Tricky Twenty-Two Page 6

  “I’m going to check on your husband,” Ranger said to Monica. “Stephanie will stay with you.”

  “Great,” Monica said. “That makes me feel a lot better. Not at all. How about her crazy grandmother? Is she here too?”

  “Just me,” I told Monica.

  She sucked on her e-cigarette some more and watched Ranger leave. “Nice ass,” she said. “Is he boinking you?”

  “Not recently,” I said. “I sort of have a boyfriend. At least I thought I did.”

  “Yeah, I sort of have a husband, but that wouldn’t stop me.”

  “Looks like you’re trying to quit smoking?”

  “I swear if you really enjoy something you can count on it being no good for you. We switched to these electronic things a couple weeks ago. I’m not happy, but I’m managing to stick with the program. Doug cheated a lot. He cheated a lot with everything. Between you and me, I wouldn’t mind if smoking killed him, if you know what I mean.”

  Jeez Louise this was freaking depressing. This was way beyond a Jeep. This was worth a Mercedes or a Porsche.

  “I need a drink,” Monica said. “Send one of those Rangeman guys out for some booze. Vodka would be good. I’m ready to drink it straight up from the bottle. Cripes, just get me a straw.”

  “Gee, I’d love to do that for you, but they only take orders from Ranger.”

  “Then go get Hot Stuff and tell him I need a drink.”

  I called Ranger and told him Monica needed vodka.

  “She’s going to need more than vodka,” Ranger said. “She’s going to need Slumber Room No. 1. Her husband didn’t make it. The doctor is on his way to talk to her.”

  “So about that vodka?”

  “I’ll send Hal out for it.”

  I disconnected and put my phone back in my purse. “Hal’s going for vodka,” I told her.

  “Thank God. Why do they make these rooms so bleak? I mean, look at the television they’ve got here. It’s from 1970.”

  I thought it looked a lot like the television I had in my apartment. I checked my watch. I was counting down minutes until the vodka arrived.

  A tired-looking man in blue scrubs stuck his head into the room. “Mrs. Linken?” he asked. “I’d like to speak with you.”

  “I’m going to step out for a minute,” I said. “I’ll stay close if anyone needs me.”

  Ranger was waiting in the hall.

  “Did the Linkens have perimeter security cameras?” I asked him.

  “No. They didn’t want them.”

  “Too bad. They might have gotten the shooter on video.”

  “Doug Linken didn’t want some of his visitors caught on camera.”

  “Shady business partners?”

  “Shady sexual encounters,” Ranger said.

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “I’ll wait to see if Mrs. Linken needs our help, and then we’ll go home.”

  Ten minutes later we had Monica Linken settled into the backseat of a Rangeman SUV. She was chugging vodka out of the bottle, and she was smiling.

  “Not exactly a grieving widow,” I said to Ranger, watching the car pull away from the curb.

  “Hal will get her locked into the house, and then he’ll hang out in the driveway overnight. I imagine there’s a crime scene crew combing through her backyard. I’ll get in touch with her tomorrow to see if she wants us to continue our service.”

  “Do you think she’s in any danger?”

  “Yeah. I think she could pass out and never wake up if she drinks that whole bottle of vodka.”

  EIGHT

  I STEPPED OUT of my apartment at eight A.M. and found a Rangeman guy waiting for me in the hall.

  “This is for you,” he said, handing me a Mercedes key. “The paperwork is in the glove box. Ranger said you would understand.”

  I took the key and thanked him. Ranger was efficient, as always. We exited the building together, and the Rangeman guy waited for me to find my new car and get behind the wheel before he left.

  Ranger had given me a little SUV. I suspected it had originally been a fleet car because it had the ankle restraint loops welded onto the floor of the backseat. It smelled like a new car, and it was immaculately clean.

  I drove to the bonds office, parked at the curb, and Lula opened the office door before I got to it.

  “Looks to me like Ranger gave you another car,” Lula said. “And this one’s a Mercedes. You must have done somethin’ good to that man.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. It was a business deal.”

