Going Once (Forces of Nature) (3 page)

“Special Agent Benton, FBI, and these are my partners, Luckett and Winger. We need to speak to the chief.”

“Chief Beaudry is downstairs in the morgue,” the officer said. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“We’ll meet him there. Just tell him we’re on our way down.”

The officer frowned. “Wait, you don’t know where—”

“I know the way,” Tate said.

He skipped the elevator and took the stairs two at a time, with Wade and Cameron right behind him.

“You’ve been down in the morgue?” Cameron asked.

Tate nodded. “My dad is the parish coroner. If they’re doing autopsies, he’ll be here.”

“We’ve been partners for five years and I didn’t know this,” Wade muttered.

Tate shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m not the favorite son, okay?”

“Ouch,” Wade said. “Sorry.”

Tate paused outside the main door, eyeing his partners. “It really has nothing to do with me. I just got caught in the middle of a thing between him and my mom.”

“That’s tough,” Cameron said.

“It is what it is, and I’m telling you now only because my presence will probably impact his attitude.”

Wade frowned. “Hell of a deal to put you in the middle of their troubles.”

Tate shrugged it off and went in one door as Chief Beaudry entered the reception area from the other direction. The agents flashed their badges and made quick introductions.

Beaudry glanced at Tate. “I remember you. You’re Don Benton’s son, aren’t you?”

“That’s what my birth certificate says,” Tate said. “Is he here?”

Beaudry nodded. “He’s doing an autopsy on the last body, although the bullet hole in his head looked pretty conclusive to me.”

“You have firm IDs on all the bodies?” Tate asked.

“Yes, and they’re all locals. It’s sickening. Even though we found all of them in the floodwaters, none of them drowned. Is it true you think this is the work of that guy they call the Stormchaser?”

“It looks that way. Can we see them?” Tate asked.

“Yes, come with me.”

Even though Tate was bracing himself for his father’s antagonism, he was unprepared when, the moment they walked into the autopsy room, the familiar odors sent him into a free fall of memories—all of them painful. When he saw his father’s face for the first time in eight years, he was startled. Don Benton had gotten old.

His father spoke without looking up.

“You know I don’t like visitors in here, Beaudry.”

“We’re not visitors, Dad. We’re working this case.”

Don Benton froze at the sound of Tate’s voice and then slowly lifted his head.

It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but Tate stood his ground.

“These are my partners, Special agents Winger and Luckett. We’re working the Stormchaser murders. Do you mind if we take a look at the bodies?”

Tate could see his father struggling with the urge to argue, but his professionalism won out.

“Look, but don’t touch. They’re in drawers one through six.”

Tate moved across the room and, one by one, pulled out the bodies to confirm their suspicions. Each one had a single bullet wound in the head.

“Excuse me, Doctor Benton, but have you recovered any bullets?” Cameron asked.

“Four were through-and-throughs, and three were not. I’ve already turned those over to the parish police,” Benton said.

“We sent them off to Ballistics,” Beaudry said.

Cameron nodded. “We have some comparisons with us. Let us know when you get results.”

They moved to the autopsy in progress.

Tate had seen the process a hundred times, and yet it never failed to amaze him how doctors could be so skilled in the inner working of the human body that they could determine cause of death by what they saw.

“Are there any surprises here?” he asked.

Don Benton paused and looked up. “Other than you?”

Tate’s face was expressionless.

Don shrugged. “If you’re referring to the cause of death, then no, there are no surprises. This man died from a single gunshot wound to the head, although I would venture a guess that, judging by his enlarged liver, he had less than a year to live.”

Tate heard the quaver in his father’s voice and knew he was shocked by his arrival. So be it. He’d shocked Tate eight years ago when he’d rejected his existence.

Tate stared him down. “We’ll be needing copies of all seven of the autopsies—at your convenience, of course. Chief Beaudry, if you’d escort us to where the Red Cross is set up, we will need to get names and contact info on anyone who’s not a local.”

Beaudry frowned. “Are you saying that the killer is someone in the Red Cross?”

Tate frowned. “No, and don’t put words in my mouth, understand? If you would lead the way in your car, we’ll follow. You can make the necessary introductions to whoever’s in charge, and we’ll take it from there.”

Beaudry frowned. He didn’t like being called down by anybody, but solving seven murders in their little town was out of his league, and he knew it.

