John Ames - Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, Vol. 128, No. 5. Whole No. 783, November 2006

Beau gave him a deadpan look. “I said she needs company.”

The cop shrugged.

Beau left. Over his shoulder he said, “I thought y’all were from Oregon. Not Disneyland.”

The next morning, Beau located the Wildlife and Fisheries agent who’d lent him the pirogue to visit Cruz’s apartment and Sad Lisa and asked if he could use a pirogue that evening. The agent jotted Beau a note authorizing the use. The man’s name was Prejean and he hailed from Abbeville, parish seat of Vermilion Parish, where Beau grew up.

“Give this to the supervisor,” he said, passing the note to Beau.

Six more drowning victims came in that afternoon and one murder victim shot three times in the back. No ID. Body pulled out of the Industrial Canal. Beau took a nap after their shift ended, setting his alarm for eleven P.M., and was surprised when Cruz, decked out as he was in all black, came into his cubicle and asked, “Where we going?”

“Um, I’ve got something to check out.”

She pulled out her Beretta and checked its ammo. “You planning to go without me, Raven?”

“How’d you find out about this?”

“I’m a detective,” she said smugly, holstering her weapon. “We’re headed for South Shore Harbor, or what?”

Damn, he wanted to do this alone. Didn’t want her anywhere near this. Not because she was a woman or even a rookie. He worked better alone. But as he looked at her, he knew if he dumped her it would tear her down and she’d been torn down enough. A partner was a partner and they’d face the danger together.

He nodded and checked his weapon and ammo clips. They took radios, which didn’t work, and their cell phones, working about as well. Beau secured three large flashlights from two National Guardsmen from St. Louis and talked two other National Guardsmen into taking them with their Humvee to the Bonnabel Boat Launch in Metairie, where Wildlife and Fisheries was set up.

On the way, the guardsman riding shotgun kept looking back at Cruz. She tried discouraging him with a yawn but the guy asked question after question, about NOPD, the high crime rate, Bourbon Street, Mardi Gras. Beau read his nametag: Smith. The other was Jones. Jesus. Milquetoast Midwesterners.

“I seen it on the Internet,” he said. “Women showing their boobs for carnival beads. We don’t get that in South Dakota.”

Cruz gave Beau a smirk as she asked them, “Y’all from South Dakota?”

“Sioux Falls.”

She pointed a thumb at Beau. “He’s half Sioux. Oglala. His mother lives on the Pine Tree Reservation. That near Sioux Falls?”

Pine Ridge Reservation, thought Beau, but correcting her would only encourage the conversation.

Smith stared at Beau and answered, “It’s on the other side of the state.”

Jones turned around and said, “You look half Sioux.” There was no malice in his voice but Beau knew his people and the white-eyes of both Dakotas didn’t mix much.

“Show them your knife,” Cruz said.

Beau, who’d assumed a deadpan, blank expression as soon as he’d heard these guys were from Dakota, gave his partner an unresponsive look.

“It’s obsidian,” she went on, sitting up now, getting a kick out of it. “Sharp as a razor.”

Beau turned his gaze to Smith, who nodded and turned around, and thankfully, the questions stopped.

The Wildlife and Fisheries supervisor read the note authorizing Beau to use a pirogue and said, “Y’all sure about this?”

Beau nodded. The man shrugged and said, “We got no radio for y’all. All the towers are down.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“We’ll need it back before daybreak.”

“No problem.” Beau thanked the man and moved to the pirogue. This one was aluminum, the outboard looked new and started immediately.

“You got a full tank,” the supervisor called out as they pulled away from the boat launch into Lake Pontchartrain, heading east to ride along the big levee that had protected most of Jefferson Parish. The levee had been topped by Katrina in Kenner and parts of Metairie, but most of JP had escaped the flood. Beau had heard eighty percent of New Orleans was now under water.

Moonlight reflected off the tiny waves in the lake and starlight added a faint hue to the entire scene. The levee loomed as a dark shadow to their right. Beau was so used to the smell of the salty water, it didn’t register until the scent changed as they approached the 17th Street Canal, where water from the city had mixed with the lake, giving the area an oily stench. Huge lights lit up the area around the canal entrance. Helicopters, lit up like Christmas trees, moved back and forth to the break in the levee to drop their sandbags.

Looking to his right, Beau couldn’t see the boatyard or Sad Lisa and wondered how Joe Boughten was getting along. Probably fine, so long as the beer held out. Veering to port, they skirted West End. It took awhile, moving carefully, to travel the next eleven miles to Lakefront Airport. There were some lights on there but the entire place was under water. South Shore Harbor, two miles beyond, was darker. Beau saw a cloud had moved in front of the moon.

“Remember, when we go ashore, stay with me,” he told her. “Partners never split up. No matter what happens. Don’t separate.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’m serious.” Beau wasn’t being overprotective. He’d learned years ago to stick with his partner. Whatever happens to one happens to both. Can’t protect each other if you split up, like they did on TV. Hell, just about everything cops did on TV shows was flat-ass wrong.

They reached the levee just beyond the harbor, the capsized casino looming overhead like a black mountain. Turning off the engine, they paddled along the levee. Thankfully the cloud moved and the moonlight came back. When he was studying the map, Beau figured there was one way to find out about this, one possible way.

Not five minutes from the casino, he spotted a boat pulled up to the levee and his heart raced. He pointed to it and Cruz nodded. It was a boat made for speed, a huge outboard motor, all painted black. Beau was surprised they’d left no guard. They were that confident. The boat was tied up to a large chunk of concrete. The base of the earthen levee was littered with huge blocks of concrete all the way to the water’s edge. He pulled the pirogue next to the speedboat.

He unfastened the boat and handed Cruz the rope. She tied it to the pirogue’s stern and they towed it about fifty yards, pulling it up on the levee between two larger concrete blocks. Then they paddled the pirogue an additional fifty yards to tie it up. They left the flashlights and walked the levee back to where the speedboat had been originally.

Moving to the top of the levee, they looked at the eastern portion of the city. The moon and starlight gave a silvery pallor to the dark water and the roofs were black spots. As far as Beau could see, the city was under water.

Beau and Cruz positioned themselves back down the levee, each behind chunks of concrete on either side of where the speedboat had been. Beau eased his weapon from its holster and rested it against his leg as he sat. He covered his right eye with his hand and used his left eye for five minutes, then switched. When he opened his right eye the light seemed brighter since his pupils had dilated in the blackness behind his hand. He focused his hearing away from the lake lapping against the levee and concentrated.

He ran it all through his mind again. Someone was dumping these bodies where they would be found. No other way to get here except by boat. They probably had one on the other side of the levee to navigate canals that were once streets, but this was how they got in and this was their exit point. He knew he was lucky to find their boat.