He found his jacket, keys, wallet, and badge, then, making sure Hairy S. stayed inside, walked outside to his truck, an ancient Jeep that he kept threatening to trade in. So far he hadn’t had the heart, nor the time. Climbing behind the wheel, he heard the familiar creak of the worn leather seats as he jammed the SUV into reverse, backing around Olivia’s sedan. Ramming the Jeep into first, he managed to find a pack of gum and unwrap a piece of Juicy Fruit as he nosed his rig down the long lane and across a small bridge. Popping the stick of gum into his mouth, he slowed as he turned onto the two-lane road toward the city, then hit the gas. Olivia was right, he supposed, he had been out of sorts. Worried. He had his reasons and they all centered around his kid. The boles of cypress, palmetto, and live oak trees caught in the splash of his headlights while he thought about Kristi.

Headstrong and beautiful as Jennifer, her mother, Kristi had been described as “a handful,” “stubborn,” “independent to a fault,” and a “firecracker” by her teachers both in L.A. where he and Jennifer had lived, and here in New Orleans. She’d certainly given him more than his share of gray hairs, but he figured that was all part of the parenting process and it would end once she’d grown up and settled down with her own family. Only, so far, that hadn’t happened.

He took a corner a little too fast and his tires skidded just a bit. A raccoon, startled by the car, waddled quickly into the undergrowth flanking the highway.

Kristi seemed as far from getting married as ever and if she was dating anyone, she studiously kept that info to herself. In high school she’d gone with Jay McKnight, even received a “promise ring” from him, whatever the hell that meant—some kind of preengagement token.

Bentz snorted, listening as the police band crackled, the dispatcher sending units to differing areas of the city. Kristi had claimed she’d “outgrown” Jay and broken up with him when she’d attended All Saints the first time around. She’d found an older guy at the school, a TA by the name of Brian Thomas who’d been a zero, a real loser, in Bentz’s admittedly jaded opinion. Well, that had ended badly, too.

Gunning the engine, he accelerated onto the freeway and melded with the sparse traffic, most vehicles driving ten miles over the speed limit toward Crescent City.