my first impression of him."
"My mother already told me. But I'd like to hear it from you."
He slid in beside her. Gretchen related the story of yesterday's chase down Scottsdale Road. Matt sat next to her, gripping the sides of the car's seat.
"You can trust me," Gretchen said, noting his clenched fists and braced posture.
"I've heard that before," he quipped.
Gretchen had never driven with a cop in her car. She drove as carefully as she could, obeying every traffic sign, coming to complete stops, using her directionals properly. What a pain! Twenty-five miles an hour was much slower than she thought.
Out of the corner of her eye, she had the feeling he was watching her every move. She was relieved when he answered a call on his cell phone. Business kept him occupied until they were close to their destination. Gretchen made a turn onto Van Buren and slowed to look for the house.
"This must be it," she said. "It's the only pink stucco."
She pulled to the curb.
"Wait in the car. I'll be right back," Matt said.
"Not in a million years. This is my gig. You're tagging along for the ride. I'm the one who found him."
"You're impossible. I knew driving over with you was a bad idea when you suggested it. We should have taken my car." Matt didn't look like he meant it. Or maybe he did, but his lips had that amused turn to them. "What next?" he said. "Should we surround the house and go in with guns drawn? You can cover me. Oh wait, you don't have a gun."
"Shush."
They both stared at the house. Chipped pink stucco. A broken window boarded up with plywood. Discolored blinds, all drawn.
"Stay here," Gretchen said.
"What? I'm the law enforcement official, in case you haven't noticed. You're stealing my line. You stay here."
"No way. I'm the one who found this address. If you weren't so busy following me, you would have found Ryan by now."
"I haven't been following you."
"I'm going in."
"I happen to be the detective in charge of this case. I don't wait in cars."
She gave his garb an appreciative glance and wondered if he'd look as good in a uniform. He wore one of his social causes T-shirts, a white one that proclaimed, Running Strong for American Indian Youth. She'd seen him wear several with different motifs. This one had teepees against a backdrop of soaring eagles and an orange setting sun.
"You look like a cop," she said.
"No, I don't. That's the whole point of working undercover. So I don't look like a cop."
"He won't even open the door if you go up to it."
"He isn't going to open it either way."
Gretchen was already making her way up a broken sidewalk. Wilted shrubs framed the house. It looked deserted. She knocked softly and listened for movement inside. Nothing. She banged loudly. Then banged again. Gretchen could smell Matt's Chrome cologne floating on the breeze behind her.
She thought she heard something inside. A scurry sound like a mouse. Or a rat. The place was probably crawling with rodents and insects. The door opened a crack, and an eyeball peered out.
"I'm looking for Ryan Maize," Gretchen said. "Is he here?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Gretchen Birch. I'm a friend of his mother's."
"No, you're not. You're a cop."
"I'm not a cop."
Gretchen heard a chuckle behind her.
"Do you have a search warrant?" the person inside asked.
"No. I'm trying to tell you, I'm not a cop."
The minuscule opening in the door began to close. Matt's arm shot out to stop it. He flashed identification with his other hand. "I'm the cop," he said. "Don't make a bad choice. Open the door and talk to us."
"Don't you need a warrant?"
"Not to ask questions about a death."
The door swung open, and Ryan stepped hesitantly out onto the porch wearing the black do-rag. He squinted and rubbed his eyes. His shoulders slumped with an air of defeat, like he expected life to keep disappointing him. Classic drug addict's philosophy, Gretchen thought. They blamed their circumstances on bad luck and the actions of others, instead of taking control and making different choices.
"I don't feel too good," Ryan said, leaving the door ajar.
"I think I'm sick."
Matt gave him a cold stare.
The porch was covered with cigarette butts and round burn holes. Gretchen tried to look past Ryan into the house, but the interior was dark. The sunlight blinded Ryan. He covered his eyes. "Make it quick," he said. "I gotta go. I'm gonna be sick."
Gretchen tried not to look at