"Looks like she’s smiling." Detective Rick Patterson snapped another picture.

"Have a heart," I said, "she’s somebody’s daughter." I jumped from the boat and sank to my knees in the marsh. Muddy water seeped into my shoes and a swarm of mosquitoes rose up from the marsh grass to greet me. I fought my way through the slush to where the grass grew in thicker clumps and followed them until I reached the edge of the gully where Rick stood. Sweat poured off me from the heat of the August sun. I was no stranger to the Southern Louisiana heat, but it was an unusually hot summer. It felt as though Hell’s doors had been opened.

"How long do you think she’s been here?" Rick asked.

I rolled up my sleeves and stared at the swollen body. She lay on her back in a shallow gully. The seams on her blue shorts and red T-shirt stretched to the point of ripping, the bones in her hands and face were exposed, and the smell … gut wrenching.

"I don’t know," I said. I held my breath and tried to get close to the body.

"Who found her?"

"A fisherman," Rick said. He pointed to where the gully merged with Bayou Lafourche. "My guess is she floated in through there when the tide was high and when the tide went out she was stranded. No sign of trauma. Looks like she drowned, then floated down the bayou until she got here."

The Water Patrol sergeant stumbled toward us dragging two long planks. I helped him drop them across the gully, one on each side of the body. I inched across the planks for a closer look. The woman’s hair was black. Her gray eyes bulged. The flesh around her mouth was gone, exposing a row of bright white teeth. Rick was right; it looked like she was smiling. "Any missing persons reports?" I asked.

"Yeah. Some guy, Joey Coleman, reported his wife missing a few days ago."

"She match the description?"

Rick nodded. "Down to her decomposed face."

I shot him a hard look. He smiled his apology.

"Really," he said. He slapped a mosquito that drank from his neck. "She matches the physical description. Even wearing the clothes her husband described."

"Name?"

"Cynthia."

I tilted the woman’s head and noticed a gold, loop earring in her right ear. The left one was missing. I moved to her feet and noticed her left foot was bare. A white sneaker that displayed a Nike emblem was on her right foot.

I looked up and down the bayou. There was nothing north of us for miles. To the South, the Leeville Bridge and a smattering of fishing camps. "How’d she get in the water?" I asked.

"Fell off a boat. Jumped off the bridge. Take your pick."

When we were done at the scene, we loaded her body into the boat. The hearse waited at Guidry’s Boat Landing.

It was still early morning when Rick and I found Joey Coleman at his house in Galliano, a small town thirty miles north of Leeville. He looked to be in his thirties and his callused hands told me he was a laborer. I showed him my badge. "Hi, I’m Detective Brandon Wolfe and this is my partner, Detective Rick Patterson. We need to speak with you concerning the missing persons report you filed—"

"Oh God, she’s dead!" His blue eyes widened. He turned to his table and sank into a chair.

"We don’t know for sure," I said, moving closer. "We need you to come to the morgue and look at the body."

He squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head. He cried out loud. I shifted my feet and looked at Rick. He rolled his eyes. I shook my head—he needed a lesson in compassion. When Joey looked up, his face was red and streaked with tears. He nodded and said in a quiet voice, "I’m ready."

Rick and I drove Joey to the morgue and Doctor Rachel Looper led us into the cold autopsy room. Before we entered I turned to Joey. "Prepare yourself. She’s been exposed to the elements."

The woman’s body was on its back on the stainless steel table. Her appearance was shocking and the room reeked of decayed flesh. Joey didn’t seem to notice. He rushed to the body and threw himself against it. He shook violently and uttered something that I couldn’t make out. After several minutes, I put my hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the room.

He nodded. "She’s wearing the same clothes she left for work in." He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. His hands trembled.

"When was that?"

"What?"

"When did she leave for work?"

"Friday morning. About six o’clock."

"Where’d she work?"

"Southside Restaurant. She was a waitress."

"That the last time you saw her?"

"Yeah." He sank to the curb and lowered his head to his knees.

I squatted beside him. "Have y’all been having problems?"

"We argued sometimes. Nothing serious."

"What was she doing in Leeville?"

Joey threw his hands in the air. "That’s the crazy thing. We never go to Leeville. We don’t even know anyone there. Unless…."

"Unless what?"

He shook his head. "No, no. Cynthia would never do anything like that."

"How can you be sure?"

Tears streamed down Joey’s face. "Because she loved me. You don’t do that to someone you love."

I called for a patrol cruiser to take Joey home. "I’ll need the names of her doctors, dentists, stuff like that." I said. "I need a statement from you, too. Tomorrow maybe. Meanwhile, try to get some rest."

Joey nodded and didn’t say another word until the cruiser arrived. Before he got inside, he grabbed my arm and stared into my eyes. "Find out who did this to my wife!"