Cameron saw the tension in Tate’s shoulders and a similar stiffness in his father’s manner, and wondered what the hell could have happened to cause their antagonism. Still, he gave Benton a courteous nod. “Sorry to interrupt you, Doctor Benton. Thank you for your information.”

“You’re welcome,” Don Benton said, and just like that, he put them out of his mind as they walked out the door.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the agents to get yet another field office set up. Beaudry gave them his only interrogation room, and after a quick visit to the gym, they had a list of Red Cross employees on the premises, and were running the name through their database to make sure they were cleared to be there. As for getting a list of the names of volunteers, it wasn’t going to be that simple. They were coming and going with such a rapid turnover that the Red Cross officials on site had lost track days ago.

The men worked until after midnight, and with no motels or empty rooms available anywhere in town, they sacked out on some cots in a corner of the gymnasium with the other refugees. Tate could have asked his father to put them up. Lord knows the old Benton house had room to spare, but he didn’t have the stomach to withstand his father’s anger. Plus, he was afraid his father would bring up his mother’s name, which would have been his tipping point, and the man was too old to fight.

Tate was still awake long after Cameron and Wade had gone to sleep, thinking of Nola and wondering if she was married. Finally he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Babies cried throughout the night, disgruntled by the unfamiliar surroundings. People snored, some cried. Tempers were short, with the occasional argument popping up, followed by tears or angry silence.

* * *

Along toward morning Cameron opened his eyes to find a little girl about the age of three standing near his elbow. He had no idea how long she’d been standing there watching him sleep. Her hair had been in a ponytail, but during the night it had slid sideways until the ponytail was drooping somewhere between her right ear and her chin. Her clothes were a couple of sizes too big, which probably meant everything her family once had was gone and she was wearing donated clothing. She was also minus shoes, and had one sock on and the other one in her hand.

He rose up on one elbow and looked around to see if anyone was up and searching for a child, but everyone within sight was asleep. He grinned. They probably didn’t even know she was gone. He swung his legs off the cot, and then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Hey, honey. What’s your name?”

“Twicia.”

“Need some help with that sock?” he asked.

She nodded and handed it to him. He slipped it on her bare foot and then gave her knee a quick pat.

“Where’s your mama?”

She poked a thumb in her mouth and blinked.

“Are you lost?”

She nodded.

He got up, wincing at the cold floor on his bare feet, then picked her up in his arms.

“How about we go find her, okay?”

She nodded again, still sucking her thumb.

Cameron made his way between the cots and sleeping bags, taking care as to where he stepped as he headed toward the only light in the place, a small office the Red Cross had set up near the door. By the time he got there the little girl had laid her head on his shoulder and was almost back asleep.

He saw a pretty young woman dozing in an old recliner on the other side of the desk and frowned. He hated to disturb her, but it was better for her to wake up now than to put the baby’s mother in a panic when she realized her child was gone.

“Excuse me,” he said softly.

The woman sat up with a jerk, blinking rapidly and obviously trying to gather her senses.

“Sorry to wake you,” Cameron said. “But I woke up with this little elf standing by my cot. I don’t know who she belongs to, but I’d sure hate for her mama to wake up in a panic.”

“Oh, my goodness. Yes, you’re absolutely right. I’m Laura Doyle, by the way. Aren’t you one of the FBI agents?”

“Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you, Laura Doyle. I’m Cameron Winger. And Sleeping Beauty here told me her name was ‘Twicia’ before she clammed up.”

Laura smiled, trying to ignore how good this big hunky guy looked in gray sweats, and how adorable he was with the toddler asleep on his shoulder.

“Patricia, huh? Let me check the list of names. Hopefully there won’t be too many little girls named Patricia on site.”

Cameron waited, eyeing the way she chewed the edge of her lower lip as she scanned the list, thinking to himself that she was one of those women who looked good without makeup. He started to wonder if she looked as good without her clothes, and then she looked up and he blushed, thankful she couldn’t read his mind.

“We’re in luck. There’s only one Patricia who’s a juvenile. She belongs to the Metarie family. I think I know where they’re sleeping. Follow me.” She picked up a flashlight and led the way across the darkened floor of the gymnasium to the opposite corner of the room.

Once they reached the sleeping family, Laura tapped the father’s foot and then softly spoke his name.

“Billy Joe, it’s me, Laura.”

