“We’re going to be slammed but good.” I look up and realize how quiet it’s gotten, and I remember the helicopter is gone. “At least there’s something positive to come from nasty weather. Listen. You can hear the peaceful sounds of the countryside again.”

You can’t really and I’m being just a little sarcastic. What I hear is the wind gusting through trees and our footsteps on the wooden dock and the plashing of the river against its pilings. But I say whatever I want because at this stage Lucy and I are no longer having an honest conversation. We’re manipulating. But not in the same way. Not hardly.

Lucy is angrily and aggressively acting out while my every word is calculated with a very decided impression in mind. I imagine Erin Loria watching and listening. She won’t get anything helpful from me. Mostly I intend to load her up with what I call dead wood that’s too flimsy to build anything from and too green to burn.

“One big fishing expedition.” Lucy walks slowly, considerately so I can keep up with her.

“I’m sure Desi loved the idea of fishing with Marino one of these days.” I try to deflect what I already know Lucy will do next.

She’s going to dish on the FBI. She’s going to have her brand of fun. She’s homicidally angry and this is what she does. She flaunts and taunts. She goads and inflames. She does it recklessly and with no regard for consequences. It’s who my niece is. She’s grown up and she’s not and never will be.

“To catch me at whatever they miscalculate I might do,” she says loudly. “For what they foolishly hope I’ve been up to when no one’s looking such as … Let me see. Oh I know. Digging a hole to China. That must be it. Thus the aerial search. That tactical bird of theirs is equipped from soup to nuts including GPR, ground-penetrating radar. I’m sure they were hoping to detect underground safe bunkers or secret rooms or wormholes.”

She boldly, loudly and in a hostile voice recites the exact wording in the warrant: “Any hidden doors, egresses including but not limited to structures, dwellings, elevators or passageways which are partly or wholly belowground or separate from the main residence.”

“Yes,” I answer with more platitudes and vagueness. “It’s what I call the kitchen sink scenario. Ask for everything.”