“I don’t need convincing.”
Hearing the dejection in John’s voice, Mitch asked, “What now?”
“You know Lear. Dogged. Meticulous. He’s been poring over maps of Bayou Coeur, including one that was hand-drawn.”
“By who?”
“A relative of his who fishes it. Anyway, he found a tiny inlet that wasn’t on any of the other maps. Darcy sent a team to check it out. Sure enough, the investigators found fresh scrapes on a clump of cypress knees, like the kind a hull would make if a boat was dragged across them into the channel.”
“That’s great! That’s a starting point.”
“It’s a dead end. The area had been swept clean.”
“What?”
“Darcy had personnel combing it on foot and shoulder-to-shoulder. What soon became obvious was that it was too clean. Hardly even sticks on the ground. The culprits had cleared the area from the waterline all the way back to the road.”
“They covered their tracks.”
“Theyeliminatedthem.”
“Which is why I brought Dylan here and why I’m keeping her.”
“Till Malone makes a move.”
“Then we’ll see.”
“Okay. There’s gumbo in the freezer. I think some steaks. Help yourselves to whatever you can scrounge.”
“Thanks. I’m also taking a new burner out of the drawer. This one’s probably outlived its healthy life span.”
“Text me the number.”
“Roger that.”
“Mitch?”
“Yeah?”
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Beside him was a makeshift ramp he’d constructed out of books. Andrew was rolling his cars down it, delighting when they crashed at the bottom.
Dylan braced herself for an argument. “I need to call my answering service.” When she saw that Mitch was about to protest, she raised her hand to stop him. “A patient may be quickly unraveling to a dangerous level.”
“Do you have patients that whacked out?”
“‘Whacked out’ isn’t a clinical term, but I do have several with severe depression. I need to check to see if anyone is in crisis.”
“Sure.” He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and extended a phone up to her. It was one that he’d only recently taken from the drawer in the sideboard.
“My service may not answer an unidentified caller. Please put the battery in my phone.”
She could tell he didn’t like it, but he came to his feet, told Andrew that he would be right back, and went into the guest bedroom, returning with her phone. “The battery is low, but you should have enough juice.”
“Thank you.”
She typed in her passcode and checked her texts. She hadtwo, but neither was of any consequence. She also had one missed call. From Roland.
First, she called her answering service. Other than John Bowie’s attempt to reach her early that morning, no one had called for her. Which came as a great relief.
