Page 40 of Rowe

“No. I know that look. That's the look my second husband had when he realized I'd found his bass boat behind his girlfriend's trailer.” Rocco closed his eyes.

“Have you seen this exact woman?”

“Can't say I have.”

“Do you know Belle Fleur Medical Center?” Charlene brightened.

“Oh, everybody knows it.” Rocco's eyes opened.

“Where is it?” Charlene frowned.

“Well, that's different.”

By the second day, the search had developed its own mythology.

Men reported roads that changed names without warning. Bridges appeared on maps and not in reality. Other bridges existed in reality but not on maps. A deputy stopped one car because its left taillight was out, then kept the men forty minutes explaining the proper method of frying catfish.

Another vehicle followed a funeral convoy by mistake and did not realize it until they entered the churchyard. A third team paid a fisherman fifty dollars for directions and was told to follow a heron.

They followed it. The heron flew away. The fisherman kept the money.

Every few hours, Victor received calls.

“We're close.”

“Close to what?” There would be a pause.

“We're confirming that now.” Victor began throwing objects. First a glass. Then a phone. Then a desk lamp.

By evening, the counting room looked as though it had been searched by burglars with strong feelings about office furniture.

His lieutenant, Emilio Vescari, stood near the door and tried to make himself architecturally insignificant. Victor paced.

“Forty men.” Emilio nodded. “Forty. One woman.”

“Yes.”

“One medical center.”

“Yes.” Victor stopped.

“Then explain the mathematics.”

Emilio had survived thirty years in criminal enterprises by recognizing questions that were not questions.

“I can't.” Victor slapped another copy of Mara's photograph onto the table.

“She exists.”

“Yes.”

“The building exists.”

“Yes.”

“Then roads go there.” Emilio cautiously considered Louisiana.

“In principle.” Victor stared at him. Emilio regretted the phrase.