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He grinned. “We know. So, see you later, honey. I don’t have to tell you to be careful, because I know you will.”
“I trust no one, right?”
“Right.”
A few minutes later he and Wade were gone, and she and Cameron were on their own.
“I’m going to take a nap,” she said, “so you don’t need to worry about babysitting, okay? Do your work or whatever you want. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, but I won’t be farther than the living room, so yell if you need anything.”
“Will do,” she said, and then stopped in the bathroom to get a hair band so she could braid her hair. It wasn’t the best job she’d ever done, but at least her hair wouldn’t be a tangled mess when she woke up.
She pulled back the covers and crawled into bed, then stretched out and closed her eyes.
* * *
The vulture was back, sitting on the roof of the Feds’ trailer and still looking in Hershel’s direction, which reinforced his need to remove what he considered his jinx. He’d watched two of the Feds leaving and knew which one was still there. His name was Winger. A big guy with a steady gaze. It wouldn’t be easy to put him out of commission without killing him, but that option was off the table.
The trick would be choosing a disguise that Winger wouldn’t see through. He’d already done the cop here, but that would still be the best way to take the Fed off guard. He’d be thinking Hershel was one of his own when he opened the door. Satisfied with his decision, Hershel began pulling out gear and running through the little monologue he would use to get himself inside.
* * *
Tate and Wade got into Tidewater just after 1:00 p.m. and went straight to the police station. They’d been there once before, the day when they’d gone to the hospital to talk to Nola, and recognized the sergeant on duty. When he looked up, it was apparent he recognized them, too.
“What are you boys after now?” he asked.
“We would like to talk to the woman who saw the man who shot her husband and father-in-law,” Tate said
“That would be Patricia Fremont. She’s gone to her parents’ house here in town, but I need to call and make sure she’s up to it. I heard she’s had a breakdown.”
Tate frowned. “Tell her that we won’t intrude any longer than we have to, but that it’s vital that we speak to her.”
“Hang on,” the sergeant said, and picked up the phone.
Tate stepped away from the desk while the cop made the call.
“What do you think? Will she talk?” Wade asked.
Tate shrugged. “She has to.”
A few moments later the sergeant waved Tate over.
“She’ll talk to you. This is the address. Go down the street to the first stoplight and take a right. The street you want is ten blocks down. Take a left. House number is over the garage.”
“Thanks for the help,” Tate said.
“Just catch the crazy bastard,” the sergeant said.
They left the police station, both of them thinking about how hard this interview was going to be. When this woman had woken up this morning, she’d had a husband and a father-in-law, and before noon they’d both been dead.
“She’s going to be pretty fragile, probably still in shock,” Tate said.
“Do you think the killer will focus on her like he has on Nola?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I’d say not right away. He’s going to blame any later mistakes on Nola, because she broke his perfect record, and he’s going to want to deal with her first, even though she’s even less likely than Mrs. Fremont to be able to ID him.”
“He’s crazy,” Wade said.
