He parked and exited the vehicle, staring hard at a clutch of men lounging on the steps of the apartment building next to Dugan’s. He grabbed his jacket from the back seat of the car and put it on slowly to give the vatos sizing him up a look at the weapon in his shoulder holster.
As he made his way to the yellow building, the guys meandered away in different directions. Probably parolees holding drugs or weapons or warrants. As he passed beneath the yellow arch, a baby wailed from one of the apartments and a man let loose with a sneeze from another. You’d be hard-pressed to keep anything a secret from your neighbors here.
A quick glance at the dull metal numbers affixed to the right of each front door led Jake upstairs to number twelve. He knocked and stood slightly to the side of the door but in clear view of the peephole. Shuffling sounds came from the other side of the paper-thin door, and Jake’s muscles tensed.
“Who is it?” A male voice, ragged from cigarettes and booze, boomed through the open window with the sagging screen to the left of the door.
“You’re in luck, Dugan. It’s not your parole officer. LAPD Homicide, open the door.” Jake banged his fist against it for good measure.
The door swung open, and a big man with a shaved head and a goatee loomed in the space. “Homicide? You bastards haven’t framed me for that one, yet.”
“The day is young, Dugan. Let me in.” Jake didn’t wait for the invite and pushed past him, stepping into a cluttered space with the skunky scent of weed hanging over it. He sniffed the air.
“It’s legal in homes.” Dugan waved at the bong on the coffee table. “And medicinal.”
“I don’t care about that. Did I say I was Vice?” Jake squinted at the deck of playing cards on the battered coffee table. He did care about that.
“Then what do you want, Mr. Homicide?” Dugan folded his pumped-up arms over his chest, and a vein stood out on his neck beneath the tattoo of letters curling into an AB, which proclaimed Dugan a member of the Aryan Brotherhood.
This was the guy stalking Kyra? No wonder she carried a gun.
“Do you know Kyra Chase?”
A smile that didn’t have anything do to with happiness spread across Dugan’s face, and a knot formed in Jake’s gut.
“Why? Is she dead...like her momma?”
A muscle ticked in Jake’s jaw, but he matched Dugan smile for smile. “C’mon, Dugan. You’d know that wasn’t true because I hear you keep close tabs on her.”
“She wishes, my man. You know them bitches.” Dugan stroked his goatee. “They don’t never forget their first.”
A white-hot rage zipped through Jake’s veins. If Dugan had been Kyra’s first, it had been by force.
“You obviously know who she is.” Jake widened his stance and dug the heels of his shoes into the stained carpet. “Have you been by her place? Her car?”
“Nope. Did she send you here?” Dugan ran his nails along his arm like a junkie looking for a fix. Weed didn’t do that.
“No. She doesn’t know I’m here.” Jake wandered over to the table and swept up the cards.
“Hey, I was playing that game.” Dugan took a step forward, and Jake stopped him with a look.
He shuffled the cards in his hands. “You’ve heard about this serial killer who’s copying the MO of the same killer that murdered Kyra’s mother, haven’t you?”
“I don’t pay much attention to that stuff.” Dugan’s gaze tracked every flick of Jake’s fingers as he plucked two cards from the deck.
He held up the two dark queens. “Looks like you haven’t been playing with a full deck, Dugan.”
He licked his lips. “What do you mean?”
“You’re missing the queen of hearts and the queen of diamonds.” Jake tossed the deck back onto the table, where it fanned out.
“So what? That’s some old deck someone left here.” He clenched his ham fists at his sides. “I didn’t have nothing to do with no murders.”
“Maybe not, but you did have something to do with terrorizing Kyra Chase.” Jake rushed the big man and rammed him up against the thin wall, which quaked under their combined weight.
Jake squeezed his hand against the beefy neck, his fingers pinching into the Aryan Brotherhood tattoo. “I’m here to tell you to stop, or you’re gonna wind up back in the slammer faster than you can say three strikes. You got that?”
Dugan gurgled in response and Jake took it as a yes. He released Dugan, and he slid down the wall, choking and clawing at his chest.
“And since this is a faulty deck, I’ll just take it with me.” He gathered the cards and put the stack in his pocket. “Learn to play solitaire on the computer.”
Jake strode from the apartment, leaving the door open on Dugan’s gasping sounds. The guy deserved worse for tormenting Kyra. At least the killer himself didn’t have Kyra in his sights. Why would he? He wouldn’t have access to the original case files on The Player and even if he did, you’d have to know what you were looking for to make the connection between Marilyn Lake and Kyra Chase.
Should he tell Kyra he’d paid a visit to Dugan and cleared things up? He yanked open his car door, shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it in the back. She probably wouldn’t appreciate his efforts. Instead of the white knight, he’d come across looking like the frog.
He raced back to the station to make his own four-thirty briefing. He wanted to give everyone a heads-up on the Melrose connection between Kelsey, Rachel’s phone and Marissa’s cup from the coffee place in the same area.
When he walked into the task force war room, his gaze tracked