The young father sat up with a jerk, blinking against the glare of the flashlight in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Laura was chuckling softly as she gave him the news, knowing they’d all had enough drama.

“Your daughter, Tricia, took herself a little walk. Mr. Winger here woke up and found her standing by his cot. We thought you might want her back.”

“Oh, sweet Lord,” he muttered, and came up off his cot as if he’d been shot from a cannon. He shook his head as he took the sleepy toddler from Cameron’s arms.

“Thank you, thank you so much, mister.”

“You’re welcome. She’s not much of a talker, but she’s awfully pretty.”

The young man smiled as he looked down at his daughter.

“Papa,” the little girl mumbled, and then snuggled up beneath his chin and closed her eyes.

Laura smiled. “I do believe we’ve delivered her to the right place. Go back to sleep if you can. It’s still a little while until morning.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, thank you both.”

“You’re welcome,” Cameron replied, and then followed Laura back to the office. “Thanks for the help,” he said.

She shrugged. “It’s what I do. Just give me a shout if you need anything else, okay?”

He nodded, started to leave and then stopped.

“So I’m sure I’ll see you around, right?”

She smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He was smiling, too, as he crawled back into his cot and closed his eyes, and he was still thinking about the way Laura Doyle chewed her lower lip as he fell back asleep.

Three

B
eaudry showed up at the gym the next morning carrying a sack of doughnuts and a copy of the report his office had just received from the Tidewater P.D.

Tate had made an early visit to the boys’ dressing room at the gym, and was already shaved, showered and wearing his last set of clean clothes. He distinctly remembered playing basketball in this gym and kissing Nola out behind the building when they were in high school, and now he was back in the same place, but investigating murders. Life was crazy. He’d known coming home on work-related business wouldn’t be easy, but he’d had no idea how many memories it would evoke. He was sitting on the cot putting on his shoes when he saw the chief approach.

“Hey, guys, we’ve got company,” Tate said.

Wade got off the phone and Cameron closed his laptop.

Beaudry was all smiles as he handed over the doughnuts. “Call it a mini-celebration.”

“Thanks,” Tate said as he took out a doughnut and then handed the sack to Wade. “What are we celebrating?”

“You have a witness to the shootings.”

“You are kidding!” Cameron said. “Where? Who?”

“A flood victim rescued by the National Guard witnessed three murders. They took her to the hospital in Tidewater, and when she finally woke up from the fever she came in with, the first thing she asked for was the police. She gave her statement to the Tidewater P.D. that she’d seen her neighbors murdered, and they notified us.”

“Where’s Tidewater?” Wade asked.

“About forty miles south of here—and that’s where we’re heading next,” Tate said.

“I’m coming with you,” Beaudry said. “I know this is your case, but they were murdered on my turf, and I want justice as much as you do, maybe more. These people were my friends.”

Tate nodded. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“I’ll take the cruiser back to the station. Pick me up there.”

“Oh, hey...wait a minute,” Tate said. “What’s the witness’s name?”

Beaudry paused. “Nola Landry. I believe you know her, right?”

Tate’s stomach rolled the same way it had right before he’d walked into the morgue yesterday, and for the very same reason. Everything bad that had happened between them was tied to what was wrong between him and his dad.

“Yes, I know her,” Tate said. “See you in a few.”

Cameron and Wade were waiting for an explanation, but when it appeared Tate wasn’t going to volunteer any info, Cameron took the initiative.

“So, you know the witness. What’s the big secret?” he asked.

Tate knew they would find out soon enough when Nola caught sight of him.

“She’s why I don’t date,” he muttered.

Wade frowned. “Damn. Was she that big a bitch?”

Tate sighed. “No. She was that good. No one else ever measured up.”

Wade glanced at Cameron, then shrugged.

“So what happened to screw it up?” Cameron asked.

“It’s all tied into the mess between me and my dad. I’m driving. Get your things.”

He walked out, leaving them to make what they wanted of that.

Wade looked at Cameron, shrugged and grabbed the sack of doughnuts as Cameron picked up his laptop. They were on their way out the door when Cameron saw Laura Doyle in the makeshift kitchen. She looked up and waved as they hurried past. He was still smiling when they drove away.

* * *

Nola washed her hair, then left it down to dry. Tate used to say it was the color of dark chocolate, his favorite treat, and it looked even darker when it was still damp, like it was now.

