Brown, Sandra-Friction

Neal had closed the door but had remained standing just in front of it. In stark contrast to
Crawford’s rumpled appearance, he was a paragon of neatness—hair carefully parted, clothes
wrinkle-free, shoes shined, so closely shaven, his face reflected light.
Crawford said, “Kitchen’s this way.”
By the time Neal joined him, he had the coffeemaker’s water tank filled and was scooping grounds
into the filter. Rudely, he asked, “What, Neal?”
“The ME said if we want to view the body before he performs the autopsy, we’d better get over
there.”
Crawford’s hands were momentarily arrested in motion, then he dumped the last scoopful of
grounds, clicked the filter basket into place, and punched the start button on the machine. Only then
did he turn around. He gave Neal a once over. “Huh.”
“What?”
“You don’t look like a man who’s lost his mind. But I think you must have. You spent hours last
night doing everything you possibly could to piss me off, then you show up this morning and pretend
we’re partners? Get out of my house.”
Neal’s mouth formed a thin, grim line that barely moved as he said, “It wasn’t my idea to bring you
in. The request came from the chief himself.”
“If he wants a Ranger, have him call the Tyler office, see who’s available. I requested a few days
off, and my major said I could take all the time I needed.”
“I know, but the chief said—”
“You got the perp. All that’s left to do is ID him, and you don’t need me for that. I’m going back to
bed. Or maybe I’ll go for a long run or a swim. I’ll clip my toenails. The one thing I’m not doing is
accompanying you to the morgue to look at your dead guy.”
“I figured you would say that.”
“You figured right.”
“Hear me out before you refuse.”
“I already refused.”
“The chief thought maybe you’d recognize Rodriguez if you got a better look at him.”
“He was a total stranger to me until our standoff on the roof. I didn’t recognize him yesterday. I
won’t today. Bye.”
“The chief says it won’t hurt for you to look at him again.”
“Won’t help, either.”
“We won’t know that for certain until you do. You didn’t see Rodriguez close up. If you do, it
might joggle a memory.”
“It won’t. And I’ve got other things to do.”
Actually, he didn’t. He had an outing with Georgia planned for later this afternoon, but until then,
he was at loose ends. But under any circumstances, he wanted nothing to do with an investigation
under Neal Lester’s direction. If the local PD wanted the Texas Rangers’ help, they could get another
one. The sooner he distanced himself from yesterday’s incident—incidents—the better.
However, true to form, Neal was taking his job as the police chief’s messenger boy seriously. He
remained standing in the center of the kitchen, looking pained but stubbornly duty-bound. Crawford
turned away to take a mug from the cabinet. “Want coffee?’
After an abrupt no thanks, Neal said, “We’ve been unable to confirm that Rodriguez is his real