I reach over, gently touch the back of his hand. “It’s too late for Melissa. I’m sorry, Reggie. But you can help save others. You didn’t hurt anyone, you were just caught up in something … now’s your chance to make it right.”

The sobs start but he says, “There’s a place … near Shreveport … some old hunting camp … that’s where we practiced … that’s where we planned it … ”

“In Bossier Parish, right?” I ask, remembering what Billy had told me about shooting there with his cousin David a year ago.

Slippery bastard, I think, pointing to his cousin as a possible suspect …

He nods. “Billy stayed there, in a little bunkhouse … lectured to us at night about what we had to do to save New Orleans … ”

He lowers his head. “Oh, sweet Jesus, please forgive me.”

I get up and walk out, taking the folder with me.

CHAPTER 90

The observation room is much more crowded than it was when I first left, but Cunningham is the first person I recognize, and I shove the folder back to him.

I say, “That little Jane Doe still not identified?”

His face is struggling with lots of emotions. “Not yet, but we’ll find out who her family is … God, Caleb.”

“God wasn’t in that room,” I say. “Just a lot of guilt. I just hope her family forgives us for what we did to her, using her body like that. Did you hear what he said, about that hunting camp?”

A different voice says, “Got it, ID’d it, and we’re preparing an assault team right now to drop in.”

I burn again with resentment and anger as Special Agent Morgan shoves his way forward.

“Wait a sec,” I say. “You should have known about Billy’s hunting camp in Bossier Parish. I thought you clowns had already searched all of his properties?”

Morgan looks pissed. Big deal. He says, “We were fooled. That place wasn’t in his most recent listings … he donated the land and property to the Nature Conservancy three years back. It was a mistake.”

Cunningham is right next to me, like he wants to make sure I don’t take a swing at the arrogant FBI man. “Yeah, you guys are experts at this,” I say. “Making mistakes, getting people killed … when do we leave?”

“‘We’?” Morgan asks, still looking pissed. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

“Don’t screw with me,” I say, raising my voice so that others in this crowded room look at me. “You guys are hitting that cabin, I’m coming along.”

Morgan squeezes his lips together and says, “Chief Cunningham?”

“Right here.”

“Is this man a law enforcement official in your city?”

“No.”

In a sharp, sneering tone, Morgan says, “Sorry, Rooney. This raid’s going off within fifteen minutes, and we don’t plan to have it catered. Get the hell out of my way.”