“I so need a hair dryer,” she said, and then thought about what she’d just gone through and sighed. “No, I don’t
need
a hair dryer, although a hair dryer would be nice. What I
need
is a house. Sorry about that, God.”

The fact that she was talking to herself was immaterial. She’d been doing a lot of that since her mother’s death. She continued to run her fingers through her hair, combing and fluffing it, until the door to her hospital room opened and four men walked in.

She recognized the parish police chief from Queens Crossing, but when she saw the three men with him, she went from shock to disbelief to anger so quickly it made her head spin. Unwilling to be caught in a vulnerable position, she hit the control on her bed until she was sitting completely upright.

Beaudry smiled as he headed for her bed.

“Hey, Nola, it’s good to see you. I hear you had a rough time of it out there.”

She nodded, but her gaze was fixed on the men behind him.

Beaudry could see she was as shocked by Benton’s appearance as Benton had been when he’d found out she was the witness, but they were here on police business, not unfinished business.

“These men are from the FBI, and they’re working a case connected to the recent murders in our area. We got a copy of the statement you gave Lieutenant Carroll about what you saw, but they want to talk to you some more, okay?”

She pointed at the men behind him. “What is he doing here?”

Beaudry frowned. “Uh, like I said, these men are from the FBI. That man is Special Agent Benton and—”

“I
know
who he is. I asked you what he’s doing here.”

* * *

Tate thought he’d prepared himself for this moment, but he was wrong. The girl he’d left behind had turned into a stunning woman. The soft round cheeks he used to kiss were firmer, the cheekbones more defined. Her eyes were still as blue, and the black winged brows above them were gathered into a mute statement of her anger. The abrasions on her face and hands were evidence of what she’d suffered. It hurt to think about what she must have endured before she was rescued.

“I’ll speak for myself,” Tate said. “Hello, Nola. This is a heck of a way to meet again.”

Tate. Oh, Lord. I can’t go there.
Nola’s heart was beating so fast she felt faint, but it was anger that came up first.

“It’s a damn shame people had to die to bring you back.”

He ignored the anger. It was to be expected.

“These are my partners, Special agents Luckett and Winger.”

“And that’s
their
problem, not
mine,
” she muttered.

Cameron frowned. “Ma’am, excuse my bluntness, but whatever is going on with you and Agent Benton is going to have to be shelved. We’re looking for a serial killer, and you’re the first person who’s gotten a look at him and survived.”

Nola accepted the setdown. Her personal issues with Tate needed to take a backseat to finding a killer.

“Fine, Agent Winger. I’ll answer any questions you ask, and if you’re going back to Queens Crossing afterward, I would certainly appreciate a ride home.” Then she sighed. “I need to rephrase that. I need a ride back to town. My home and everything I owned are gone.”

“We’ll be happy to take you, but will the doctor release you?” Tate asked.

She wanted to ignore him, but, as Winger had so clearly stated, there was more at stake here than hurt feelings.

“Yes, as of this morning. I just didn’t have anyone left who could come get me.”

“You don’t have a husband?” When she glared without answering, he took that as a no and tried to ignore the relief pouring through him.

“What about your mom?” he asked.

“She died last Christmas.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

Her voice was shaking as she cut him off. “So am I. You read my statement. I don’t know what else I can tell you, but take a seat and ask me whatever you please. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

Wade took the first question to take the pressure off Tate.

“Miss Landry, I’m Agent Luckett. I read that you didn’t get a good look at his face. Is there anything else you’ve remembered since you talked to Lieutenant Carroll?”

Nola shook her head. “No, I wish there was. I was stranded up that tree for nearly eighteen hours, and I know they were on their roof at least that long, too. We saw a helicopter once, but it was a long ways off, and then there was nothing to see but debris, bloated animal carcasses and the occasional gator swimming past us in the floodwater—which kept rising, by the way. I kept climbing up, hoping it would stop before I ran out of tree.”

There were tears running down her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to know it. The sight was tearing Tate apart, but no one wanted to interrupt her train of thought, and so they sat, watching her relive the nightmare once again.

“The truth is, if I hadn’t been sick I probably would have evacuated days earlier. But I guess everything happens for a reason, because if I’d been gone, I wouldn’t have witnessed what happened. Once we all heard the outboard motor, we assumed it was the rescue we’d been praying for. When the boat appeared, there was only one man in it.” She glanced at Beaudry. “When he got close enough, I could see he was wearing a uniform, but I didn’t realize it was from your department until after he’d killed the Lewises and came by the tree where I was hiding, I’m positive about that.”

