Joe said, “So she left with whoever popped Mickey?” Since neither of the other two agents replied or offered a differing hypothesis, he said, “Okay then, did she leave with this unsub voluntarily or under duress?”

Agent Holstrom looked over at Hick, who shrugged.

“That makes it unanimous,” Joe said, “because I don’t know, either.” He started walking toward the bar’s entrance, saying over his shoulder to Holstrom, “Notify me immediately if you find anything.”

“Sure thing.”

“What’s the name of the detective you talked to?” Joe asked Hick as he pulled open the door into the bar.

“Cliff Morrow.”

Morrow was in his midthirties, with nothing distinguishing about him except for his attire. He had on a baseball cap, team t-shirt, coaching shorts, and dusty sneakers. Joe and Hick removed their latex gloves and shook hands with him. As they did, he explained his appearance. “I coach my daughter’s softball team. We were celebrating our win tonight at a pizza place when the call came in. I didn’t take time to change.”

He seemed competent and more than willing, perhaps even relieved, to share the investigation with them. “People around here harbor a lot of ill will against Josh Bennett,” he said. “Homegrown boy.”

“Gone bad,” Hick said.

“They’d forgive that,” the detective said. “But the way a lot of folks see it, he’s a turncoat.”

“Much worse than a crook,” Joe said.

Morrow gave a sheepish grin. “To some minds it is.”

“What about to your mind?” Hick asked him.

“I’m a peace officer. Josh Bennett broke the law.”

It was a matter-of-fact answer that Joe was glad to hear. “So, despite Bennett’s local ties, we have your full cooperation?”

“Absolutely, sir. You have the support of the entire Terrebonne Parish SO. The sheriff said to tell you so. He’s already chewed that deputy’s ass for letting Ms. Bennett elude him. He’s green. Been a deputy three whole weeks. He didn’t even know why she was being surveilled. In fact, no one’s been told why you requested surveillance on her.”

Joe pretended not to hear the implied question mark. Maybe he should have shared the reason for the surveillance with the sheriff and impressed on him its seriousness. Perhaps if he had, a more seasoned officer would have been assigned that responsibility. But it was too late now, the damage was done, and he didn’t have time to waste on second-guessing himself.

He said, “Bring me up to speed, Detective Morrow.”

“As soon as I and my partner got here, we separated them for questioning.” He referred to a handful of disreputable-looking men and women scattered around the bar.

Assessing their sullen expressions individually and collectively, Joe said, “Let me guess. Nobody knows diddly-squat.”

Morrow grinned. “Basically. But so far there’ve been no red flags to make me think otherwise. My partner is interviewing the bartender in the back room, but initial questioning indicates that he was an innocent bystander like the rest. More observant, maybe. And he’s the only one who interacted with Bolden and his companion.”

“No one has IDed the companion yet?”

“None of the locals claim to have seen him before tonight.”

“Of course not,” Joe said. “We’d never be lucky enough to get the name and address of the prime suspect. Where’s Bolden’s pistol?”

Morrow motioned them over to the bar. The pistol had been bagged and labeled. “The tool of his trade,” Joe remarked as he studied the pistol with the sound suppressor still attached.

“He didn’t fire it tonight,” Morrow said. “Full cartridge except for the bullet in the chamber.”

Joe picked up the evidence bag containing a small red purse. There was nothing special about it except that it looked expensive. He hoped Marsha never got a hankering to have one like it.

Also on the bar, separately bagged, were the key fob to Jordie Bennett’s car, a tube of lip gloss called Gossamer Wings, a credit card, a twenty-dollar bill, and a Louisiana driver’s license.

“The lady was traveling light,” Morrow said, as Joe and Hick studied the items individually.

Conspicuously absent was a cell phone, and Hick remarked on it.

“I picked up on that, too,” Morrow said. “The clasp of her purse was open when it was found. I’m guessing he took her phone from it.”

“But left the twenty and her credit card,” Hick said.

“This wasn’t about stealing,” Joe said around a sigh. “It’s about who she is, who she knows, and what she knows.” He turned to Morrow. “Did you grow up here in Tobias?”

“Since I was eight.”

“How well do you know the Bennetts?”

“To speak to and ask after each other’s health. Like that. Josh was in my class, but we didn’t hang out together. Jordie was a couple grades ahead of us.”

“Any sibling rivalry between them?” Joe asked.

“Nothing cutthroat. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. Both were smart and made good grades. She ran with the popular crowd.”

“Josh didn’t?”

“He was several levels down from popular and didn’t really run with anybody. He was a geek, and I don’t mean that unkindly. Into video games and such.”

“She was social, he was brainy. Fair to say?”

Morrow considered Hick’s question and nodded. “Fair to say. But, as brothers and sisters go, they were close.”

Joe perked up. “Oh?”

“You know what happened to Josh when he was little?”

Both Joe and Hickam nodded.

“Well, I guess because of that, Jordie was always protective of him.” When he paused, Joe motioned for him to continue. “Her senior year, she was with this guy, a superjock. A meathead, but, you know, coveted. One day after classes, Jordie was sitting with this guy in his car out on the school parking lot.

“Rumor had it that they were quarreling. In any case, Josh rode up on his scooter. Not a Harley, nothing with that kind of muscle. He and the meathead exchanged words through the driver’s window, and Josh, whether accidentally or on purpose—accounts varied—bumped the fender of the meathead’s car with his front tire.