Leann Sweeney - Pushing Up Bluebonnets

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."

"He had a shop? Did I die and go to heaven?" Hamlin pulled gloves from his pocket, his eyes wide and bright, just like his smile.

"Hey, that's your territory, man, but tell CSU when they get here what you want carried to the crime lab 'cause I don't know anything about financial shit, not even my own."

"I will be more than clear about what I need. Can't wait to get in there." Hamlin snapped on his gloves and started toward the hall.

DeShay looked at me. "Maria found the girlfriend's last name on a credit card bill. She's on the phone in the kitchen trying to locate Georgeanne Wilson now."

"And then we'll question her?" I said.

"Maria will. I don't want to intimidate this woman. At least not yet. You get what I'm saying?"

Yet he was sending the less-than-shrinking-violet Maria Chavez to question her? Maybe she had interpersonal skills I'd somehow missed in the little time since we'd met.

Cooper said, "Can we stay and observe?"

"You both know what you're doing, so sure," DeShay said. "But I gotta say, nothing's jumping out at me aside from the ID shop. I'll do a little more hunting. See if I can get a lead on this guy's least-best friends."

"Just so you know," I said, "Georgeanne and I hit it off when I paid her that visit. I can help out with her."

"I might take you up on that later, Abster. But we have to do this my way for now."

"Abster?" I said. "I'm not an SNL joke, DeShay."

He smiled. "Touchy, aren't we? Anyway, I can't rule this out as the primary crime scene until CSU tells me so, but even the damn garage is cleaner than my front room. I'll be checking out the master bedroom closet if you need me. Lots of shoe boxes on the top shelves in there."

Touchy? I was not touchy. "I'd like to see the ID shop." I nodded in the direction Hamlin had gone.

DeShay smiled. "Cooper, my man, make sure Abby keeps her hands in her pockets—if she can get her hands in those pockets. Nice threads, Abster. Glad you're showing off what you got today."

I gave him a playful punch in the arm as Cooper and I walked by. Maybe my capris were a tad tight, but my T-shirt was clingy only thanks to the weather.

We found Hamlin busy looking in one of two tall filing cabinets when we got to the now-unlocked room.

He said, "Check this place out. Dugan went totally high-end. Shoulda kept track of the bastard. Probably raking in cash left and right with this stuff. Excellentquality IDs, that's for sure."

I glanced around the room, realizing DeShay had been right. I wanted to search through everything . . . open cabinets and drawers, lift the lid on the color laser printer, see what was in those filing cabinets for myself. But I stayed put just inside the door and said, "That printer probably cost, what? Twenty grand?"