Beaudry frowned. “The description you gave Carroll doesn’t fit anyone who works for me, so it was obviously a fake uniform or a stolen one. We’ll check that out.”

“What happened after you saw him?” Tate asked.

“He saw the Lewis family and headed straight for the roof. Before I had time to make my move down the tree, he pulled out a pistol and just shot Whit in the head.”

She paused, pressing her fingers against her lips to keep from breaking into sobs. She reached for the tissues.

“Whit was in the water when he shot Candy and her mother. After they sank, he gunned the motor and headed downriver toward me. I climbed higher, scared to death he would see me, but at the same time I felt like I just had to take the chance of getting a look at him. I tried, but I was too high up and the brim of his cap hid his face when he passed by. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Even though it had nothing to do with their case, Tate had to know.

“How much longer were you up in that tree before you were rescued?” he asked.

Nola wouldn’t look at him. She didn’t want his damn sympathy. Not anymore.

“I have no idea. I was out of my head with fever. I finally tied myself to the tree because I kept passing out, and I was afraid I’d fall into the water and drown.”

That explained the abrasions on the palms of her hands and what looked like rope burns around her wrists.

“What about the boat? What can you tell us about the boat?” Cameron asked.

She frowned. No one had asked her about that before. She had to pause and think.

“It was just a motorboat. Chief, you know what I mean? It was the kind people use to go fishing. A plain white boat with a big blue outboard motor.” She closed her eyes, picturing it as it passed below the tree. Then all of a sudden her eyes were open and her voice was shaking. “There was a name painted on the back end of the boat. It was
Gator Bait.
Oh, my gosh, I just now remembered that.”

Tate smiled. “Good job.”

Nola almost returned the smile and then caught herself. They were not going to be friends, much less anything else, again.

Beaudry stood up. “I’m going to call the boat info in and get that registration check started. And then we’ll get you out of here.”

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to leave?” Tate asked Nola.

She shrugged. “My fever is gone, and my scratched hands and face are hardly worthy of a hospital bed.”

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“Where did the Red Cross set up?”

“The school gymnasium,” Beaudry said.

“Is that where the other displaced people are at?”

Tate frowned. “Yes, but—”

“Then that’s where I’ll ask you to leave me. If the water was gone tomorrow, I still wouldn’t have a place to live. The house was completely underwater, or maybe washed away. There’s nothing to salvage, but I want to go home. I need to be with my people.”

“Then you need to understand something first,” Tate said. “Cameron already told you this man is a serial killer, and we’ve been trailing him for over two months. The media has dubbed him the Stormchaser, because he shows up at the same time the Red Cross arrives after a disaster. We think he conceals himself within the contingent of volunteers. You could be putting yourself at risk just by coming back into that environment, especially when he finds out there’s a witness to what he’s done.”

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. “But I can’t identify him.”

“That won’t matter. You’re unfinished business,” Tate said.

She slumped against the pillows, her chin trembling. “Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse.”

“Do you still want to go back?” Beaudry asked.

She took a deep breath. “I have nowhere else
to
go but back.”

“Then do what you have to do to get yourself signed out,” he said.

“I’ll go find a nurse,” Cameron said.

“Ask her if I can please have a pair of scrubs. They threw away the clothes I came here in.”

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. We’ll get you rigged out,” Cameron said, and headed out the door with Beaudry behind him.

Nola looked at Tate, refused to acknowledge the plea in his eyes and turned away.

* * *

Hershel had taken the morning off to sleep in and was still debating with himself about going to the gymnasium to work. He’d been there until after 3:00 a.m. last night unloading supplies. Being a good guy was tiring.

Hershel,
you need to get up. You’ve done very bad things, and you need to atone.

He groaned. “Damn it, Louise, you don’t know what you’re talking about, so don’t be telling me what I have to do.”

Hershel, Hershel, you break my heart. I don’t want you to be like this. This isn’t the sweet man I married.

“That man died when you did, Louise, so let it be. What I’m doing, I’m doing for you.”

Don’t blame this on me. You do not kill in my name. I won’t have it.

Her anger was sharp, and he hated it when Louise was mad at him. His shoulders slumped as he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “You went away and left me, and now you don’t understand.”