I began the incision.
“You just don’t know it,” he added.
“Then why don’t you tell me what these big problems are, Chuck?” I said. I reflected back the dead man’s skin, down to the subcutaneous layer. Ruffin watched me clamp cut edges together to keep the skin taut. I stopped what I was doing and looked across the table at him.
“Go on,” I said. “Tell me:’
“I don’t think it’s my place to tell you;’ Ruffin said, and I saw something in his eyes that unnerved me. “Look, Dr. Scarpetta. I know I haven’t been Johnny-on-the-spot. I know I’ve slipped off to go to job interviews and maybe just haven’t been accountable like I should be. And I don’t get along with Marino. I admit all of it. But I’ll tell you what everyone else won’t if you promise not to punish me for it.”
“I don’t punish people for being honest,” I said, angry that he would even suggest such a thing.
He shrugged, and I caught a glint of self-satisfaction because he had rattled me and he knew it.
“I don’t punish, period,” I said. “I simply expect people to do what’s right, and if they don’t, they punish themselves. If you don’t last in this job, it’s your fault.”
“Maybe I used the wrong word;” he replied, moving back to the counter and leaning against it, arms crossed. “I don’t express myself as good as you do, that’s for sure. I just don’t want you to get upset with me for shooting straight with you. Okay?”
I didn’t answer him.
“Well, everybody’s sorry about what happened last year,” he began his opening argument. “No one can imagine how you’ve dealt with it. Really. I mean, if someone did that to my wife, I don’t know what I would do, especially if it was something like what happened to Special Agent Wesley.”
Ruffin had always referred to Benton as “special agent;” which I’d always thought was rather silly. If anyone had been unpretentious, if not embarrassed by the title, it was Benton. But as I pondered Marino’s derisive remarks about Ruffin’s infatuation with law enforcement, I gained more understanding. My wispy, weak morgue supervisor had probably been in awe of a veteran FBI agent, especially one who was a psychological profiler, and it occurred to me that Ruffin’s good behavior in those earlier days might have had more to do with Benton than me.
“It affected all of us, too,” Ruffin was saying. “He used to come down here, you know, and order deli trays, pizza, joke around with us and shoot the breeze. A big, important guy like him not having any kind of attitude.. It blew my mind.”
The pieces of Ruffin’s past slipped into place, too. His father had died in an automobile accident when Ruffin was a child. He had been raised by his mother, a formidable, intelligent woman who taught school. His wife was very strong, too, and now he worked for me. I always found it fascinating that so many people returned to the scenes of their childhood crimes, repeatedly seeking out the same villain, which in this case was a female authority figure like me.
“Everybody’s been treating you like we’re walking on eggshells,” Ruffin kept on making his case. “So no one’s said anything when you don’t pay attention, and all kinds of things are going on that you don’t have a clue about.”
“Like what?” I asked as I carefully turned a corner with the scalpel.
“Well, for one thing, we got a damn thief in the building,” he retorted. “And I’m betting it’s someone on our staff. It’s been going on for weeks and you haven’t done a thing about it.”
“I didn’t know about it until recently.”
“Proving my point.”
“That’s ridiculous. Rose doesn’t withhold information from me, ” I said.
“People treat her with kid gloves, too. Face it, Dr. Scarpetta. To the office, she’s your snitch. People don’t confide in her.”
I willed myself to concentrate as his words stung my feelings and my pride. I continued reflecting back tissue, careful not to buttonhole it or cut through it. Ruffin waited for my reaction. I met his eyes.