"I'd like a lead on that bastard who knocked you out, myself."
"Better call Jeff first." Then I said, "Hey there" when he answered.
"Listen, we got a problem," he said.
"You need help with Doris before you come over tonight? We've already made the hospital visit to JoLynn, but guess what happened?"
"You need—"
"Cooper and I have a lot to tell you," I went on. "He's staying at my place over the weekend and—"
"Abby, listen to me. They just pulled Kent Dugan's body out of Brays Bayou."
23
I was too stunned to speak for a second and must have looked it because Cooper put a supportive hand on my elbow and mouthed, "Are you okay?"
My stomach felt like I'd eaten a batch of Texas kumquats right off the tree, but I gave him a thumbs-up to let him know I was fine. Then I said to Jeff, "Dugan was murdered?" so Cooper would understand what we were discussing.
Cooper reacted with raised eyebrows to my words while Jeff went on, saying, "When's the last time you remember anyone swimming in that bayou? Yes, he was murdered."
"Sorry I asked." This terrible development had apparently made us both testy.
"You're obviously in the middle of something uglier than we thought, what with this murder and last night's incident in that garage." He didn't add "so I worry," but I knew that's why he still sounded pretty tense. "Anyway," he continued, "Bart and I caught a drive-by shooting first thing this morning and when we got back to the sixth floor at Travis, DeShay and Chavez were heading out on the bayou call."
DeShay Peters and Jeff were once partners but had been split up because they were both day-shift sergeants. Now all the murder squads—God, how I hated that title—had a sergeant and an officer working together. DeShay was with Chavez and Jeff's new partner was Bart Pulanski.
"DeShay drew the case?" I said. "That's good."
"Luck of the draw. I filled him in on the tampered car, the coma victim's relationship to the complainant. I told DeShay I'd met Dugan and that you knew him, too, so expect a visit or a call."
I could never get used to Jeff or the rest of his homicide buddies calling victims complainants. It sounded like the dead person might rise from the grave for a court appearance. "Sorry, I'm a little blown away by this. What did you say?"
"DeShay will call you."
"I could phone him right now or—"
"He'll get to you when he can, Abby."
"But this is huge. This is, well, awful." I was sure glad Cooper was standing next to me because I was feeling a little sick to my stomach. Nerves? Or leftover side effects from the drugs?
I swallowed, heard Jeff sigh.
He said, "I guess because you're Abby, you have to be doing something, not wait around. Did you say Boyd's with you?"
"Yes."
"Can I talk to him?"
"Sure." I handed the phone over.
Cooper said, "What's going on, Jeff?" Lots of uh-huhs and okays followed before Cooper closed the phone and handed it back. "Jeff said you'll know where to go when I give you the body location, but I'm driving."
"He doesn't think I can drive? I'm perfectly capable of—"
"My decision. You may think you're fine, but I saw your face in that parking garage a little while ago and just now when you got this news. You're shook up. We do this together or I'll find my way there alone."
I sighed in frustration. "I need my car, Cooper. We can both drive."
"We'll pick yours up later," he said decisively. "We need to get to that scene now."
"Okay, let's rodeo." I said this calmly though I felt anything but calm. A suspect was dead and added to that, either Cooper or Jeff decided not to allow me behind the wheel. So why did I feel a little relieved that Cooper was driving? Probably because that guy screwed with my head last night. I preferred control, not having to deal with rubber legs and feeling like I was drunk.
Turned out we didn't have far to go. Since Cooper was in plain clothes and had come to Houston in his truck, he had to show his badge and ID to the officer standing on the Brays Bayou embankment. We were waved on when the officer told us that Sergeant Peters was expecting us. Guess Jeff called DeShay.
Patrol cars and officers from the Harris County Sheriff's Department and HPD were waving along the rubberneckers who were delaying traffic on the overpass. No one on foot had stopped to look—maybe because this was not a walker-friendly part of town.
I saw the familiar black baseball caps that the medical examiner's investigators wear, as well as the navy-clad Crime Scene Unit officers. The body had been dragged up to a spot where the concrete met the grass. Because of the steep embankment, DeShay had to sit by the corpse—his position such that I couldn't see Dugan's face, thank God. No matter how ugly the guy had been on the inside, his face and body had been beautiful. If he'd been tossed from the top of the embankment and rolled down fifty feet of sunbaked ground and concrete to the water, I was betting his outside matched his inside now.
I pointed out DeShay to Cooper and he eased down the bank to join him by the body. I stayed where I was, arms crossed, keeping my focus on the two men as they greeted each other. That way, I saw nothing more than Dugan's wet, muddy pants. A few minutes later they came back to where I stood. DeShay shed his gloves and held out his arms. "How's my girl?"
We hugged and I said, "I miss you, DeShay. You can still come over, you know."
"Yeah, but then I'd start thinking about the best partnership HPD ever had. My man and I got it done, Abby. You know that."
His "man" was Jeff and they had been a good team. "What happened to Kent Dugan?" I said.
"Wish I knew. Not shot or knifed, far as I can tell. The body was definitely moved to this location if I'm reading the lividity right. Someone probably rolled him up in the carpet remnant CSU has already picked up. And that's about all I can tell you for now. What can you tell me?"
"He was a player," Cooper said. "Should have gone to jail more than once but never did."
DeShay turned to me. "Abby, you met the complainant more than once, from what Jeff told me. Got any clue about next of kin? 'Cause we sure can't find anyone. His cell phone got wet, so we don't have that to help us right now. I'm hoping the tech guys can recover something, anything."
"He has a live-in girlfriend named Georgeanne, but I don't know her last name. She works at some printer place—she might have told me where—it sure wasn't Kinkos—but I can't remember."
Cooper said, "Someone tried to kill his last live-in girlfriend. Jeff said he filled you in on that. Maybe we need to find out if this Georgeanne is okay . . . or might have had a little struggle with our friend Dugan."
"A warrant to search Dugan's place is on the way. But this other girlfriend—the one before Georgeanne— she had a wreck and is in a coma, right?"
"They're gradually bringing her out and she's at least able to talk. Pretty groggy, though, as of an hour ago."
The medical examiner's body movers, wearing their "don't get a hernia" back braces, took a stretcher down to pick up the body, and the CSU officers backed off to allow them room. My stomach knotted up again. I did not want to see Dugan when they brought him up, not even in a body bag. No matter how much I disliked him, I sure as hell hadn't wanted him dead. I turned my back enough that I couldn't see what they were doing.
DeShay's dark forehead was beaded with moisture and the waistband of my capris was soaked with sweat. Cooper looked cool and calm and I wondered how he managed that in ninety-degree heat.
"Since it's hot enough to evaporate dirt, can we discuss this in the comfort of air-conditioning?" I said.