The sheriff shakes his head like he’s not looking forward to hearing the answer. “All right. We’d better go see if Kaiser’s turned up anything. He used to be a big dog in the Investigative Support Unit, you know. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t need the help.”

When Sheriff Dennis and I reach the end of the corridor, we find John Kaiser questioning Caitlin and the deputy who was guarding the door during the shooting. Jordan Glass stands a discreet distance away. Caitlin looks like she’s barely holding herself together. Unlike Kaiser’s wife, she hasn’t had much direct exposure to violence. When Kaiser asks the deputy a question, I hug Caitlin tight, then whisper into the shell of her ear: “Don’t say anything about Katy’s tape. Okay?”

She nods once into my chest.

Only after I draw back do I realize we’re standing outside the room where Henry was shot. Henry himself has been moved to a windowless office in the administration area and placed under FBI guard. Using mobile equipment, the staff converted the office into a makeshift hospital room.

Two more FBI agents arrive in short order, one of them the evidence specialist who processed the bones that came out of the Jericho Hole. With silent proficiency, they begin working the scene as a Concordia Parish sheriff’s detective observes. It quickly becomes obvious that John Kaiser knows more about homicide investigations than anybody else on the scene, but he takes pains to make sure Sheriff Dennis doesn’t feel the Bureau is running roughshod over his turf.

This détente lasts until Kaiser resumes questioning the deputy who was guarding the door to Henry’s room. The man had been instructed to keep a careful log of everyone entering or leaving, but no nurse or aide on his list has admitted to opening the window blinds—which made the head shot possible. Kaiser obviously believes the deputy was lax in his logging, and as he presses the man, Sheriff Dennis boils toward the limit of his forbearance.

“White uniforms all start to look the same after a while, don’t they?” Kaiser asks with apparent empathy. “They become sort of an official pass in a hospital environment.”

“Nobody went in without me logging them,” the deputy says doggedly, but I sense that he isn’t sure.

“Could you have dozed a little bit? Even for a minute? Standing post in an empty hallway is pretty boring, I know from experience. And you had the desk.”

The deputy’s lips lock shut in a thin white line. Then he says, “I wasn’t sleeping, damn it. I told you that.”

“Ease up, Agent Kaiser,” Sheriff Dennis says in a tense voice. “Tommy’s had a rough night.”