When we returned to the autopsy room, Doctor Looper was busy on Cynthia Coleman’s body. She looked up and pulled the mask from her face. Her freckled nose and porcelain complexion made an attractive combination. "Didn’t y’all say her body was found in the bayou?"

I nodded.

"This woman drowned, but not in the bayou. There’s no soot or mud in her throat or lungs. Clean water killed her. My guess is a swimming pool."

"There’s not a swimming pool within ten miles of Leeville," I said.

"She was dumped," Rick said.

"No signs of trauma?" I asked.

"None that I can tell." Looper peeled off her gloves. "I think she was moved after she died. Now you have to find out why."

Rick and I drove to Southside Restaurant and spoke with Cynthia’s manager, Daisy O’Conner. Daisy’s blood shot eyes and swollen cheeks were a dead giveaway that she already knew about Cynthia’s death. She served us steaming coffee and settled down behind the counter.

"Cynthia was a sweetheart," she said. "Always happy. I’ll miss her for sure."

"She have problems with anyone?" I asked.

"No, everybody loved her."

"How about her husband?" Rick asked.

"He called a lot. I heard her arguing with him a few times."

"About what?"

"Well, he came here once when she was talking to a male customer. She was just being friendly, but he got mad. She left work early that day."

"The jealous type?" Rick asked.

"She never really said, but it seems so."

"Did he have reason?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Was she fooling around?"

Daisy shifted in her seat. "I don’t know, like, for a fact, but I think there was somebody."

"Who?"

"He’s a regular. Comes in about three times a week—evenings mostly. Cynthia always waited on him. She spent a lot of time at his table. He would wait outside for her sometimes. I saw them leave together once."

"Did she ever say anything about him?"

"Never. And I never asked."

"What’s his name?" Rick asked.

Daisy smiled and shook her head. "Funny thing, I never heard his name mentioned."

"When was the last time he was here?" Rick asked.

"Wednesday, I think."

"Was Cynthia working that night?"

"Yeah."

"Was that the last time you saw her?" I asked.

"No," Daisy said. "The last time I saw her was Thursday night when she left. She was supposed to work Friday evening, but she never showed."

I looked at Rick and he nodded. He and I had been partners too long—we could read each other’s mind. I leaned closer to Daisy and stared into her dark brown eyes. "We’re gonna need your help," I said.

"Anything," she said. The corners of her mouth twitched and her eyes glowed.

I pointed to a table in the corner of the dining area. "We’re gonna wait there. If our guy walks in, I want you to point him out to us. We’ll take care of the rest. Got it?"

She started to nod and her face suddenly fell. "I thought Cynthia drowned? You don’t think—"

I shook my head. "This is routine. Nothing to worry about." She didn’t look convinced.

We waited a couple of hours and were about to order dinner when a tall, thin man strode into the restaurant. His dress slacks and sports coat seemed out of place beneath his dark and weather-beaten face. He took his seat in one of the booths and my eyes found Daisy. She had just emerged from the kitchen. She froze in place and looked in our direction. When our eyes locked, she nodded and hurried back into the kitchen.

"That’s him," I told Rick. We made our way to his booth. I showed him my badge. "What’s your name?" I asked.

"Andrew Rowdy. Why?"

"We need to ask you some questions down at our office," I said.

Andrew looked surprised. "What about?"

"We’ll discuss that when we get there," Rick said. "You just come along so we can get this done with. Then you can get back to your business."

"Well, okay, but I’d still like to know what this is about."

I pointed to the door. "You’ll know soon enough."

When we were seated in the interview room, I offered Andrew a cigarette. He took it.

"Tell me about your relationship with Cynthia Coleman," I said.

His brow furrowed. "Who?"

I propped my elbows on the desk and leaned close to him. "Don’t play stupid. You know who."

Andrew licked his lips and shifted in his chair. "I don’t know anyone by that name." He fumbled in his pocket for a lighter.

"Andy, you’re fixing to cause yourself a world of grief. Tell me about your relationship with—"

"I don’t know who you’re talking about. And if I did, what business is it of yours?"

Rick jerked a Polaroid of Cynthia Coleman’s body from his pocket. I winced when he threw it on the desk. Andrew recoiled in horror. His cigarette spat from his mouth and fell to the floor.

"It became our business when we pulled her out the bayou." Rick’s voice was loud. "If this doesn’t refresh your memory, a punch in the head will!"

I put my hand on Rick’s outstretched arm. He jerked it from me and stormed out the room.

Andrew’s face was ashen. "Is that really her?"

I nodded. He buried his face in his hands and it was then that I noticed the gold band around his ring finger. I collected his cigarette from the floor. He stuffed it in his mouth and I held the lighter for him. He nodded his thanks. A couple of drags later he was calm.

