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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.
