The driver shook his head. “No, really, that’s not necessary.”
“Are you one of those weird people? You don’t like boudin kolaches?”
He laughed. “Actually, your call came in while I was in the shower, and I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast. I have to watch my phone like a hawk, so I can get as many rides as possible. The first to respond in the area gets the ride. And I love boudin. If I didn’t, my family would disown me.”
His dark hair and slight accent made her think he hailed from Louisiana and not Texas. “Eat, please.” She leaned forward and placed the completely napkin wrapped food on his seat. “I promise, I didn’t touch a single part of it, only the napkin did, in case you’re picky like that.”
She saw him smile. “Thank you.”
She smiled back. “It’s my last indulgent meal for the next three to six months. I’m on a mission to heal quickly and fully in the next six months, and donuts and kolache aren’t part of the program.”
“You look pretty fit to me,” he said, making the turn onto her road.
“I used to be, but months in a hospital and rehab turned me to a blob.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all good. You know the saying ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?’ In my case, it’s true.” Kate checked her phone as he pulled into her driveway and added a tip to the trip.
The driver got out and opened her door, then walked around to the trunk to get her single duffel bag.
Bryce ran down the stairs at the front of the house to greet her. “Hey, sis.”
Kate wrapped her arms around him as if she hadn’t been in contact in months. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“You know I’d have come to visit every week if you’d let me.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “How are you feeling?”
Kate pushed him back. “We aren’t going to be like that, are we? No more sleeping in the servant’s quarters or worrying about me.”
Bryce took the bag from the driver. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for breakfast,” the driver said as he got in the car and drove away.
“Did you flirt with the driver?” Bryce asked.
“No, I slept most of the trip, but I stopped for breakfast and bought him a boudin kolache.”
Bryce stuck his tongue out. Not his thing.
“I got donuts, too.” She held up the bag.
He ripped the bag from her hand. “Cinnamon twist for me?”
“I thought you gave up sugar?” Kate followed behind him, into the house.
Unlike the last time she’d been here, eight long weeks earlier, the stairs didn’t seem like a mountain. She climbed them at a normal pace and didn’t even get winded. Last time she climbed the six steps, she’d been out of breath.
Azizi stood in the doorway, a faraway look in her eyes.
“Miss Azizi,” Kate said, walking past her.
“Miss Kate,” Azizi said and shut both front doors.
“Thanks for keeping Bryce company while I was away. He said you taught him to play cribbage.” Kate stopped in the middle of the foyer to marvel at the place she called home, still not believing it belonged to her.
“Hopefully, you’ll get to settle in this time, and the plantation will start to feel like home,” Azizi said. “I have coffee on. Help yourself.” She walked out of the room, and Kate heard the door off the back of the kitchen open and close.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Kate said.
“Yep, that’s what she said while you were gone.” Bryce sat Kate’s bag at the foot of the stairs. “And since you’re apparently well healed, I’m not doing your bidding. You can take your own bag upstairs.”
“She really said that?” Kate asked.
“No, you idiot, she didn’t say a word. Never even mentioned your name. Now let’s go drink some of her chicory coffee before it turns to tar.” Bryce walked into the kitchen and Kate followed.
“I’m so glad to be back to the real world, even if I do feel like I’m living in someone else’s house.”
Azizi had set up a tray with two cups, cream and sugar. Bryce grabbed the percolator from the stove and brought it to the table. He poured a cup of coffee and set the pot on the wooden pot holder next to the tray.
“None for me?” Kate asked.
“You’re not an invalid, you can pour your own coffee.” He sat down, sipping his black coffee. “You’re definitely gonna want a lot of cream for yours.”
“Thanks.” She lifted the lid from the sugar bowl and scooped a heaping teaspoon into her cup. Then she poured a generous amount of heavy cream over the sugar. Stirring the cream and sugar with her left hand, she picked up the coffee pot and poured the rich, dark liquid over it with her right hand. By the time she was finished filling the glass, the coffee had taken on the color of coffee ice cream, a creamy tan. She marveled that just a few months ago, she wouldn’t have had the strength to lift a nearly full pot of coffee, and now she could multitask, if stirring and pouring at the same time was considered multitasking.
“Have you heard about the cop killing last night?” Bryce said in the same way a person would say, “Have you heard about the sale on shoes at Macy’s?”
Kate put her cup to her lips, but stopped short of taking a drink. “Where?”
Bryce groaned. “Here, silly. One of Zane’s officers was found dead of a heroin overdose.”
“Then how is that a killing? Sounds more like a cop with a drug problem.” Either way, the thought of it made Kate sad for the cop and his family.
“I just got off work about an hour before you came home. We spent all night on the guy. Had to get him cleaned up first. Piss and shit all over him. Thank goodness that’s not my job. Must have been a helluva struggle in that bathroom.”
“Who was this?” Kate asked.
“A new guy apparently. Chad Sousa. He’d only been with the department a few months. Young guy, too. And if he’d been shooting up before this incident, he was good, because not a single needle mark anywhere on his body. Not one. The only other suspicious marks turned out to be from Taser prongs.” Bryce drank his coffee and looked out over the rows of pecan trees.
