Page 18 of Unnatural Death

“I hope Marino’s okay,” I say to her, the blades thudding as we sit in the clearing, and no sign of him.

“He won’t come close until we’re completely shut down, disliking helicopters even more than he used to.” She begins going through her checklist, keeping an eye on the digital clock. “When I dropped him off earlier, he didn’t want to climb out while the blades were turning, and I wasn’t going to shut down. He ducked his head and ran like someone was shooting at him.”

“He’s gotten worse,” I reply. “More easily unnerved, then makes excuses for why he won’t do something.”

I noticed a decided shift after his birthday in July, and it had nothing to do with getting older. My sister surprised him by trading in his fishing boat for a newer model. She picked a grander, more expensive onethat you’ve only dreamed about, she lovingly wrote in the card. I don’t think he’s been out on the water more than once or twice since.

“Mom makes him feel bad about himself, and it does no good to tell her. Some things never change. The more she dotes on him the worse he gets,” Lucy says, and I predicted this would happen when Dorothy and Marino got married during COVID.

She turned him into a project as she’s always done with the men in her life. My sister has a habit of re-creating people in the image she decides. Most times she means well and has a valid point. But inevitably the story ends poorly for all involved. I’ve never known Marino to be so well cared for, and it’s not without a price. Feeling powerless is his kryptonite.

“There’s always someone who’s going to make him insecure,” is my diplomatic response. “Unfortunately, that includes me. Also Benton, and of course Dorothy. And you, Lucy. Marino feels you don’t admire him anymore.” I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t know.

“Not when he acts like a jerk, I don’t.” She bends down to tighten the friction of the cyclic, keeping it centered as she continues the shutdown while we talk over the intercom.

“It’s uncomfortable for him when the roles are reversed. A lot of people would feel that way. It’s human nature.”

“Our roles have been reversed for a long time.” Her voice in my headset. “He can’t bring himself to see it.” She turns off the strobes and the landing lights. “And I’ve been dealing with his human nature most of my life, Aunt Kay.”

“In his mind, he taught you everything you know. I’m not justifying his behavior, Lucy. But it’s important to be reminded of how things started. He still thinks you need his guidance. Or he hopes it.”

“As you well know, he’s not all that easy to handle when he decides he’s the most qualified to do something.” She flips off more switches. “Such as casting a foot impression that’s going to be the most controversial and problematic evidence in this case. And maybe that’s the reason it was there. Exactly for that purpose.”

“Maybe.”

“The point is to cause a shit show with Marino at the center.”

“We don’t know that it’s evidence or related to the deaths,” I remind her. “We don’t know the explanation for what he discovered.”

“It shouldn’t have been him who did the discovering. Tron says he’s been acting like he’s part of our crime scene unit.”

“The difficulty is that in some instances, Marino probably is the most skilled and experienced,” I reply.

“He got out the can of hairspray, started mixing up the plaster of Paris, and next thing you know he’s doing it.”

“As many casts of tire tracks and footwear impressions as he’s made, he’d probably qualify as an expert in court,” I reply. “But that doesn’t mean it’s his jurisdiction in this instance. Not to mention aggravating everyone involved and creating an even bigger liability.”

“He’s so sure he knows what’s best, and he doesn’t. He mouths off when he shouldn’t and throws his weight around, especially with me. It would be helpful if he stopped treating me like I’m ten years old.” She turns off the avionics master switch and with it goes the intercom.

We hang our headsets on hooks, saying nothing else for now. Twisting the throttles all the way off, Lucy cuts the engines, the blades beginning to slow. She reaches up for the rotor brake handle. Then the battery goes off, and the sudden silence is absolute. I look around and it’s as if we’ve time traveled or landed on another planet.

I halfway expect a dinosaur to crash out of the forest. Or a pterodactyl to fly over screeching bloody murder. Maybe extraterrestrials will appear to take us to their leader. Scanning woods dappled with shadows, I have the uneasy sense that we aren’t alone. I’m not seeing Marino, and the feeling persists. It must be my imagination as fear prickles up my spine for no obvious reason.

Lucy and I unbuckle our harnesses, opening our doors, the air chilled and as clean as anywhere I’ve been before. As we step down from the skids, leaves crackle and dead sticks snap somewhere in the woods.

“I hope that’s Marino,” I comment, the din getting louder.

Suddenly he emerges from the trees like an apparition in bright yellow. He’s carrying a white banker’s box sealed with red evidence tape. His hood is down around his shoulders, his shaved head and weathered face flushed and sweaty. He has on a tactical gun belt over his PPE. His Dirty Harry 1911 pistol and extra magazines are on his hip, a pump-action 12-gauge shotgun on a paracord sling looped over his shoulder.

“I was getting worried that something might have grabbed you in the woods,” I say to him.

“I figured maybe you ran into Bigfoot,” Lucy starts in. “And you were asking his whereabouts early this morning at the time of the attack, checking on his alibis. Swabbing him for DNA and all the rest.”

“I was waiting until you shut down, playing it safe.” Marino’s not the least bit amused. “I didn’t want to get blasted by this big-ass thing while carrying something fragile.” He gently sets down the banker’s box on a skid as I continue feeling spied on. “I’m wondering if it was you who blew shit all over the place. As you’ll find out soon enough, the scene looks like a twister ripped through.”

“I might have blown a few things.” She’s not worried about it. “I was over the treetops, about a hundred and fifty feet above the ground, when I found the campsite. There was going to be some rotor wash.”

CHAPTER 8

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