  “I do business all the time, and I don’t get no Mercedes,” Lula said.

  Connie looked over at me. “I hear Doug Linken was shot. Was that on your watch?”

  “No. They were home. He went outside to smoke and someone shot him.”

  I saw their eyes shift from me to the front door, and I turned to look. It was Morelli.

  “Here comes Officer Hottie,” Lula said. “I tell you, I wouldn’t mind him putting me in cuffs.”

  Morelli hung at the door and crooked his finger at me. “I want to talk to you,” he said. “Outside.”

  Crap. Talking to Morelli right now wasn’t high on my list of favorite activities. It came right between stick a fork in my eye and drink Drano. I mean, I really like Morelli. Actually, I love Morelli, but I had no clue what to say or think at this point beyond wanting to punch him in the face.

  “Sorry I didn’t call last night,” he said. “It was a busy night. Gangbanger drive-by, and then I pulled the Linken shooting.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “I had a brief conversation with Mrs. Linken last night just before she passed out. She said you and Ranger were supposed to be protecting them.”

  “We escorted them to the Getz viewing, but then we were off duty. When word went out that Doug Linken was shot, Ranger wanted me at the hospital to babysit Monica.”

  “Did she need babysitting?”

  “Mostly she needed vodka.”

  “Did you get anything useful out of her?”

  “Her big news was that she didn’t have the perfect marriage, and Doug had a lot of enemies. Do you think she could have shot him?”

  “It’s doubtful. It looks like the shooter was twenty to thirty feet away, shooting toward the house.”

  “Monica said she didn’t pay attention to the gunshots because she was watching CSI and there was a lot of shooting. I find that hard to believe, but maybe it’s possible. She went to the kitchen during a commercial and noticed the door was open.”

  “The first responders said it looked like Doug Linken went out to smoke.”

  “Monica said the same thing. They were trying to quit, but Doug wasn’t having total luck with it.”

  “So that problem’s solved for him,” Morelli said. “It’s too early for me to disturb the widow with questions. Would you like to go for coffee?”

  “No! I think you’re a jerk.”

  “I come by it honestly. It runs in my family.”

  This is true. All the men in Morelli’s family have been losers. All except Morelli. Somewhere in his twenties he’d managed to grow up. He was a really good cop, and until two days ago he’d been an okay boyfriend.

  “I can’t believe you’re thinking about a job change. I thought you loved being a cop.”

  “I’ve got acid reflux.”

  “I thought that was from me.”

  “Yeah, you too.” His cellphone buzzed and he checked the text message. “I have to go. They’re doing the autopsy on Linken first thing this morning, and I want to attend.”

  “Maybe that’s why you have acid reflux.”

  “Dead people don’t bother me. I worry about the living. Lately I’m thinking this planet is just a videogame designed to amuse an alien race with a sick sense of humor.”

  “Jeez.”

  Morelli pulled me close and kissed me with a lot of tongue. “Stay safe,” he said, releasing me, heading for his green SUV.

  He’d go
tten the car so he could haul his big orange dog Bob around. It wasn’t brand-new, but it ran okay, and it looked pretty good except where Bob had gnawed a hole in the backseat. Bob had an eating disorder. Bob ate everything.

  “Looks like a good day in Plumville,” Lula said when I went back inside. “You got a Mercedes from one hot guy and a smokin’ hot kiss from another, and it’s not even nine o’clock yet. What’s Morelli up to this morning that he had to rush off?”

  “Doug Linken’s autopsy is scheduled,” I said. “Morelli’s attending.”

  “That’s a fast-track autopsy,” Connie said. “Business must be slow at the morgue.”

  “I spotted Ken Globovic last night, but he got away,” I said to Connie. “He was at the corner of M Street and Hawthorne. I was hoping you could run his fraternity brothers through the system and see if anyone is living there.”

  “There’s a bar on that corner that got excellent onion rings,” Lula said. “I wouldn’t mind taking a personal look around that neighborhood at lunchtime.”

