Blow Fly

"Where we're going is off the map," she says into her mike. "Lake Maurepas. We keep going in this direction, towards New Orleans, and hopefully don't end up at Lake Pontchartrain. We're not going that far, but if we do, we've overflown Lake Maurepas, and Blind River and Dutch Bayou. I don't think that will happen."

"Fly fast," Marino says. "I hate helicopters, including yours."

"On the go," she a

113

SWAMP MAMA'S IS A BAR that smells like beer, with old vinyl booths and a stained, unvarnished wooden floor.

While an LSU student waiter takes drink orders, Eric and Dr. Lanier disappear into the men's room.

"I tell you," Eric says as they push through the restroom's door. "I'd take her home with me any time. What about tonight?"

"She's not interested in you," Dr. Lanier says in a cadence that rises in pitch at the end of each sentence, causing his comments to sound like questions when they aren't. "Come on now."

"She's not married."

"Don't be messing with my consultants, especially this one. She'll eat you alive."

"Oh, please, God. Let her."

"Every time you get dumped by your latest girlfriend, you turn into a mental case."

They are conducting this conversation at the urinals, one of the few places on the planet where they don't mind having their backs to the door.

"I'm trying to figure out how to describe her," Eric says. "Not pretty like your wife. Stronger-featured than that, and to me there's nothing sexier than a really great body in a suit or maybe a uniform."

"You're goofy as a shit-eating fly. Don't go buzzing around her geography, Eric."

"I like those little glasses she wears, too. I wonder if she's dating anybody. That suit doesn't hide what's important, you notice?"

"No, I didn't notice." Dr. Lanier vigorously scrubs his hands in the sink, as if he's about to perform a heart transplant. "I'm blind. Don't forget to wash up."

Eric laughs as he moves to the sink, blasts on the hot water and pumps globs of pink soap into his palms. "No kidding, what if I ask her out, Boss? What harm could there be in that?"

"Maybe you should try her niece. She's closer to your age. Very attractive and smart as hell. She might be too much of a handful for you. She's also with a guy. But they didn't sleep in the same room."

"When do I meet her? Maybe tonight? You cook? Maybe we can go to Boutin's?"

"What's the matter with you?"

"I ate oysters last night."

Dr. Lanier snatches paper towels out of a metal dispenser on the wall. He places a short stack of them on the edge of Eric's sink. Walking out of the men's room, he watches Scarpetta, noticing that every detail of her is unusual, even the way she reaches for her coffee, slowly, with deliberation, exuding confidence and power that has absolutely nothing to do with drinking coffee. She is sca

"I recommend the gumbo," he says as his cell phone plays a thin, mechanical version of Beethoven's Fifth.

"Wish you'd set your ringer on something else," Eric comments. "Lanier," he answers. He listens for a minute, frowning, his eyes fixing on Eric. "I'm leaving right now."

He gets up from the booth and tosses his napkin on the table. "Come on," he says "We got a bad one."

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 ante

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? Chando

"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.