Enduring one thousand four hundred and forty-five miles on an airplane from Portland International Jetport to Louis Armstrong International, New Orleans, was Po’s idea of a personal nightmare. He told Tess so, and offered to drive them, but she couldn’t spare the two or three days a road trip would take, not with the clock ticking against them. It wasn’t that Po feared flying – Tess thought it was more a fear of crashing – but that there was something totally unnatural to him concerning the notion of speeding five hundred miles per hour through space, entombed in a metal cigar with two highly flammable gas tanks strapped to the sides. Tess had cajoled him aboard, pointing out that – statistically – air flight was far safer than driving. Po said he’d rather not end up a statistic, but he relented. No, he endured. Most of the time they were in flight, he sat silently, eyes closed, hands gripping the armrests on his chair. Tess attempted to engage him in conversation, but it was as if he thought that by opening his mouth he might disrupt the plane’s aerodynamic integrity, so he kept it firmly shut – most of the time. It didn’t help that they hit stormy weather over Virginia and the ride became bumpy. Po didn’t strike her as a religious man, but he suddenly found the power of prayer, if she read the silent writhing of his lips correctly. She found his aversion to flying surprising. He’d admitted to killing two men, and had survived twelve years in one of the nation’s most brutal prisons, and looked like a man who’d spit in the face of the devil himself, and yet he was a sweating, shaking wreck when it came to boarding a plane. Perhaps it was because he didn’t feel in control of his own fate; he was the type to fight, and what chance was there of doing that if plummeting to earth from thirty thousand feet? Phobias were illogical fears, so what could she say? Show her a spider and she’d run a mile shrieking, and yet she’d never felt afraid of any human antagonist. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. Otherwise, why would she have gone looking for a companion like Po? Simple: the person responsible for the brutality performed on Mitchel Delaney demanded a degree of fear from anyone with sense.
While Po sweated through the flight, she felt chilly, and it had nothing to do with the air conditioning that Po had turned to full. Once they were airborne and the seat belt light extinguished, she’d pulled out her iPad and gone over her case notes for probably the tenth time. Thankfully she had the window seat, while Po blocked any view from those in the seats opposite, so it was unlikely anyone would accidentally spot what was displayed on the screen, and be shocked by its vulgarity. Actually, the image wasn’t so much vulgar as debased. The picture she studied now was one taken during an autopsy, and displayed the lower half of a male murder victim. To anyone the bristling hairs, and the thickly muscled legs, should identify the corpse’s gender, because there was no clue in the genitals. More aptly, there was no hint in the area where the genitals once were. Mitchel Delaney had been worse than emasculated: his penis and testicles had been cut away, leaving only a gaping wound from his exposed pubis bone and deep between his legs. Tess knew from other details obtained from the ME’s report that those missing parts had been forced down Delaney’s throat, the violence of the act the actual cause of death. Such had been Mitch’s brutal treatment, his jaw had dislocated as he fought against his murderer, and abrasions on his tongue and the roof of his mouth indicated that some kind of tool had forced the dismembered parts down inside his trachea. Afterwards, Delaney’s lips had been stitched together with steel staples; his murderer was determined those parts stayed where all his efforts had placed them.
‘Are you looking at those damn photographs again?’ Po sounded strained. He worked his mouth, swallowing a build-up of saliva.
Tess swiped the photo off screen, but it was a wasted attempt at hiding the horrible picture. Po had already seen it: Tess had showed him it, and others from the autopsy report, when she’d explained what her job entailed and why it was so important that Crawford Wynne be returned to Maine. She hoped to gauge Po’s reaction to the depravity before he committed to acting as her guide in the Deep South. He’d squinted at that particular photograph, sucked air through his teeth, and said, ‘Is that what was on the cards for your ex if he didn’t book out?’ His comment shouldn’t have been funny, but his delivery had elicited a laugh from her, before she realized she hadn’t even mentioned Jim Neely to him yet and she’d clamped down again. But he’d wangled details about her ex-fiancé from her soon enough.
If she didn’t know otherwise, she’d believe Po had been a cop in his former life. He had that way of eliciting information invaluable to the best of detectives; teasing forth the answers he sought via indirect and seemingly unrelated questions, paired with periods of silence the interviewee felt compelled to fill. While waiting at the boarding gate he’d brought coffee and sat next to her. He held hers out, but in a way that she had to reach for it, and as he passed it over he touched the pale skin on her finger.
‘You lose something, Tess?’
‘No,’ she said, eyeing him steadily. ‘I threw the damn thing away.’
Po sniffed, sitting back in his chair as if uninterested.
Tess looked at her hand, frowning.
‘Something to do with your injury?’ Po said.
‘Kind of, I guess. But I don’t want to talk about it.’
Po kept his peace.
‘OK. So I used to be engaged. But now I’m not. Are you satisfied?’
‘If I’m accompanying you to Louisiana it’s best that there’s no jealous boyfriend lurking in the wings,’ Po said. ‘We don’t want our relationship to be misconstrued.’