  “Works for me,” I said. “We can do a fast tour through Billy Bacon’s hood, hunt down Julie Ruley for a chat, and hopefully by that time Connie will have an address for me that’s close to the bar.”

  Connie pulled a padded envelope off the corner of her desk and handed it to me. “This came in for you yesterday. No return address. Maybe you want to open it outside, just in case.”

  “That’s not funny,” Lula said to Connie. “There’s crazy people out there that Stephanie put in jail, and now some of them are getting out on parole. Fortunately most of them aren’t smart enough to get hold of anthrax or build a bomb. Still, you never know, right?”

  I opened the envelope and pulled out a picture of a naked guy. He was in a bathtub and his Mr. Happy was floating peacefully in the water.

  Lula looked over my shoulder at the picture. “That’s a real nice bath caddy he got,” she said. “I bet he got that at Pottery Barn.”

  Connie came around and looked at it. “That’s Daniel Craig. I’ve seen that picture before. It’s all over YouTube.”

  “Get out,” Lula said. “Daniel Craig is James Bond. He wouldn’t have a limp little wiener floating around like that.”

  “Is there a note?” Connie asked.

  I checked the envelope. “No note. Just the picture signed by someone named Scooter.”

  I gave the picture back to Connie. “Toss it. I don’t know anyone named Scooter.”

  “I’ll take it,” Lula said. “I keep a file of future household improvements.”

  I currently was using a canvas green and tan camouflage messenger bag as a purse. I thought it complemented my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, and it was able to hold all the tools of my trade. Files of felons, cuffs, hairspray, lip gloss, stun gun, hair brush, pepper spray, cellphone, pimple concealer, Kleenex, hand sanitizer, car keys, etc. I hiked the bag higher onto my shoulder and turned to leave.

  “Text me if you have any luck with the fraternity brothers,” I said to Connie.

  “I’m on it.”

  “This here’s gonna be good,” Lula said. “We get to ride around in your fancy new car.”

  •••

  I drove to Billy Bacon’s apartment building, and Lula and I climbed the stairs to the third floor. We knocked twice and no one answered. Lula tried the door. Locked.

  “I got drugs,” Lula yelled.

  Billy Bacon’s mother opened the door and looked out at us, and the door across the hall opened and a young guy looked out.

  “How much?” he asked.

  “I lied,” Lula said. “And anyways I wasn’t yelling at your door.”

  Billy Bacon’s mother gave a disgusted grunt and slammed the door shut.

  “Hey,” Lula said, pounding on the door. “Open up. It’s Lula, and I need to talk to you.”

  The door opened and Bacon’s mother squinted at us. “I don’t know no Lula.”

  “I was friends with Charlene. You and her used to tag team back when you were a working ’ho.”

  “Do you got any liquor?”

  “Nope,” Lula said. “We didn’t think to bring any.”

  “Well, I might talk to you if you had liquor.”

  I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my bag and waved it at Bacon’s mother. She snatched at it, and I jerked it away.

  “Is Billy here?” I asked her.

  “Billy who?”

  “Your son.”

  “Haven’t seen him. He was gone when I got up.”

  “When did you get up?” Lula asked.

  “Just now.”

  “Would you mind if we look in your apartment?” I asked her.

  “Are you gonna give me that ten?”

  I gave her the ten, and she stepped aside. The apartment consisted of two rooms. Small bedroom, bathroom, small living room with a refrigerator, two-burner stove, and a sink. There was a tattered couch, a Formica-topped table with two chairs, a television, and a twin-sized mattress with rumpled bedding on the floor in the living room. No Billy Bacon.

  I left my card on the table, and Lula and I trudged down the stairs.

  “I hate to see how she’s fallen on hard times,” Lula said. “She used to make good money. She had one of the best corners on Stark Street. She didn’t even used to work in the rain. She was a nice-weather ’ho. And now look at her. She got something growing on her lip that you only see in a horror movie.”

