"Conducting a murder investigation."
"Oh, yeah? What does the director of a motion picture have to do with the death of Cherry LeBlanc?"
"Goldman got in your face?"
"He didn't. But you seem to have upset a few other people around here. Let's see, I received calls from two members of the Chamber of Commerce; Goldman's lawyer, who says you seem to be taking an undue interest in our visiting film community; and the mayor, who'd like to know what the hell my people think they're doing. If that wasn't enough, I also got a call from a Teamster official in Lafayette and a guy named Twinky Hebert Lemoyne who runs a bottling plant over there. Are you two working on some kind of negative outreach program? What was she doing over in Lafayette Parish?"
"Ask her."
"I have a feeling she was sent over there."
"She was checking out the Teamsters' involvement with Goldman and Julie Balboni."
"What does that have to do with our investigation?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe nothing. What did this guy Twinky Lemoyne call about?"
"He owns half of a security service with a guy named Murphy Doucet. Lemoyne said Rosie came out to his bottling plant, asked him questions that were none of her business, and told him that he should give second thought to doing business with the mob. Do you know who Twinky Lemoyne is?"
"Not really."
"He's a wealthy and respected man in Lafayette. In fact, he's a decent guy. What are y'all trying to do, Dave?"
"You sent me to invite Julie Balboni out of town. But now we find that Julie has made himself a big part of the local economy. I think that's the problem, sheriff, not me and Rosie."
He rubbed his whiskers with the backs of his fingers.
"Maybe it is," he said finally, "but there's more than one way to do things."
"What would you suggest that we do differently?"
His eyes studied a turkey buzzard that floated on the hot-air currents above the marsh.
"Concentrate on nailing this psychopath. For the time being forget about Balboni," he said. His eyes didn't come back to meet mine when he spoke.
"Maybe Julie's involved."
"He's not. Julie doesn't do anything unless it's for money."
"I'm getting the strong feeling that the Spanish Lake area is becoming off limits."
"No, I didn't say that. It's a matter of priorities. That brings up another subject, too—the remains of that black man you found out in the Atchafalaya Basin."
"Yes?"
"That's St. Mary Parish's jurisdiction. Let them work the case. We've got enough on our own plate."
"They're not going to work it."
"Then that's their choice."
I didn't speak for a moment. The twilight was almost gone. The air was heavy and moist and full of insects, and out in the cypress I could hear wood ducks fluttering across the surface of the water.
"Would you like another cold drink?" I asked.
"No, this is fine," he answered.
"I'd better help Batist lock up, then. We'll see you, sheriff," I said, and went inside the bait shop. I didn't come back out until I heard his car start and head down the dirt road.