"Want to tell me about your relationship with Cynthia?"

"I’m married with three kids. If my wife finds out about this..."

"She won’t." I slid the ashtray to him. "When did you last see Cynthia?"

He let out a long sigh. "Friday afternoon."

"Did you meet her somewhere?"

He shook his head. "She came to my camp. We were there—"

"Your camp? Where is it?"

"La 1. Leeville."

"Where in Leeville?"

"Just before the bridge. Why?"

I leaned across the desk. "Because Cynthia’s body was found in the bayou just north of the Leeville Bridge. Ain’t that a hell of a coincidence?"

Andrew’s mouth dropped. "Are you saying I did this?"

I shrugged. "What time did Cynthia leave your camp?"

Andrew’s eyes were desperate. "Uh, about 2:30 PM. Look, I swear I didn’t have anything to do with—"

"Do you own a swimming pool?"

"What’s that got to do with this?"

"Is that a yes or no?"

"I don’t have one."

"Has Cynthia ever been to your house?"

"Never. My wife stays home with our youngest."

"Do you mind if we search your camp and your car?"

Andrew hesitated. "Maybe I need to call a lawyer."

I stood up to walk out the room. Andrew reached out with his hand. "Wait," he said. "Where’re you going?"

"Oh, you suddenly want to talk again." I sat down. "Listen, did you have anything to do with Cynthia’s death?"

"No, I didn’t."

"Then you shouldn’t have a problem with us searching your camp. Am I right?"

Andrew thought for awhile, then nodded. "I just don’t want my wife knowing what’s up."

We arrived at Andrew Rowdy’s camp just after dark. It was a yellow, wooden cabin built high off the ground. It was only about a mile from where Cynthia Coleman’s body was discovered. A search of the interior yielded nothing. We moved outside and I walked toward the wharf. Andrew was on my heels. Rick wandered off through the tall marsh grass. His flashlight swept from left to right as he trudged along.

"What are y’all looking for?" Andrew asked when we reached the water’s edge.

"We’ll know when we find it." The moonlight was bright over the water and the marsh grass danced in the wind like a music-box monkey. The steady breeze kept the mosquitoes away—much to our relief. It all made for a pleasant night. I almost forgot my reason for being there, when Rick called out. He stared down at something in the marsh about a hundred yards north of Andrew’s camp. When I reached his side, he pointed to a shoe in the mud—a woman’s white Nike sneaker.

Andrew looked over my shoulder. "What’s that?"

"Wait for us by your camp," Rick said. When Andrew did as ordered, Rick continued. "See these drag marks and foot impressions? They start by the road and go to the water’s edge."

"She was dumped here." I looked at Andrew. He sat on the steps to his camp. "You think he did it?"

Rick shrugged. "If you killed her, would you dump her in your back yard?"

"You have a point. Let’s call it a night and talk to Joey tomorrow. He might be able to shed a little light on this case."

I met Rick at the squad room early the next morning. He handed me a phone message. "This mail carrier said she wants to talk to the detectives working Cynthia Coleman’s death."

We found the mail carrier at the Post Office loading her shoulder bag. Her blonde hair was drenched. She sighed when we walked up. "I can’t wait until winter."  

"I understand you might have some information for us," I began.

"It might be nothing." She sat on one of the nearby crates. "I was making my rounds on East 7th Street, Friday. When I put the mail in Mr. and Mrs. Coleman’s box, I could hear them arguing inside. Sounded pretty intense."

"What time?"

"About 3, maybe later."

I rubbed my head. "Are you sure it was Mr. and Mrs. Coleman?"

"I’m assuming it was. I don’t know their voices well enough to say I recognized them, but I figured it was them."

"Did you see them?" Rick asked.

She shook her head. "I didn’t even look at the house. I felt like I was eavesdropping."

"What were they saying?" I asked.

"I couldn’t make out their words."

Rick and I drove straight to Joey Coleman’s house. He invited us into the kitchen. I glanced around the room. Nothing out of place.

"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked.

"Sure." He pointed down a narrow hallway. Once inside, I locked the door. I searched the drawers and the closet, but didn’t find any answers. When I knew I’d been in there too long, I flushed the toilet and turned toward the door. I stopped. Something shiny caught my eye. It was swishing around the toilet bowl and got sucked in with the current. I thought it was gone, but when the water settled I caught a glimpse of it just inside the mouth of the toilet … just out of reach. I jerked a hanger from the closet. I worked it straight and made a hook on one end. I eased it into the toilet bowl and dragged the bottom until the shiny object came into view. When I saw it, my heart stopped. I pulled it out of the water and washed it in the sink, then dropped it in my pocket.

I rejoined Rick and Joey. I sat at the table. "Andy, go over what happened the day your wife disappeared."

