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Tate nodded. “Quite possibly literally. Hey, give Cameron a call and tell him to look for any stories of Katrina survivors who were hospitalized for mental problems after losing someone they loved.”
“Will do,” Wade said, and made the call.
The phone rang a couple of times, and then Cameron picked up.
“Hey, Wade.”
“Hey yourself. Tate wants you to set aside any stories you find of people who had mental breakdowns after Katrina, too.”
“Yeah, I figured that out and I’ve already started separating them out. How’s it going?”
“Well, we’re here and on the way to interview the latest witness. She’s gone to her parents’ house. Everything okay there with you two?”
“Yeah, all except that vulture is back on the roof. I heard the damn thing land.”
Wade frowned. “Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Otherwise, Nola’s taking a nap and I’m on the job. See you when you get here.”
“We’ll call you when we get ready to head back that way and take orders for supper.”
“Good. Talk to you later.”
“Yeah, later,” Wade said.
Tate began slowing down, looking for house numbers.
“There it is,” Wade said. “The white frame house with the blue trim.”
Tate pulled into the drive. “I’m not looking forward to this, so let’s get it over with.”
Wade patted his pocket to make sure he had a notebook, and then got out and followed Tate to the front door. It opened before he had time to knock, and a large man stepped into the doorway.
Tate took out his badge. “I’m Special Agent Benton from the FBI, and this is my partner Special Agent Luckett. We appreciate the opportunity to speak to your daughter.”
“Larry Conway. My daughter is in the living room. The doctor’s done been here and gave her something to calm her down, so she’s a little sleepy, but she wants to talk to you. Follow me.”
They walked into the foyer and took a right into the living room. Several people were there, including a twentysomething woman wrapped in a quilt and holding a cup of coffee in her hands as if it was the Holy Grail. Even though the weather outside was sunny and calm, and the temperature was comfortable inside, she was shaking.
“That there’s my daughter, Rebecca Fremont. Y’all take a seat on the sofa next to her. Becky, these are the agents from the FBI.”
“Thank you,” Tate said, and he and Wade nodded to the others in the room and took their seats.
The young woman looked at them blankly and then seemed to pull herself together.
“Is it true you’ve been looking at this killer for a while?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s true,” Tate said. “May we ask you some questions?”
But she had one of her own first. “Why haven’t you been able to stop him?”
Tate sighed. “Because we don’t know what he looks like.”
“I saw him!” she cried, and then sat up a little straighter. “I saw him plain as day.”
“How was he dressed this time?” Tate asked.
“This time?” she echoed.