She was a pretty, educated, and groomed young woman; he was fifteen years her senior, a rugged, unkempt man with oil under his fingernails, an ex-con. Who’d confuse their association for anything but a professional one? Unexpectedly the very notion caused a flutter in her stomach.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she said a tad too forcefully.
‘People usually wear an engagement ring on their left hand,’ Po said, unperturbed by her spikey response. ‘Why was it on your right? You a rebel at heart?’
Tess held up her left hand, wiggling the ring finger. ‘I was saving this exclusively for a wedding band. Looks like it keeps its exclusivity for a while yet.’
‘So there’s no new guy in your life?’
‘Why? If you’re thinking of proposing … don’t.’
‘Never crossed my mind.’
Tess shook her head. Her right foot bounced up and down, and she fought to control it. She checked the boarding information above the gate, and there was still time to kill.
‘So your ex was a jerk?’
‘You’ve got that right, and then some.’
‘He left you?’
‘Give me some credit.’
‘You said it was “kind of” due to your injury?’
‘You’re freakin’ persistent, aren’t you?’
‘Just trying to keep my mind off flying.’
‘Jesus, the sooner we’re on the plane the better.’ Her foot still bounced. She forced it flat, concentrated on her coffee. Her foot began jumping again. ‘OK! Why the hell not?’ She held out her damaged wrist. ‘When Jim showed up at hospital he tried to lay a guilt trip on me, said something like if I’d stayed with him like I should’ve, things wouldn’t have ended up the way they did. Asshole! If they hadn’t already cut it off when I went to surgery, I’d have taken off his engagement ring and thrown it at him then and there.’
‘There was nothing else close at hand, huh?’ Po said. ‘Shame there wasn’t a used bedpan to throw at him.’
Despite herself she wheezed out a laugh. But she sobered quickly. ‘We didn’t break up immediately. Not until after I left law enforcement. The final straw came when I caught him apologizing about me to some of his friends. Jim was actually ashamed of me; being connected to me cramped his style, I guess. Things hadn’t been that great between us before, but when I heard how shallow he was I told him we were over. Because he’d replaced my original ring, I got to do what I wanted to when I was in hospital. I slung his ring at him and told him to get out of my life.’
Apparently Po had learned all he needed for the time being. He slipped back into silence, to Tess’s relief. She was glad he hadn’t pushed for the full story, because refusal would have most likely offended.
She now regretted being so open, because one-sided her tale sounded as if she was the flaky bitch he’d assumed. Also she felt embarrassed that he’d caught her looking again at the autopsy pictures, in case her interest was misconstrued as an unhealthy fascination with the macabre.
‘I’m just going through my notes again,’ she said, feeling that she should explain her interest as more than morbid curiosity. Not that she needed reminding, but those pictures of Mitchel Delaney’s horrendous torture served as the motivation Emma Clancy promised.
‘Why don’t you just do some online shopping? Look for some nice Jimmy Choo shoes or something?’ Po grumbled.
‘That’s so demeaning,’ she said. ‘Do you realize how sexist you sound?’
He shrugged, nonplussed. ‘At least bring up some nice pictures of cute puppies and kittens like other girls do. Here am I trying to keep my mind off being mangled in a plane crash and the first thing I see on opening my eyes is that.’
‘You don’t strike me as a puppies and kittens kind of guy.’
‘Huh, you’re right. I couldn’t eat a full one.’ Po’s eyes slipped shut. He leaned back in his seat, his fingers digging into the armrests, but she noted that for the first time a smile had edged its way on to his thin lips.
‘How can you even see what I’m looking at from over there?’ She was in the window seat, Po at the aisle, an empty seat between them. The angle would make things difficult, even if he had his eyes open.
‘I don’t need to see to know what you’re looking at.’
‘You psychic, Po?’
‘Nope. I hear you constantly clucking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Don’t you know you do that when you’re deep in thought? You sound like a goddamn woodchuck.’
Tess was aware of her habit. And it was perturbing to learn that Po had picked up on it so soon; he was paying more attention than he was letting on, and she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with that.
The engine roar diminished.
Po sat upright in his seat, sweat forming like a row of pearls on his top lip. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Tess reassured him. ‘We’re starting our descent, that’s all.’
‘They glide the goddamn plane in?’
‘No, they just have to lose some speed. For God’s sake, chill out.’
‘You do this all the time? Fly? You know what all the weird sounds mean?’
‘I fly occasionally, but there’s something I’ve learned to do when something out of the norm happens.’ She nodded at the prim young woman walking along the aisle. ‘Watch the flight attendants. If they look concerned, then you know it’s time to put you head between your knees …’
‘… And kiss your ass goodbye,’ Po finished. He grunted at where his knees were pressed to the back of the seat in front of his. ‘There’s no chance of me doing that. Do they design these seats for midgets?’
‘You know why they tell you to take up the brace position, right? It’s so your neck snaps on impact. Saves any suffering when the plane becomes an inferno.’
