The cop gave another nod. He had dropped his show-room face.

“Julia Gordian,” he said. “This is a damn bad one.”

“We need to take a look around the C.S.”

The cop paused a moment. He wore his cap under the hood of the poncho and its bill shed droplets of water as he shook his head.

“Not possible,” he said. “The area’s been secured.”

Ricci stared at him.

“We drove all the way from SanJo,” he said. “Make an exception.”

Thibodeau tried to moderate Ricci’s harshness.

“We understand you got physical evidence needs to be protected and want to feel comfortable,” Thibodeau said. “And we won’t give it no nevermind if somebody from your department sticks with us, make sure we don’t disturb nothing.”

The cop gave him a curious glance. “Louisiana?” he said.

“And proud of it,” Thibodeau said. “Didn’t think anybody could hear no accent.”

A grin.

“Went down for Mardi Gras once. Beats the hell out of me how you people can take eating that spicy food.”

“Secret’s to line the gut with moonshine.”

The cop’s grin enlarged a bit.

“Look, I really wish I could do something to help, but we have rules about restricting access to unauthorized parties.”

Thibodeau made his pitch. “No special considerations for fellas you hear such great things about?”

“None I have any pull to give. You’d need to arrange for special clearance.”

Ricci briefly let his glance range over the cop’s shoulder. A crime scene van and other police vehicles stood farther uphill. Small clusters of technical services and investigative personnel were everywhere. He noticed a plainclothesman in a raincoat moving between them on the drive. He was hatless, carried no umbrella, and had both hands in the pockets of his coat.

He turned his attention back to the uniform.

“Who’s the scene coordinator?”

“That would be Detective Erickson—”

Ricci cut him short. “Then stop wasting our time and call him over.”

The cop managed not to look flustered. But his partners were drifting slowly over from outside their patrol cars.

“Unless there’s some urgent reason, my orders are to see the investigation isn’t interrupted,” he said after about ten seconds. Rain bounced off the front of his cap. “I think the best way for you to proceed is leave your contact information so I can pass it up the line.”

Ricci stared at him with cold intensity, ignoring the other three uniforms.

“The detective in charge,” he said. “Call him over.”

His expression no longer friendly, the cop looked about to react to the outright challenge.

Then a new voice: “You two Ricci and Thibodeau?”

Ricci turned and saw the man in the raincoat hurrying around from behind the crosswise-parked cars. His blond hair was wet.

“Erickson,” Ricci said.

The detective moved his head up and down, then flicked a glance at the uniforms. They backed off and returned to their black-and-whites.