“Were the marks old?” Kate asked, staring intently at Bryce as if she stared hard enough, she’d be able to read his thoughts. If the guy was a new cop, it could be marks from training. All cops got to learn what it feels like to be on the other end of a Taser.
“Fresh as the needle mark. The doc and I think someone incapacitated him with a Taser, then shot him up. No way was this guy a junkie. Fit and cute, and looked like he cared about his body. Hell, his last meal had been one of those packaged salads you get in the produce section, with poppy seed dressing and grilled chicken.”
“I’ll have to give Zane a call,” Kate said, wanting to suck the words back in immediately after she said them.
“No way are you calling him about this. Don’t be a selfish bitch. You refused to speak to him for two months, and now you want to chat him up about this murder. No way. I’ll cuff you to a chair with your own cuffs before I’ll let you do that. It’s selfish and mean.” Bryce slammed his empty coffee cup on the table, then reached for the pot to refill it.
Kate sighed. “I know. I shouldn’t even have thought that, much less said it. Besides, I have my own investigation. Are you still going to help me?”
“Did I say I would when we talked on the phone?” Bryce still seemed testy.
“Well, that was a month ago, and I called you at work, so I didn’t know if you were just trying to get me off the phone or what.”
Kate looked out at the pecan trees swaying in the wind. Every once in a while, the dust would kick up and swirl, and she fully expected to see Payaso form from the dust.
“Look, I can only do so much. I’ve been working a lot of overtime, and I’m training a new girl, so I’ll let you know if I hear anything, but I haven’t heard shit.” Bryce’s knee bounced under the table.
“How many cups of
coffee have you had today?” Kate asked.
“Too many, and not enough. I still have to go back to work. I just took a few hours off so I’d be home when you got here. This house probably feels more like home to me than it does to you.” He got up and walked over to the sink. Turning on the water, he rinsed his coffee cup.
“Anything about Bario Azteca come across your table?” By table, she meant the slab in the morgue.
“Not a damn thing. And don’t think I haven’t been asking around. This is a weird business we’re in, sis. You kill them, and I decide how and when they were killed, even when I know how and when.”
“That’s not even close to what you do most of the time. They usually kill themselves, not killed by a cop. How many killings by a cop have you worked in the last twelve months? And Peculiar isn’t your only customer. You work for the county, not the city,” Kate reminded him.
“One, and it was the guy you killed.”
“See? And if he hadn’t tried to kill me, you wouldn’t have had him.”
“Au contraire, mon frère, I don’t work for either the city or county; I work for the hospital. And right now, I’m fixin’ to head back there.” He leaned against the counter. “Keep your head down, okay? We don’t know who the good guys are just yet. When I ask questions at work, I ask as if I’m stupid and curious about procedure, not like I want information. You need to do the same. Remember, you’re not a cop anymore.”
Kate stood. “I am a cop. I’m just not on active duty. And this cop is going to head to the firing range. When you get home from work, I’ll show you the training schedule I’ve mapped out for myself. When I go back, I’m never going to be caught off guard again, ever.”
Leaving her coffee cup on the table, Kate stormed out of the kitchen.
As she stopped at the bottom of the stairs to pick up her duffel, she heard Bryce yell, “Your mama doesn’t live here, girl, you need to pick up after yourself. The cup will be here when you come back down the stairs.”
Kate stomped her way to the second floor, not sure why she felt irritated by Bryce. Probably because she knew he wasn’t going to help her. Fine, she didn’t need anyone’s help, and she sure wasn’t going to ask him again.
Chapter 13
Zane left enough money on the table to pay the bill, including the extra coffee he didn't have time to drink, and a hefty tip, then nearly ran out of the diner. Moore wanted him back at the station before Rambone, and before the media got wind of the fingerprints. Rambone seemed to be more interested in media coverage than actually solving this case.
Zane sped across town, running three yellow lights, and cruising through a couple of four-way stops. By the time he walked into Moore’s office, Moore had the paperwork spread across his desk, and was pulling up information on his computer.
"Sir," Zane said, as he approached the doorway.
"Come in, and shut the door."
Zane did.
"I'd have called Trevino, but he's not the detective on this, and you can get him up to speed later." He turned back to his computer. "Look who our first set of prints belong to."
He seemed surprised, but Zane wasn't.
"Don't you think this is odd? The chief claims to have barely known Sousa, other than on a professional level."
"The chief was at the scene. He may have accidentally touched the railing as we were headed upstairs to view Sousa’s body. I'd have been surprised if his prints didn't show up." No brainer. And yet how stupid of the chief to have touched anything.
Moore let out a breath. "Well, mother fu-- I thought I finally had something on that bastard," he laughed.
"Right." Zane laughed, too.
There was no love lost between the two men, but when they were in the same room together, you'd never know it. They worked case after case together, and they worked in tandem, always like clockwork, as if they were twins. They found evidence where there was none, clues in the murk, and solved the unsolvable. But Zane knew they didn’t have drinks at the bar after work, and their families didn’t picnic together.
