Blow Fly

106

ALBERT DARD STARES DOWN AT the dirty sidewalk, focusing on dried gum, gray and shaped like a small cookie.

"Why were you in Houston?" Scarpetta asks him.

"To change planes." He begins to sob.

"But where were you first, where did you leave from?"

"Miami," he replies, increasingly distraught. "I was with my uncle for spring break, and then my aunt said I had to come home right away."

"When did she say that?" Having given up on his aunt, Scarpetta takes Albert's hand, and they walk back inside the baggage area, headed for the Hertz rental car desk.

"This morning," he replies. "I think I did something bad. Uncle Walt walked into my bedroom and woke me up. He said I was going home. I was supposed to be with him another three days."

Scarpetta squats and looks him in the eyes, gently holding his shoulders. "Albert, where's your mother?"

He bites his bottom lip. "With the angels," he says. "My aunt says they're around us all the time. I've never seen even one."

"And your father?"

"Away. He's very important."

"Tell me your home phone number, and let's find out what's going on," she says. "Or maybe you have your aunt's cell number? And what is her name?"

Albert tells her his aunt's name and his home number. Scarpetta calls. After several rings, a woman answers.

"Is Mrs. Guidon in, please?" Scarpetta asks as Albert holds her hand tightly.

"May I ask who's calling?" The woman is polite, her accent French.

"I'm not someone she knows, but I'm with her nephew, Albert. At the airport. It appears there is no one to pick him up." She hands the phone to Albert. "Here," she says to him.

"Who is it?" he asks, oddly. After a pause, he says, "Because you're not here, that's why. I don't know her name." He scowls, his tone snippy.

Scarpetta does not volunteer her name to him. Albert lets go of her hand and balls up his fist. He begins smacking it against his thigh, punching himself.

The woman talks fast, her voice audible but unintelligible. She and Albert are speaking French, and Scarpetta stares at Albert with renewed bewilderment as he angrily ends the call and returns the cell phone to her.

"Where did you learn French?" she asks him.

"My mom," he gloomily says. "Aunt Eveline makes me talk it a lot." Tears fill his eyes again.

"I tell you what, let's get my rental car, and I'll take you home. You can show me where you live, can't you?"

He wipes his eyes and nods his head.