients don’t get . . .”

“I don’t care what they usually get.” I stared hard at her as her demeanor changed.

“You just calm right down.” Eyes glinted behind clear plastic, her voice raised.

“Isn’t she an awful patient? Doctors always are,” Colonel Fujitsubo said as he strode into the room.

The nurse looked at him, stunned. Then her resentful eyes fixed on me as if she did not believe it could possibly be true.

“One phone coming up,” he went on as he carried in a fresh orange suit, which he laid on the foot of the bed. “Beth, I guess you’ve been introduced to Dr. Scarpetta, chief medical examiner of Virginia and consulting forensic pathologist for the FBI?” To me, he added, “Put this on. I’ll be back for you in two minutes.”

The nurse frowned as she picked up my tray. She cleared her throat, embarrassed.

“You didn’t do a very good job on your eggs,” she said.

She set the tray in the pass box. I was pulling on the suit.

“Typically, once you’re in here, they don’t let you out.” She shut the drawer.

“This isn’t typical.” I tied down the hood and turned on my air. “The case this morning is mine.”