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“It’s Burke,” Gabe said. His own phone buzzed with a text, also from Burke. “He says to answer because it’s urgent.”
Molly pulled over and hit accept. “What do you have?”
“Dr. Curtis Benson is dead,” Burke said tersely.
Molly’s mouth fell open. “How?”
“And when?” Gabe asked.
“His throat was slit, and he was disemboweled.” Burke made an angry sound. “His body was discovered by police the same night your dad was killed, Gabe.”
“Oh my God,” Gabe whispered.
Molly grabbed his hand and squeezed. “How was he discovered?” she asked. “By whom?”
“By the Lafourche Parish sheriff. They were responding to an anonymous 911 call.”
“Breathe, Gabe,” Molly murmured. “Please, breathe.”
Gabe forced himself to exhale the breath he’d been holding. “Dad either found him before they killed him, or they knew Dad was close.”
“That’s what I think,” Burke said grimly. “Come on back to New Orleans. Call me when you’re twenty minutes out. I’ll have a location for you to meet up with André.”
“Did you tell him everything?” Gabe asked, still uncertain about the cop.
“Everything but Xavier shooting his home intruder. André’s got a boat and will bring you to my cabin. We’ll all sit down and figure this out.”
“Okay.” Molly looked shaken. “We’ll hurry. Tell him that we have Shoe.”
“André knows about the dog. He’ll be ready for you all.”
Gabe had a sudden, terrible thought. Oh no. I forgot about Harry. “Wait,” he said sharply when Molly moved to end the call. “Burke, have you checked on Harry Peterson? The ME’s assistant who helped me?”
Burke cursed softly. “Not since yesterday evening. I’ll do that now. Drive safely.”
Molly ended the call and Gabe shuddered out another breath. “Motherfucker,” he choked.
“I know,” she murmured. “We’ll find them, Gabe. We won’t let them escape justice.”
“I know.”
She pulled back into traffic and pointed them toward home.
Tulane-Gravier, New Orleans, Louisiana
WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 6:15 P.M.
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Lamont thundered, then turned from his office window, lowering his voice to a hiss. “How the hell can he be gone?”
It was quiet in the building, most everyone having gone home for the day. He could hear the quiet roar of a vacuum, so the maintenance crew was around. He’d locked his outer door so that no one could surprise him, but he still didn’t want to be overheard shouting about anything.
“We’ve been watching the doors all day,” one of his new men said defensively. “He did not come out. I swear it.”
“Then how do you know he’s gone?” Lamont asked through clenched teeth.
“One of the guys that works there—we saw him leaving this morning. I think he’s their night guard. Anyway, he arrived an hour ago, then a half hour later walked a lady in a wheelchair to her van. Then, just now, he walked a Black guy with three computer bags to his car. We heard the night security guy ask the guy with the computers if Burke made it out okay. The computer guy said that he had, and that some guy named André helped. They smuggled him out in a delivery truck. The listening device you gave us to plant near their front door really works,” he added in an attempt to be upbeat.
Lamont leaned against the window and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. It had all been for nothing. Broussard had suspected the whole time and had planned a way out. And that bastard André Holmes helped him. Motherfucking sonofabitch. “Okay. Take off for now but watch your phone. I may need you later.”
