Catch a Falling Star (22 page)
LeBeau frowned. “She?”
“The woman I found slashed to death in my trailer. She has a name. A family. Don’t treat her like another number.”
The lines in his forehead disappeared. “Believe me, Ms. Lewis, when we learn her name and find her family, we won’t treat her like a statistic.”
His dark penetrating gaze seemed to peer into her soul. Cody shivered, stepping back. “Just checking.”
“Right.” He turned, then looked at her over his shoulder. “Be assured. I
am
one of the best.” With a tip of his head, he strode away.
Why that bloated swamp rat! Throwing her words back in her face. He better be the best. For the victim’s sake.
Cody hugged her body. Why didn’t he ask about her resemblance to the victim? It couldn’t have passed LeBeau’s notice. Surly he’d seen her before he barged in here demanding she repeat for the hundredth time how she found the poor woman.
God have mercy on the family
.
Cody knew all too well the pain and suffering they would endure. She’d lived through it when her mother was killed. Had it not been for her dad and her friends … Cody shook the sorrow away. That road was best left untraveled.
Free to leave, she wandered out of the meeting room. She asked a passing patrolman the way out, and he pointed her in the direction of the main entrance. Slipping through the crowd of police officers, she left the noise behind and entered the stadium’s enclosed exit, halting before the glass door. A curtain of rain blocked her path of escape. Beads of moisture on the windows blurred the red emergency lights to bloody streaks.
Her mind snapped to the moment she found the victim. Screams. Who was screaming? The image faded to her mother’s casket. Dark cherry wood peeked from under the long white cloth draped over the coffin. Quiet sobs filled her head.
Thunder cracked.
Cody jerked to the present, stumbling back.
Not again. I can’t go back there.
Swallowing hard, she glanced around. If her rig was confiscated, how would she get home?
A weight like an eight-thousand-pound tractor dropped on her chest and tears coated her eyes. Where was her dad? Where was her horse? What side of the Stanton Enterprise Stadium was she on? Cody started to hyperventilate.
“Hey, kiddo, did they let you go?”
She whirled to face a stocky man in a silver-belly Stetson. “Dad.” She vaulted into his circle of comfort and wrapped her arms around him. The scent of horses and leather clung to his western dress shirt. “I don’t know how I’m going to get S’mores home. They’re keeping my rig. And that arrogant detective was a jerk. I can’t do this.”
Sobbing, she soaked his shirt. He held her close until the torrent ebbed. Cody pulled from his arms and swiped a sleeve across her eyes.
Settling his hands on her shoulders, he squeezed. “I figured they’d keep your rig. It’s a crime scene.”
Cody hiccupped at the word. “Dad — ”
“Shh. Shake it off, Cody. Your horse is on her way home right now. By the time we get there, she’ll be tucked away in her stall with a nightcap.”
“JC?”
“Yes.” He hooked his arm about her shoulders and drew her to his side. “Let’s get you home.”
Home. The sound of it wrapped around her like a warm blanket. In reality, any place was better than here. Cody loathed coming back tomorrow night. No trip to the NFR was worth this.
• • •
Remy paused in the stadium exit to suppress the grin playing with his mouth. Flames had lit up Cody’s eyes when he taunted her about being the best. Apparently, she didn’t like having her boasts thrown back at her. The cowgirl needed someone to keep her on her toes.
Hopefully the ME had arrived before the rain. Remy peered through the deluge at the long, white horse trailer hooked to a cherry-red extended cab truck. It appeared someone was inside. Upturning the collar of his coat and hunching his shoulders, Remy jogged across the lot.
He circled to the back of the trailer and entered, keeping a good distance back. A man in a blue ME jacket knelt beside the victim sprawled on the rubber-matted floor. The air was filled with the stench of blood, death, and manure. Remy preferred the manure.
The ME shifted, and Remy smiled. “Ahh, my favorite doc on duty.”
Dr. Rick Warner glanced over his shoulder. “LeBeau, ’bout time you got here.”
“I’ve been interviewing witnesses.” Remy crouched to Rick’s level. “Why are you here? Don’t you usually leave the dirty work to your underlings?”
“Circumstances warranted my assessment.”
“Well, what do you have on our victim so far?”
With a surgical-gloved hand, Rick flipped through his clipboard. “We have a female, age between twenty and thirty, multiple stab wounds, no identification, with a time of death approximately four hours ago. Don’t quote me on that, can’t get a good reading.” He let the papers fall back in place, as an odd expression lined his face. “I need to show you something.”
Shifting to the victim’s side, Rick carefully rolled the body on to its side, revealing a single crushed red rose.
“Interesting.” Remy said.
Rick returned the body to its former position. “She was killed somewhere else. The killer used this trailer as the dumpsite.”
Remy had known Doc Warner since he began working in the DPD homicide division three years ago. The man kept a stoic presence at a scene, but Remy got the sense something rattled him about this victim.
“What aren’t you telling me,
mon ami
?”
“Sit on it, Cajun. When I get a good look at her back at the morgue, I’ll let you know.”
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