  We sat in the Mercedes and watched the street for a while. No one went in or out of the apartment building. Billy Bacon didn’t magically appear.

  “Maybe we should check out his former place of employment,” Lula said. “He might have gone back to cooking burgers.”

  I drove to Mike’s Burgers and idled at the curb while Lula went in to ask about Billy. She returned with a giant soda and a bucket of fries. No Billy.

  “They don’t know where he is,” Lula said. “They said they think he’s hiding on account of some crazy-ass bounty hunter almost got him killed.”

  “That would be you,” I said to Lula.

  “I was an innocent bystander. I was minding my own business and I got carjacked. You want some fries?”

  “They’re green.”

  “They said it was some special potatoes, and they didn’t even charge me extra for it.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  NINE

  IT WAS MIDMORNING when I got to Kiltman. I parked in a lot behind the administration building and we cut across campus to the Zeta house.

  Three women were marching back and forth across the front lawn. They were holding signs that called for the annihilation of the Zetas.

  “What’s the deal?” Lula asked one of the women. “What’s wrong with the Zetas?”

  “Everything. They’re all pigs. It’s a totally sexist fraternity.”

  “I’m pretty sure fraternities are supposed to be sexist,” Lula said to her. “Now, if people started vomiting up cockroaches when they were in there, that would be something. You ever see anything like that?”

  “Not cockroaches,” one of the women said. “Just normal vomit.”

  “That makes me feel a lot better,” Lula said. “I was worried about the cockroaches.”

  The front door was open so we walked in. All was quiet. No pigs milling around. No cockroaches that we could see.

  “It’s a big house,” Lula said. “Gobbles could be hiding somewhere here. Are you going to go door to door?”

  “No. I don’t want to see what’s behind some of these doors.”

  “Evil?”

  “Naked men.”

  “Do you want me to look?” Lula asked.

  “Not without cause.”

  “I think he’d be in the cellar,” Lula said. “They’re always hiding either in the cellar or the attic. ’Course sometimes they’re in a closet or under the bed. And remember that time that little person was in the clothes dryer? Although I don’t think he got in there voluntarily since he was getting tumbled and someone had to have pus
hed the button.”

  “My experience is that fraternities usually have bars in the cellar. Or at least a cold room for storing kegs of beer.”

  “Hey,” Lula called to a guy who was heading for the front door. “How do we get into the cellar?”

  “Cellar’s locked. Stuff gets stored there.”

  “Who has a key to the cellar?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know. A bunch of people. Gobbles had a key. Professor Pooka has a key.”

  “Why Professor Pooka?”

  “He’s our faculty advisor. Some of the fraternities have house mothers, but we got a house dude.”

  “I guess that’s on account of you’re sexist,” Lula said.

  “It’s on account of the last house mother enjoyed the parties too much and got pregnant, so we got assigned Pooka.”

  “Does he live here?” I asked.

  “No, but he stops in every day to check on things. What’s your deal with the cellar?”

  “We’re meter readers,” Lula said. “We gotta check on the gas and water shit.”

  “I think the meters are outside. Just walk around the house. I think they’re in the back.”

  “I told her they’d be in the back,” Lula said, “but Stephanie here thought they were in the cellar.”

  Lula and I exited the house and walked around outside.

  “There’s no windows or doors in the cellar,” Lula said. “We’ve been all around the house and there’s no cellar windows.”

  “I want to check in with Julie Ruley but according to the schedule I have she’s in class until eleven.”

  “That’s good because it gives us time to go see Pooka and get the key to the cellar.”

  “What’s with this cellar obsession? It makes no sense that Gobbles would be hiding in the cellar. He doesn’t even have a second exit.”

  “He could have a secret exit. There could be a secret tunnel that goes to the restaurant on M and Hawthorne.”

  “That’s a long tunnel.”

  “Well, I got a feeling. I’m extra perceptionary that way. I just know things. Sometimes I wake up at night and I think it’s gonna rain, and it almost always does.”