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“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.”