‘Jesus …’
Tess grinned. But she soon grew guilty about adding to his discomfort. Her seat was spacious, the curve of the window and the absence of a passenger in the centre seat allowing her more space than usual. But she could imagine how uncomfortable the ride was for someone of Po’s gangling frame. He’d taken the far seat so he could extend one leg into the aisle, but he hadn’t had much opportunity for that what with the flight attendants pushing trolleys to and fro, and passengers making the return trip to the toilets a few rows behind them. She guessed his bones would be aching for freedom.
The seat belt signs illuminated and the captain’s voice came over the intercom. His tone was conversational, chirpy, but so low in volume Tess couldn’t make out one in three words. It didn’t matter; she knew the routine. She packed away her iPad and cinched her lap belt. She didn’t have to remind Po to belt up, he hadn’t once loosened his the entire flight. A buzz of anticipation went through their fellow passengers, a mixture of excitement and agitation making its way through the cabin like a wave. Itching butts moved in seats, and heads swivelled for the overhead baggage compartments as people plotted to grab and run the instant the doors were opened. Tess never understood the majority’s need to be first off a plane, as their haste wouldn’t see them progress much further than those who took their own darn time. All airports were run on the same system: hurry up and wait. It gave her deep satisfaction after ambling through the process to find her bags were first off the conveyor belt in baggage reclaim, while those who’d pushed and shoved their way to the same point had a longer wait for theirs to arrive. She wondered how Po would react when they landed: maybe he’d run for the doors too, or make like the Pope and kiss the tarmac once they were back on terra firma. She laughed at that image, and avoided catching Po’s quizzical glance.
‘Someone’s happy at least,’ he grunted.
‘I’m keen to get moving,’ she told him. ‘Won’t be long ’til we’re on the ground now.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I ain’t flying back. Once this is done with I’m putting it down to experience. A bad one.’
‘Once we’ve found Wynne I’ll get him back to Maine. If you choose to drive or take a train home, so be it.’
‘I’m not too keen on trains either.’
‘You don’t seem too keen on much.’
He looked at her, and his turquoise eyes narrowed. Tess looked away quickly, as if she was more interested in the view as they came in to land.
The pilot set them down at Louis Armstrong International without turning the plane into a rolling fireball, then taxied to the gate. As soon as the seat belt lights dimmed there was a rush of humanity as they began tugging bags from the overhead compartments, and squeezing into the aisle. Po sat. Tess glanced at him, and his look of incredulity at how close a large woman’s backside jiggled to his face was a picture. He averted his gaze, his fingers working in and out, but Tess knew it wasn’t with a desire to grab the proffered flesh, but perhaps to shove it aside. A tall guy in a linen jacket elbowed his way past the woman, glancing once at Tess before forging a way down the packed aisle to greet a fellow traveller. Impatient idiot! Why the hell couldn’t he wait until they were off the plane? As the doors opened and passengers began filing out, Po visibly relaxed – for the first time since the boarding gate back in Portland. ‘Jeez,’ he sighed. ‘There’s something I dislike more than flying, and that’s goddamn landing.’
They left the plane, Po pleasantly thanking the stewardess for her attentiveness, and walked up the tunnel. Po limped slightly, but it was due to stiffness and not an old injury. Tess toted her bags, leading Po towards baggage reclaim. She’d brought only one suitcase and Po also travelled light. He’d stuffed some clothing and toiletries into a canvas holdall, and Tess couldn’t help a smug grin when their bags were some of the first off the belt. They headed out the arrivals lounge and Tess searched the overhead signs for the rental-car booths.
‘Meet you outside,’ Po said.
‘You dislike airports that much, huh?’
‘I need a cigarette,’ he corrected her.
‘I didn’t realize you smoked.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘They’re your lungs you’re poisoning. Knock yourself out.’
‘I’m not a slave to nicotine, but there are times when I need one. Now’s one of those times.’ Po waved without waiting and headed for the exit door. Tess watched him go, noting there was more alacrity to his pace than she’d grown used to. He really did need a cigarette after enduring those hours of hell.
She turned, seeking directions. A man was staring at her, and he was a beat too slow in averting his gaze. He was almost as tall as Po, but broader. He wore a linen jacket over a buttoned shirt and jeans. Not bad looking, if you discounted the slick of sweat on his face. Tess thought she recognized him from their flight, another New Englander out of place in the balmy south, and realized it was the man so eager to disembark with his friend he’d shoved his way past their fellow passengers. The man walked away, and Tess waited for him to glance back at her. But he didn’t, and in seconds she’d forgotten about his intense scrutiny.
She hit the Hertz counter and collected the keys to the vehicle arranged on her behalf by Clancy’s assistant. Outside she found Po leaning up against a support column, blowing blue smoke at the heavens. Immediately the wet blanket of humidity enfolded her, and Tess felt her lungs hitch. Hell, it was so hot down here in the south. Perspiration began gathering in the small of her back before she’d lugged her bags over to Po. He nodded without a word as she held up the rental-car keys.
‘Want to drive?’ she offered.
‘Driving’s one thing I am keen on,’ Po said.