"I don't have the unmarked. I sent Maria for a search warrant of the Dugan residence." DeShay checked his watch. "She should be back pretty soon."
"Who's Maria?" I asked.
"Officer Maria Chavez. My new partner." He smiled as wide as a small dog with a large bone.
So the "Chavez" Jeff had told me about was female. As the three of us walked up to the street, I said, "By the look on your face, I'd say she's hot."
"Oh, yes. Like my granny always said, when God shuts a door, He opens a window. Jeff may have been forced to close a door, but there stood Maria waiting behind the curtains. Smart woman, my Maria. Very smart."
I pulled my purse-size SPF 30 cream from my bag and squeezed a dollop on my palm. "Can we please find shade somewhere to talk while we wait for her?"
"No need," DeShay said, looking past me. "She's making the turn onto South Main now."
I rubbed sunscreen on the back of my neck, which would make the hair back there greasy, not to mention wet from sweat. I reminded myself we were headed to a dead man's house, not my aunt Caroline's. No one would even notice.
Officer Chavez pulled up to where we stood.
"Get in," DeShay told us, opening the back door.
Cooper and I climbed into the Taurus. Then DeShay took the front passenger seat. The car was blessedly cool and smelled like a pine tree. I noticed an air freshener hanging on the rearview.
Maria Chavez turned. "Who are you two?" She wore an orange cotton shirt and her shiny dark hair was French-braided, her olive skin beautiful despite little or no makeup. I could tell why DeShay had taken a shine to this one.
"Chief Cooper Boyd, Pineview PD. And you're Officer Chavez?"
"That's me. And you?" She lifted her chin in my direction.
"I'm Abby Rose."
"Wow. The famous Abby my partner talks about all the time? Did you know DeShay Peters is the president of your fan club?"
"Maria, get moving," DeShay said. "That is, if you know where we're going."
"Oh, I know—probably better than you, amigo." With that, she put the car in drive and made a screeching U-turn that practically landed me in Cooper's lap. I hitched on my seat belt and gave Cooper a wide-eyed "Holy crap" look.
We filled them in on what we knew about Dugan as Chavez drove to the condo—drove like she'd stolen this cop car. DeShay took notes, barking at Chavez several times to slow down so he might have a chance of reading what he wrote later on. Then Chavez asked us a few questions. She was certainly abrupt, but after a few exchanges I realized this seemed to be her way, maybe because she'd decided a female in Homicide Division needed to come across as tough and in control.
When we arrived at our destination, we were all surprised to see another Taurus sitting in the driveway. A man wearing a tie and short-sleeved dress shirt was walking away from the front door. The badge and gun on his belt indicated he wasn't a Jehovah's Witness out on a mission.
"Hamlin, what the hell are you doing here?" DeShay called.
Meanwhile Chavez said, "What'd you do, Peters? Alert everyone in HPD?"
"I didn't talk to anyone besides Jeff," he said. "Hamlin works in the financial crimes division, so Jeff wouldn't have sent him." DeShay met this new officer halfway up the front walkway, Chavez tailing behind muttering about how this was their case and they didn't need any damn help—and she was probably including us.
While the three of them greeted one another, Cooper looked at me. "I called HPD last night, left a message for the forgery unit." He started toward them and I followed.
Cooper cleared his throat. "I'm Cooper Boyd, Pineview PD. I made a call last night—"
"Got your message, Chief Boyd. You think this residence is a possible ID shop?" Hamlin said.
"Yes," he answered with a nod. "Seems it's more than that now, though."
My turn to clear my throat. "Um, hi. I'm Abby Rose, a PI connected to this case."
Hamlin grinned. "The Abby Rose? Jeff Kline's best friend? Russ Hamlin." He extended his hand and then took mine in both of his, squeezing hard. "We know how you helped him after he was shot. We owe you."
I felt uncomfortable being praised by HPD for helping Jeff, praised by the men and women who put their lives on the line every day. I wanted to move past this. "Are there two warrants for this house, then?" I asked.
"I didn't have enough for a warrant, but since Dugan's dead, I suppose you do," Hamlin said to DeShay.
Chavez smiled and held up the paperwork. "Exigent circumstances, too. We can go in without an invitation, since the complainant's condition indicates another crime scene. I am learning fast how to ask for these warrants and get exactly what we need."
"Anyone home?" DeShay asked Hamlin.
"No one answered," he said. "But that doesn't mean much."
"Not good." DeShay rested a hand on his SIG Sauer. "I hope we don't find a dead girlfriend. Take the back, Chavez."
Hamlin's expression went serious. "You want me to back her up?"
"I don't need any help," Chavez said over her shoulder as she started around the garage.
"Excuse me for carrying a weapon, Miss Homicide," Hamlin shot back.
"Sorry about that, my man," DeShay said. "She's new in homicide. Got a lot to prove. Can you stay with Abby and Cooper until we find out what we got inside?" DeShay looked at me. "Tell him what you know about Dugan, Abby."
Hamlin said, "You're gonna need the Moby, unless you got the keys. Heavy door, dead bolt, too."
"The ME investigator took the keys, so Moby, here I come." DeShay hurried to the unmarked and opened the trunk.
"What's a Moby?" I asked. "A whale with an attitude? A rock star who suddenly grew muscles?"
Hamlin smiled. "Lady has a sense of humor. You need that in our business."
DeShay started for the front door carrying a two handled battering ram. I'd seen those things on Cops a hundred times. Now I knew what they were called.
"Let us know when we can go in, Sergeant Peters," Cooper said as DeShay rushed by.
"You got it," DeShay said over his shoulder.
A few seconds later I heard DeShay shout, "Houston Police Department. We're entering the residence," before the earsplitting crunching and cracking of the door drowned out anything else he might have said. From the sound of things, I was betting that door had been reduced to sawdust.
Hamlin said, "What's your connection to Dugan?"
"Cooper and I knew him. Sort of." I didn't add that I knew him far better after our little conflict—was it only yesterday? I licked my lips, the heat fueling my sick stomach and the headache that I'd thought was completely gone.
"So you got my message about the guy?" Cooper said.
Hamlin nodded. "Got a message from Jeff Kline, too. I decided to come out right away. I arrested Dugan for being a paper hanger back when he used to live in an apartment across town. Very downscale place compared to this. Looks like he bought himself a piece of the American dream—probably with someone else's money."
Cooper and I filled Hamlin in on the possible forged IDs we knew JoLynn had in her possession at the Richter place.
"You think Dugan made her those IDs, huh?" he said.
"Seems logical." I was about to come clean about peeking in windows and seeing the copier and laminator that backed up my theory, but DeShay appeared on the front path and waved at us with a gloved hand, saying the house was clear.
We all went inside the well-air-conditioned condo and I felt better almost immediately. Ninety percent humidity can't be good for anyone's health.
The home's pristine appearance remained unchanged from my last visit.
"No one's here," DeShay said. "Some kinda neat freak, our friend Dugan. Hamlin, you'll be interested in the room down the hall to the left. I had to force that one open, too."