“Ah, yes. Of course. He couldn’t wait to help. He wanted to see Jeremy, he wanted to be here. First, lives were at stake, and the country was kind of a mess over it. You know, everyone had thought New Orleans had dodged the worst bullet the storm could bring, but then the levees broke all over the place, and it was a true disaster. He was anxious to do something. When he came home, he was both pleased and disheartened. He told me most of the time, people were decent. Damned decent. He saw young, healthy people sharing water and whatever they had with children and the elderly. He saw people risking their lives to save others. And then he saw looting and those who were greedy. But for the most part, he was encouraged. Most people, he truly believed after the experience, were good people. Decent. Willing to help others. Then, of course, there were those who were the opposite. And there was one guy he struck right in the face, some guy with a bunch of thugs in the streets. They weren’t just looting, they knocked over an old man to take something that he was eating. You didn’t do a thing like that in front of Lou.”

“Did he mention a particular event, George? Or a particular person?”

George was thoughtful. “Just what I was telling you about—they were near Esplanade but in the French Quarter. People could walk in the streets, but businesses were down. An invitation to lowlifes, I guess. He was furious to see an old man knocked down. And he socked someone in the jaw.”

Katie looked at Dan. “That sounds like my dad. This is like what Jeremy told us...”

“I wasn’t in NOLA then,” George reminded them. “I only know what he told me, but...”

“What?” Dan asked as George’s voice trailed.

“He said something about it being a small group of horrible people. He and Jeremy wound up getting the cops. I don’t know if they got them at all because your dad and Jeremy reported them and moved on. But he said the man he punched had taken a few wild slams at him first, and he was disgusted because there was a big guy with him. But they were all a bunch of cowards because the rest of them lurked in the shadows when he got his blow in and warned them all he was going to the cops.”

“A small group,” Dan said. “Maybe a small group of six.”

Dan reached into his jacket pocket. He again produced the pictures he’d taken of the man—Neil Browne, as they knew him—and Jennie meeting with Nathan Lawrence in the restaurant.

“You know movie magic, George. Could this man be wearing prosthetics?” Dan asked him.

George stared at the picture a long time.