I considered this and came up with nothing. "I don't know, Cooper. You got any ideas?"
"I prefer simple explanations until I see evidence to the contrary. For now, we assume Richter told you the truth—that he wanted you to find out about JoLynn's past and help me figure out why someone might want her dead. We have absolutely no evidence he knew anything about Kent Dugan."
I relaxed some then, let out the breath I'd been holding in. "Keeping it simple like you said, maybe Dugan tried to kill JoLynn because first of all"—I held up one finger—"she had the nerve to leave him." I added my middle finger. "And second of all, she'd settled into a very nice lifestyle by pretending to be someone she wasn't—pretending by using the tools Dugan had given her to accomplish that feat. I'm thinking that would enrage someone as controlling as Dugan."
Cooper nodded. "My first thought when I saw JoLynn being life-flighted away from that wreck was that someone wanted her to suffer, to be terrified before she died. Fits Dugan, wouldn't you say?"
"Absolutely. I want to believe Elliott Richter, Cooper. I need to believe someone cares about that girl."
"You care," he said softly.
Before I could reply "And so do you," I heard my cell phone ring. I hurried to the counter where I'd dropped my bag earlier and had to dig deep to find the thing.
It was Kate. "Mind if I join you guys for movie night? My last client is at four today and—"
"Do I mind? I wish you could be here this minute. We have lots to talk about." I told her about Kent Du gan's death but decided to save the rest for when she got here. She said to expect her around six, after she went home and picked up Webster. The poor dog needed a night out, too.
"My sister," I said to Cooper after I folded the phone shut and sat back down next to him. "She's joining us tonight."
He'd been reading the printouts and still held one in his hand. "Glad I'll finally get to meet her. About these articles. This one details a story similar to Katarina Richter's. And so does the other one I've read so far."
"I skimmed a few back at the condo and got the same feeling. How similar?" I asked.
"Very. Well-off people with missing relatives. Disappearances long enough ago that someone Kent or JoLynn's age could walk into their lives and say they're the grown child of that missing relative. And they would arrive with documents—fakes of course—to prove it. A lot of homework involved, though. I sure hope that hard drive HPD hauled off will tell us something more."
"You're describing what JoLynn did," I said half to myself. I looked at Cooper. "We're back to that."
"Yup, we are. Let's read through everything before we act on our assumption that JoLynn was a con artist. She's sure not fleeing to Mexico in the near future, so we have time to figure this out."
"There's something about her, Cooper. I mean, I haven't had a real conversation with her, but from what I saw on her face in the hospital, from what Roberta said, from what the relatives told Kate and me, this girl was vulnerable and sweet and—"
"Abby, we need to shelve the emotions and search for the facts. Do you have a highlighter handy? There's plenty of names in these stories, people we can check on to see if they ever met Jolynn or Dugan and lost money to either of them. I want to make the names stand out and then make a list."
I got up and scrounged in the built-in kitchen-desk drawer until I found a couple of highlighters—both bright pink.
Cooper held his up for inspection. "My favorite color."
"I promise never to mention you touched something pink."
He grinned as we divided the printout pile.
I soon lost track of time reading the stories, many of them, like Cooper had said, strikingly similar to what happened to Katarina Richter. Every family with someone missing. The missing. I'd never considered them before this case, never thought what it meant to lose touch so completely with someone you loved, to be left without answers. True, my biological parents had been missing from my life and I'd learned my mother was dead. But I had never known her. These accounts of personal loss were far different from my own.
Since Cooper hadn't said a word, either, just moved his marker across name after name, we were both a little startled when Jeff came in through the back door.
Cooper stood and they shook hands.
"Good to see you again," Jeff said. He went to the counter, grabbed a paper towel, spit out his gum and tossed it in the trash. "It's Miller time. Join me?"
"Sounds good."
Jeff looked at me. "Chardonnay or beer?"
"Wine mellows me far better than beer and after the stuff I've been reading, I could use mellowing."
The beer was Corona, not Miller, and the wine came from World Market—a discounted bottle from Napa Valley. We all sat at the kitchen table, and Cooper and I told Jeff everything we'd learned today.
When we were finished, Jeff looked at Cooper. "You think Dugan's killer jumped Abby last night?"
I hadn't even considered that possibility and a chill raced up my arms.
"I've given it some thought," Cooper said, "but I didn't want to bring it up yet. Abby's looked a little green around the gills several times today." Cooper eyed me with concern. "Sort of like you look now."
"I am perfectly fine." I slugged down what remained in my wineglass like a cowboy who'd bellied up to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila. Hell, maybe I could use a shot of tequila. The thought of Aunt Caroline and me being followed around in a grocery store by a murderer . . . damn. "Aunt Caroline was with me in that grocery store when I saw the guy. Maybe he followed me to her house when I drove her home. Maybe he—"
Jeff placed his hand over mine. "He wasn't interested in your aunt, hon. He wanted to scare you. I've already made arrangements for you to give his description to our sketch artist tomorrow. Turns out those surveillance cameras in the garage weren't operative."
"They're broken?" I said.
Cooper snickered. "Seventy percent of the time, surveillance cameras are a joke. Either they're shut off, out of tape or produce such poor-quality pictures that they're useless."
"Did I really want to know that?" I closed my eyes, but decided I was done being afraid. Past experience— like being followed, being held hostage, little things like that—had planted seeds of fear, but I was pulling those weeds out of my brain this minute. Amazing what the mind can do, because I grinned, feeling the anxiety recede almost at once. "A sketch artist. Good. I can't wait to see my garage man again, if only on paper."
"What I still don't get," Cooper said, "is why your assailant clearly protected you from further harm after he warned you off the case."
"That's got me buffaloed, too," Jeff said.
"Okay, let's backtrack so I can get this straight," I said. "You two believe that the parking garage guy knew about Dugan, too? I mean, we know Dugan and JoLynn were connected. But maybe this guy didn't. Maybe his warning was all about her."
Jeff nodded. "I agree. That's why I've asked DeShay to mention chloroform to the ME. If garage guy used chloroform on both you and Dugan, that answers your question. The evidence would still be circumstantial— bad guy warns you off your investigation into JoLynn's past and uses chloroform. Then chloroform is used on Kent Dugan to subdue him before he gets tossed in the bayou. But how many turds are using chloroform these days?"
"Okay. Now I understand," I said.