Blow Fly

114

THE TERRAIN BETWEEN the Baton Rouge airport and Lake Maurepas is a series of swamps, waterways and creeks that make Lucy nervous.

Even with pop-out floats, she would worry about a forced landing. How anyone would get to them is a valid question, and she doesn't want to imagine the reptiles that lurk in those dark waters, on mucky shores and in the shadows of moss-draped trees. In the baggage compartment, she always carries an emergency kit that includes handheld radios, water, protein bars and insect repellent.

Camouflaged in thick trees are duck blinds and an occasional fishing shack. She flies lower and slower but sees no signs of human occupation. In some areas, only a very small boat, perhaps an airboat, could work its way through narrow waterways that from the air look like veins reticulating through saw grass.

"See any gators down there?" she asks Marino.

"I ain't looking for gators. And there ain't nothing down there."

As creeks move into rivers and Lucy spots a faint blue line on the horizon, they begin to reach civilization. The day is balmy and partly cloudy, good weather for being on the water. A lot of boats are out, and fishermen and people on pleasure crafts stare up at the helicopter. Lucy is careful not to fly too low, avoiding any appearance of surveillance. She's just a pilot heading somewhere. Banking east, she starts looking for Blind River. She tells Marino to do the same.

"Why do you think they call it Blind River?" he says. " 'Cause you can't see it, that's why."

The farther east they go, the more fishing camps they see, most of them well cared for, with boats docked in front. Lucy spots a canal, turns around and follows its convolutions south as it gets wider and turns into a river that empties into the lake. Numerous foreboding canals branch out from the river, and she circles, getting lower, finding not a single fishing shack.

"If Talley baited that hook with the arm," Lucy says, "then I have a feeling he's hiding out not too far from here."

"Well, if you're right and keep circling, he damn well is going to see us," Marino replies.

They head back, keeping up their scan, mostly concentrating on antennas and careful not to overfly petrochemical plants and find themselves intercepted. Lucy has spotted several bright orange Dauphine helicopters, the sort usually flown by the Coast Guard, which is now part of homeland security and constantly on alert for terrorists. Flying over a petrochemical plant is not a wise move these days. Flying into a thousand-foot antenna is worse. Lucy has pushed back the airspeed to ninety knots, in no hurry to return to the airport as she debates if now is the time to tell Marino the truth.

She won't be able to look at him while airborne and keeping alert to avoid coming anywhere near obstacles. Her stomach tightens and her pulse speeds up.

"I don't know how to say this," she begins.

"You don't have to say nothing," he replies. "I already know."

"How?" She is baffled and scared.

"I'm a detective, remember? Chandonne sent two sealed letters, one to you, one to me, both of them inside NAJ envelopes. You never let me read yours. Said it was a lot of deranged crap. I could've pushed, but something told me not to. Then next thing, you've disappeared, you and Rudy, and a couple days later I find out Rocco's dead. All I ask is if Chan-donne told you where to find him and gave you enough info to get Rocco pinned with a Red Notice."

"Yes. I didn't show you the letter. I was afraid you'd go to Poland yourself."

"And do what?"

"What do you think? If you found him inside that hotel room and finally confronted him, saw him up close for what he was, what would you have done?"

"Probably the same thing you and Rudy did," Marino says.

"I can tell you all the details."

"I don't want to know."

"Maybe you really couldn't have done it yourself, Marino. Thank God you didn't. He was your son," she tells him. "And in some very hidden part of your heart, you loved him."

"What hurts worse than him being dead is I never did," he says.