“Well, that didn’t give us much.” Moore leaned back in his chair, his arms behind his head. He kicked his feet up on the desk. “I guess we wait for the M.E. to finish with the body, then we see what other evidence we have.”
“I’m going back to the house with Trevino to chat with the neighbors, then I’m going to track the cell phone carrier and get a lead on that damn phone,” Zane said.
“You have the warrant?” Moore asked.
“I filled out the affidavit and I’m waiting for an answer. Hoping I have it by the time I finish up at Sousa’s house. It will take at least a couple of hours to recanvas the neighborhood. Lots of people to talk to who didn’t answer their door in the middle of the night.”
“Good, good,” Moore said, sounding distracted. “I’ll let you know when I hear from the M.E.’s office.” He slid his high gloss Oxford shoes off the desk and Zane heard them thump on the floor. “Heard anything from Kate?”
Zane’s chest seized at the name. “Nope.”
“So she hasn’t said if she’s coming back?” Moore asked.
“Of course she’s coming back. She’s a cop. She bleeds blue; just ask the EMTs.”
“Has she talked to you about that night at all?” Moore leaned forward.
Zane stood. “We haven’t spoken in months. In fact, I don’t even know where she is.” That was a lie. He knew she’d gone to Dallas Post Trauma Center; he just didn’t know if she was still there. “And I have no idea when she’s coming back. Maybe she’s at a boot camp somewhere, getting in tip top shape.”
“Well, if you see her or talk to her, give her my best. It’s been quiet not having her around the last three or so months,” Moore stood.
“Will do,” Zane stood too, figuring he was being dismissed.
“I’ll be out of the office for a bit, so if you need anything, get me on my cell,” Moore walked him to the door. “And please keep me posted if anything new comes up.”
Before walking out, Zane asked, “Anything on the sketch artist?”
Moore shrugged.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Zane rolled his eyes, not caring that Moore could see him do it.
* * *
On the drive back to Sousa’s townhouse, Zane called Gonzales.
“Hey, anything I should know before I go back to the crime scene?”
“Who is this?” she asked in a smart-ass tone.
“Like you don’t have caller ID.”
“Yeah, yeah, and you could have opened with ‘Hi, Gonzales, I hope y’all are doing well’, then asked about the scene,” she laughed. “Nothing much to say. We went back after sun up. Trevino took more pictures and evidence from the yard, but there wasn’t much. I got the prints file to Moore already. Why?”
Zane hopped in his vehicle and started the engine. “I’m headed there now. I’m going to take another look around. I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed before I walked all over your crime scene.”
He could hear her crunching something.
“Am I interrupting your breakfast?”
“Snack. No such thing as a regular meal. I just got back from another crime scene.” She chewed some more. “It’s all yours. Have your way with her, but be gentle.”
He backed out of the parking lot and headed toward Sousa’s place. “You didn’t find a cell phone while you were getting your dust all over the place, did you?”
“You do know I don’t use dust, right, old man? No, you looking for any phone in particular?”
“Just Sousa’s, like earlier. I have a number, just no phone, which is odd. I’m going to head to the store to see what I can find out after I check his place one more time.” He turned on Clark Street and headed west.
“Aren’t you on nights this week?”
“I’m on a murder investigation of a cop; there are no set hours.”
She blew out a breath. “True that, no holds barred when it’s a brothe
r. Good luck.”
“Right.” Zane hung up.
A brother. Just about any of his other officers would have felt more like a brother. He knew it was wrong, but he didn’t want this case. Zane loved homicide work, even though he hated homicide for what it was; hated that someone lost a loved one, regardless if that loved one was on the right or wrong side of the law. The victim was still a parent or sibling, and hopefully someone loved them. But sometimes that person had been a drain on society, and homicide wasn’t such a bad thing. Go ahead, sue me, he thought. Plenty of times he’d thought, “Let the gang bangers kill themselves, then we don’t have to pay for their incarceration.” But man, it ain’t that easy. If only it was.
He drove up to Sousa’s place and parked on the street. The crime scene tape was still up, but no officers protected the scene. They pretty much had everything they needed for evidence, but left the tape up to keep people from getting too close. With nothing to see, the neighbors had all gone back to their boring lives. That is, until Zane pulled up.
He hadn’t even unbuckled his seatbelt before the attached townhouse neighbor was at his door.
Still dressed in her pajamas and a pink terrycloth bathrobe, she knocked on the window as he was entering information into his laptop. Zane nearly jumped.
He pressed the button to roll down the window. “Ma’am.”
“What happened to Chad?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. That’s what an investigation is for, to find out.” He hadn’t had enough sleep to be dealing with nosy neighbors and knew he sounded sharp.
“Well, no shit. But I mean, what happened? He’s dead, right? Murdered?”
This lady didn’t have a clue. She was looking for gossip, something she could text to her friends, post on Facebook, be the town crier.
“Let me ask you a quick question…” Zane said.
She leaned in. “Sure.”
“Did you hear anything that sounded like gunfire? A pop of any kind last night around eleven or so?” Zane forced a grim expression.
Bang Switch Page 7