A long frown tugged at his mouth and he lowered his head. "Cynthia had to work that day. I stayed home sick. I woke up around 12 and checked the mail. I noticed her car in the driveway. I checked around the house, but I couldn’t find her. I figured she came home and then left again with a friend. I felt sick. I went back to sleep. I must’ve slept forever, because when I woke up it was dark. She still wasn’t home." Joey stopped and shook his head. "I started to worry. I called 911 and made a report. I thought she ran off to her parents in Mississippi, but they said they hadn’t seen her."

"Has she ever done that before?" Rick asked.

"About a year ago we had some problems and she drove up there. She stayed there a couple days. I had called her parents back then, but they said they hadn’t seen her. I found out later that they lied."

I put my notebook down and stared at Joey. "When’s the last time you went to Leeville?"

Joey’s face tensed just a little and he blinked several times. "Uh, it’s been a while. A month or two, I guess."

I puckered my brows and tilted my head sideways. "You sure?"

Joey looked at Rick and then back at me. He hesitated and then nodded slowly.

"What did you and Cynthia argue about Friday?"

"Argue? We didn’t argue."

"Well, what did y’all talk about?"

"We didn’t talk. I didn’t even see her. When I woke up she was gone."

"You didn’t talk to her before she left for work?"

Joey shook his head. "I, I was sleeping."

I leaned across the table. "If you were sleeping, how the hell did you know what she was wearing?"

Joey stammered.

I decided to gamble a little. "Is that your welding truck in the driveway?"

He nodded.

"What would you say if I told you someone saw you in Leeville within the last couple days?"

Joey’s face fell and his tan faded.

"Have you ever tried to flush a penny down the toilet?" I asked.

Unable to speak, Joey just shook his head.

"You can’t do it. For some reason, the damn thing just won’t go down." I pulled the shiny object from my pocket and tossed it on the table.

Joey’s chin began to tremble when he saw the earring and one of his legs shook uncontrollably. I moved around the table and put my hand on his shoulder. "It’s all right," I said in a quiet voice. "We understand how you feel. I know you loved Cynthia—I can tell that by looking around this house. You gave her everything, and you took such good care of her, but that wasn’t enough, was it? She just couldn’t be pleased. You were so good to her and she betrayed you. You couldn’t understand why she would do that—how she could do it. You were confused. You didn’t mean to hurt her, you only wanted answers. Sure, you were upset … you loved her! Love, Joey, love made you do it. You did it for—"

"Oh, my God!" Joey began crying like a newborn. He slammed his head onto the table. "I’m so sorry, baby! I’m so sorry!"

I waited until his crying subsided somewhat and said, "Tell us what happened. Help us understand exactly how you feel."

Joey lifted his head. He looked pitiful. "She was cheating on me," he whispered. "I, I followed her to that, to that camp. She thought I was working. I’ve been knowing something was up."

"Did you confront her?" I asked.

"Not at the camp. I parked across the street and waited until she left. She never saw me. I followed her home. I waited a few minutes before going inside. I wanted to calm down. I thought I was calm, but…."

"Go on," I said in a soothing voice.

"I found her in the bathroom. She was still dressed, but she was running water for a bath. She freaked out when she saw me. That look on her face … she knew she was busted!" He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I don’t know what happened after that. I just snapped. I remember holding her head under the water. It felt like a dream. She struggled some. She tried to push my hands off her head, but I was too strong. Then she stopped moving and I realized what I had done. I got scared."

"What did you do then?" I asked.

"I waited until dark. Put Cynthia in the back of my truck. I drove to Leeville. I threw her in the bayou next to that guy’s camp. I wanted the cops—y’all—to think he did it."

"What’s with the earring?" Rick asked.

Joey sighed. "I found it on the floor in the bathroom just after I called 911. I knew the deputy would be here any minute, so I threw it in the toilet and flushed it. I thought it went down, but…."

Joey didn’t say a word on the ride to the parish jail. When we dropped him off he turned away from the deputy who was rolling his fingerprints. "Detective."

I stopped and looked into his mournful eyes.

"I really meant what I said out there by the patrol car."

I tilted my head and tried to think back.

"About you finding out who did that to my wife," he said. "I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t have the courage. Thanks for helping me get it off my chest. I would’ve died otherwise."

I just nodded and glanced at Rick, who said, "That would’ve been a good—"

"Partner," I said. "Ready for lunch?"

Rick glared at Joey Coleman for what seemed like forever. He finally shook his head and stormed out of the room. I followed him to the parking lot. He shook his fist in the air.

"I’d like ten minutes alone with him."

"It’s not his fault," I said, trying to stifle a smile. "Love made him do it."

Rick was livid. "Love don’t kill!"