Dwight continued to bob around in the water. “They’ve released the body, and Duck was supposed to send someone for it this afternoon.”
“What was the cause of death?”
“I didn’t get the official report yet.”
“Unofficially then. And don’t say you can’t tell me when you know it’s going to be public record soon as the DA’s office gets hold of it.”
Dwight pulled himself out of the pond, and water streamed from his body. He hadn’t brought a towel, so I handed him mine and slipped my T-shirt back over my damp suit.
“Okay, unofficially,” he said as he dried off. “He drowned in his own blood.”
“Really?”
“Truth. The ME thinks that somebody either knocked or pushed him down and then stomped him in the face while he was on his back. Most likely, he was unconscious at that point and his nose was smashed so badly he’d have had to breathe through his mouth.”
“Only that was stuffed full of quarters,” I said, shivering at the memory as a light breeze blew across the pond.
We walked back up to the house and I gave him first dibs on the shower.
While he dressed in my spare room, I sluiced off all the pond water, dried my hair, and pulled on fresh jeans, a white shirt, and a blue cotton cardigan. When I got back to the living area, Dwight was thumbing through my collection of old videos.
“We’ve watched them all,” I said.
“So I see. I thought you might’ve broke down and bought something new.”
“Sorry.”
It was still light outside, but fast heading for dusk. Dwight roamed the room restlessly, picking up a framed snapshot of my parents, then one of a gang of us at a cookout over at Robert’s house.
“Is something bothering you?” I asked.
“No, why?”
“I don’t know. You look uptight about something.”
Dwight’s normally as comfortable as an old faded T-shirt, but this evening he seemed edgy, unable to light, almost as if he were annoyed at me over something that he knew was none of his business but was working up to blasting me about it anyhow.
“What dorm’s Stevie in?” he asked abruptly.
“Old East,” I said.
“Is that one of the ones next to the Old Well?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Oh, come on, Deb’rah. You know why. Why else did you try to get him and Eric over here this afternoon? You know they didn’t leave their names with Jack or Mayleen.
Just like you know that Eric could’ve been the one to punch Braz Hartley.”
“No, I don’t!” I said hotly. “And neither do you. He wasn’t the only black kid at the carnival Friday night.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve got to start somewhere, and it might as well be with the one who’s acting suspicious. Or his friend. The one who has an aunt who can make him talk. Ride with me over to Chapel Hill?”
“This evening?”
“Why not?”
“Aren’t you seeing Sylvia tonight?”
“Nope. I’m seeing Stevie. Or I will if you’ll help me find him. You’re the one went to school there.”
“You could’ve,” I reminded him tartly.
Dwight looks more like a football player these days, but there was a time when he was so fast and could shoot a basketball from outside with such accuracy that Dean Smith had sent scouts to his high school games. For some reason, though, Dwight had joined the Army right after graduation.
He was driving his pickup this evening instead of a patrol car and he didn’t look very official in jeans and a long-sleeved green knit shirt with a navy blue collar.
“Shaw’s closer,” I said.
“Yeah, but you’re not Eric’s aunt. I thought I’d try to get Stevie to talk to me, off the record. Tell me what he saw, then go from there. We can stop for supper on the way home at that Mexican place you like. You want to come or not?”
With the odd vibes he was giving off, I wasn’t sure. On the other hand, I didn’t want him hassling Stevie without me there.
“Okay,” I said, “but only if I drive.”
“What’s wrong with my driving? Just because I keep to the speed limit—”
Dwight’s actually a good driver. When expediting with blue lights flashing and siren blaring, he can safely cover as much ground as any other officer in the county, but put him behind the wheel when he’s off duty and he becomes
