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Tate and Cameron got out as an older woman exited the house, obviously upset. They could see Jeff talking and hugging her, obviously reassuring her that he was fine.
“That’s a good boy,” Beaudry said. “His mama got widowed, and he moved home to take care of her.”
“Where had he been living?” Tate asked.
“New Orleans.”
The mention of a boy taking care of his mother brought a lump to Tate’s throat. He looked up as Jeff came running back to the car.
“We’ll take my cruiser,” Beaudry said.
“Okay,” Jeff said, nodding. “Drive past the barn and follow that road through the woods.”
“Am I going to get stuck?” Beaudry asked.
“No, sir, not if you stay on the road.”
They got into Beaudry’s cruiser and drove through a small clearing, then turned onto a narrow road that led through the trees until they reached a stopping point.
“We walk from here,” Jeff said.
“Got the camera?” Tate asked.
Cameron nodded.
They followed Jeff, but by now they could have found the river for themselves. The sound of rushing water was loud, and the closer they got, the louder it became.
Tate thought about Nola stranded up in a tree, hearing all this below her, and thinking at any moment the tree would give way and she would be washed downriver. Once again he was struck by the strength of her determination to survive.
Jeff walked a ways ahead, talking and pointing. They were within fifty yards of the river when they saw a pile of debris caught in an old fence row.
“That’s where he was,” Jeff said. “If his shirt hadn’t been bright blue, I might have missed him and just thought he was part of the debris.”
“Walk with me,” Cameron said. “Show me exactly where the body was and how you got to him.”
Tate was watching the ground as they walked, looking for footprints other than Jeff’s. He’d already identified them from seeing the prints Jeff was leaving now, so any footprint larger or smaller, with a different tread could belong to the shooter.
Cameron was taking pictures as Tate slowly walked the area in a large, expanding circle. When he saw footprints coming out of the woods and then going back into them, he stopped and yelled back, “Hey, Jeff! Were you over here?”
“No, sir. I parked where we parked just now, and I walked in a straight line to the debris pile, and then I grabbed the guy, threw him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and ran back to the car. I wasn’t ever over there.”
“Hey, Cameron,” Tate shouted. He was about to tell him to bring the camera over when a shot rang out from the woods behind him.
Jeff’s hat flew off his head as Cameron shoved him down to the ground and pulled his weapon.
Beaudry’s gun was in his hand as he began running for cover.
Tate pulled his weapon as he turned and dropped, frantically searching the tree line. A tiny snake slithered out from under some leaves and took off toward the brush as a large crane took flight from the river.
When a second shot rang out, Beaudry went down. Tate saw the flash of fire from the shooter’s rifle and began firing off shots in that location.
He heard a cry of pain, and then a flash of blue as someone took off through the trees in a sprint.
“I’m going after him!” Tate yelled. “Call it in!”
Jeff was on the ground, crying and praying.
“Stay down!” Cameron yelled, and ran to check on the chief.
