"Knowing you, you probably spend a lot of time
thinking about your case, working things through, and meanwhile you're driving on autopilot. It takes a conscious effort to catch on to a tail. In the future, don't focus on the car makes and models. Look for decals or license plates or rosary beads hanging in windows— anything distinctive—and if you see that little something again, you might want to circle a block, see if they come after you."
I sighed. "Thanks. I will now shelve the bruised detective ego and refocus. I thought Dugan might be the guy who jumped me, but now I'm not so sure. Dugan's shorter than average. This man had to be more like your height, because my head ended up under his chin when he grabbed me. And the voice was different."
"The voice? He talked to you?"
I blinked. "Yeah. Jeez, I remember a little more now."
Jeff nodded, trying to keep his expression impassive. "Good. What else?"
I squinted, trying to recapture that pretty darn scary moment. "Gloved hand—like a winter glove. Whoa. It's been hot enough to toast marshmallows on the dashboard, so that's pretty weird."
"Protection. In case you bit him."
"But the glove smelled . . . no, it tasted sweet. But if someone injected me with another drug, that means the stuff on the glove wasn't strong enough to knock me out."
Jeff said, "The sweet taste makes me think chloroform. We had a serial rapist once who tried using the stuff. It worked for the first two women, but he ended up killing a girl because he didn't really know how much to use. Sad to say the stuff's readily available these days as an industrial solvent."
"Yeah. Chloroform. I researched poisons after that awful cyanide murder when I lived in River Oaks. Chloroform doesn't put you out in a few seconds like you see on TV. But it can make you kinda stupid."
Jeff grinned. "Remember, I never described you that way tonight."
I punched his arm. "Will I hear about this for the next decade?"
"Only if you keep me around that long. But back to business. I know you say Dugan wasn't tall enough, but why would he go after you anyway—especially since he knows you're very cop-connected?"
"He and I had a little . . . discussion this morning. I kind of pissed him off. And he might be in a whole lot of trouble thanks to me—or actually thanks to him and what I discovered at his house."
"Tell me. 'Cause I didn't like that SOB from the minute I met him." He started chewing his gum like crazy.
I told him about this morning's visit to Dugan's house, about the laminator and the copy machine and about Georgeanne.
"Dugan's a busy man. You said Boyd planned to call Financial Crimes Division?"
"Is that what it's called?"
"Yeah, but maybe I can speed up that process, get him investigated faster. Then he and I will have a very long talk about how he behaved this morning when you two talked."
"Thanks, but you don't need to—hell, yes, you do, because I like the whole idea. Now, can we call it a night?"
And so we did. Lying in Jeff's arms turned out to be the best therapy for any posttraumatic stress I might have suffered after my visit to the Little Shop of Garage Horrors. It felt good to be absolutely safe, even for a gun-toting tom girl like me.
21
Doris and Jeff left my house early the following morning. Jeff wanted to get to Travis Center early and start harassing the parking garage management again—but only after I'd reassured him a dozen times that I felt fine. I went back to sleep until eight, then got up and took another shower. I still felt grimy from lying around on that concrete petri dish last night. I planned on calling Cooper and Mr. Richter to fill them in on what had happened last night, but Cooper called me before I could pick up the phone.
After we exchanged hellos, he said, "JoLynn is being brought out of her coma, so today and on the weekend I'm working her case and nothing else. I'll be staying in Houston and wondered if you know a decent hotel near the hospital."
"The best place to stay is my house, in my guest room," I said.
"Abby, I couldn't—"
"Yeah, you could. End of story. When will you be in town?"
"I'm on the north side of Houston right now," he said.
I gave him directions, deciding not to tell him over the phone what I'd learned about JoLynn's foster care and last night's nasty little incident. Besides, if I had another chance to talk with someone about what happened, maybe I'd remember more details.
Cooper arrived forty-five minutes later and by the look on his face, I guessed he'd been a victim of Houston morning rush hour.
"Fun ride?" I asked.
"Folks are about as friendly as fire ants on those freeways this morning," he said. "Reminds me of when I worked in DC. Now, there's an ugly commute."
I had him drop his overnight bag by the stairs and then we went to the kitchen. I remembered how he'd chosen healthy food for lunch the first day we met at the hospital. I said, "I raided my sister's stash of green tea if you'd like some. She loves the stuff, so I keep it on hand."
"That would be great," he said.
"She does hers with this special little teapot." I held up the heavy cast-iron number she'd bought for me. I loved the way it looked, so I kept it on the stove, but had never actually used the thing.
"Just stick a cup of water in the microwave and I'll do the rest," he answered with a smile.
"Now, that I can handle."
I opted for coffee—my third cup, but who was counting? Then we sat across from each other at the kitchen table and I filled him in on everything that had happened yesterday.
When I'd finished, Cooper leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I'm sorry you went through that. Maybe you shouldn't be involved in this."
I pointed at him, saying, "Don't you say that, Cooper Boyd. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. I have to adjust my strategy, maybe keep the Lady Smith with me—well, maybe not when I go into the hospital, but you know what I'm saying."
He looked surprised. "You carry?"
"Don't look so shocked. There's plenty of girls in the FBI who can shoot, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"Jeff and I were at the range about three weeks ago. I'm in practice and hit plenty of targets smack in the middle."
"I'll bet you did." He smiled. "Does Jeff plan to call you about those security tapes? I'd sure like a look myself."
"I don't know. He was first team today and will probably draw a case. We might not see or hear from him until later in the day."
"This man who attacked you, did he—"
"He did not attack me. He grabbed me, that's all."
"And drugged you. I'd call that an attack. Anyway, why go to all that trouble to warn you off? The chloroform, the injection? That's work."
"I never thought of it that way. But you know what? This little incident only makes me more determined than ever to help a client I've never really met."
"I never doubted your commitment, Abby. Talk me through last night one more time."
"Give me a second to picture everything." I took several deep breaths and closed my eyes. "Okay, I leave the elevator. My bag is over my left shoulder, like always. I take about ten paces, maybe. . . . Then . . . I hear something. Or just know someone is there. Okay . . . here's where it gets hazy. Did I look back?" I opened my eyes. "That's what I'd do, right? I'd look back."
"Seems logical."
I felt my heart speed up a little, just like when I realized I wasn't alone last night. "I did look back and I caught a glimpse. Hooded sweatshirt . . . bandanna over his mouth and nose. It's coming back. . . . I can see him." I squeezed my eyes shut again. "Oh my God. It was him."