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“Good. It’s you. I can’t see shit without my glasses, and I’m trying to find Channel 10 on this TV. Help me out, will you?”
“Sure thing,” Tate said, and got it on the right station for him, then hit Mute. “You’re set. All you’ll have to do is hit Mute again to get your sound back.”
“Thanks. What brings you to the Louisiana Hilton?”
Tate chuckled. “You. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. It hurts, but it’s healing. I’m just grateful to be alive.”
“I hear you,” Tate said. “That was some crazy stuff.”
Beaudry shook his head. “I will never understand the mentality of a copycat killer. How can you fixate on someone who’s wreaking havoc in the world and want to be like him?”
“All kinds of things play into it, but lack of self-esteem, feeling like you’re invisible, wanting to be famous, hating the establishment, holding a grudge against society…then mix that with just plain mean, or maybe some type of mental illness, and you’ve got the setup for that kind of hero worship.”
Beaudry shook his head. “At any rate, I’m sure grateful you stopped him before he could hurt Jeff’s mother. She’s a real nice lady. And speaking of nice ladies, how’s yours?”
“She’s getting better. Frustrated by the imposed isolation. Angry with the situation.”
“Any new leads on your killer?”
Tate thought of his last text and grimaced. “Other than the fact that he’s right-handed but shoots his victims with his left, no.”
“Really? How does this help you find him?”
“It doesn’t, actually,” Tate said. “It’s just a clue for a profiler.”
“Do you think Nola is still a target?”
“I know she is,” Tate said. “And, speaking of her, I better get back. When do they let you out?”
“‘Soon’ is all they’ll say. The bullet didn’t hit anything important, so it’s just a matter of flesh and muscle healing. I’ll be on desk duty for a while, which sucks, but I’ll take it rather than be stuck at home with Elsie. I love my wife, but I do not want to be home 24/7. She never stops talking.”
Tate laughed. “Do you ever answer her?”
Beaudry blinked. “Not sure I really do, now that you mention it.”
“You might try it. If she got a little cooperation with the conversation, she might not feel the need to handle it all herself.”
Beaudry grinned. “I think I might just give that a try. You’re pretty sharp for a local boy.”
Tate shook his head. “Not really. Just a student of human behavior. Take care.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” Beaudry said.
Tate got all the way down to the lobby before his cell phone rang. It was Doc Tuttle.
“Hello?”
“Tate, this is Doctor Tuttle. I wanted to let you know that your father is out of surgery. Your blood donation made the difference for him. He’ll be mighty grateful when he finds out.”
“No, he won’t,” Tate said. “But thank you for the information.”
He disconnected before Tuttle could say anything more and headed for the parking lot, only to be caught by the media.
“Agent Benton! Do you have a comment about the copycat killer?”
“He’s dead.”
