12 Twelve Sharp (12 page)

I extended my hand. 'Stephanie Plum,' I said. 'Were you friends with Carmen?'

They both nodded.

'I'm Sasha,' one said.

'Lorraine.'

'I'm part of the task force investigating the crime,' I told them. 'Would you mind if I asked some questions?'

Lorraine looked down at my jeans.

'You're going to have to excuse my dress,' I said. 'I was called in on my day off, and I didn't get a chance to change.'

'What do you want to know?'

'Do you know her husband?'

'Carmen talked about him in the beginning. Ranger, Ranger, Ranger. I mean, how lame is that? Who calls himself Ranger?'

'Did she ever mention his real name?'

'Carlos.'

'Would you recognize him if you saw a picture?'

'No. None of us actually saw him. And then all of a sudden she was married and living in Arlington and she sort of fell off the earth.'

'Is he from this area?'

'I don't know where he's originally from,' Lorraine said. 'He was working as a security guard at Potomac Mills Mall when she met him. He told her it was only a temporary job until his business took off.'

'What business was that?'

'He was a bounty hunter. Carmen thought that was real cool. From what I hear, she cashed in an insurance policy so they could buy computers and shit.' A tear ran down Lorraine's cheek, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. 'The people on television are saying the bastard shot her.'

'Thanks,' I said. 'This has been helpful.'

I got directions to the mall, drove back to the bike path, and picked Ranger up.

'When Carmen met this guy he was working as a security guard at Potomac Mills. It's a mall off I-95 a couple miles south of here,' I told Ranger.

Ranger punched Potomac Mills into the GPS. 'Okay, sweetheart,' he said to the GPS. 'Talk to me.'

If you entered Potomac Mills at one end and stared down the length of the mall you would be sure it ended in Kansas. We were standing in front of a mall map getting the lay of the land, looking for the security office and not finding it.

'The mall closes at seven,' Ranger said. 'We've got a little over an hour to get someone to ID our man. I'm going to have Tank see if he can do something by phone. Meanwhile, you try to find security people to talk to. I'll be fifty paces behind you.'

I looked down the mall and saw two uniformed guards standing back on their heels watching the shoppers. Man and woman. In their twenties. The woman looked like she'd gained some weight since they'd issued her uniform. Her partner was tall and gangly. Bad complexion. I was guessing they ate a lot of meals at the food court.

I came up to them with a smile. Friendly. Needing assistance.

'Excuse me,' I said. I'm looking for a guy who used to work as a security guard here. I can't remember his name but he was medium build, dark brown hair, kind of nice-looking. Caucasian, I think, but with dark skin. Probably hasn't been here for maybe six months.'

'Doesn't ring a bell,' the woman said. 'Did he work weekends? We only work weekends.'

'I'm not sure.'

'You should talk to Dan,' she said. 'He's been here forever. He knows everyone. He's sort of heavyset and balding, and he's probably down toward the other end. He might be around Linens-N-Things, unless he got a call.'

I wasn't sure where Linens-N-Things was located, but with the way this mall was looking it could be a couple miles. I took off at a fast walk, trying not to be distracted by the stores. I made it past Banana Republic and the Gap but instinctively stopped in front of Victoria's Secret.

I felt Ranger at my back, his hand warm on my waist. 'If you buy something you have to model it,' he said.

I got a rush at the thought, panic followed… and then guilt. 'Just looking,' I said.

'I hate to ruin this moment, but there's a guard at three o'clock.'

'Is he overweight and balding?'

'Hard to tell if he's balding from here, but he's overweight. He's standing by the kiosk, four or five stores down.'

'I see him.'

I read his name tag as I approached him. Dan Whitten. 'Excuse me,' I said. 'I'm looking for a guy who used to be a security guard here. I can't remember his name. Medium build. Caucasian but sort of dark skin. Dark brown hair.'

'That's a pretty broad description. What do you want with him?'

'I met him in a bar a couple days ago, and he walked away with my iPod. We were comparing MP3 players, and he got a phone call and had to leave. I didn't realize until too late that he'd walked off with my iPod and left me with his piece of junk. Anyway, all I remembered was that he said he used to work here. And he said now he was working as a bounty hunter.'

'Edward Scrog. You should kiss that iPod good-bye. The guy is a nutcase. He got fired for harassment.'

'You mean sexual harassment?'

'All kinds of harassment. Some guys go power-goofy when they get a badge and a uniform. This guy thinks he's Wyatt Earp or something. Walked around with his hand on his flashlight like it was a gun.' He broke into a smile. 'Scrog used to pat women down. He'd claim they looked suspicious. That was ultimately his undoing. Tried to do a pat-down on a fed. She pulled a move on him and had him on the floor with her foot on his neck. Then she filed charges.'

'I don't suppose you know where I can find him?'

'No. It wasn't like we were friends.'

'Well, thanks,' I said. 'This has been helpful.'

'Let me give you some advice you didn't ask for. Stay away from Scrog. He's got a screw loose. When they fired him, they walked him to his locker, made him clean it out and leave the premises. I was there to make sure he left, and I saw what was in the locker. He had it filled with guns and ammo. And he had pictures pasted on the door like a kid does with baseball stars and then later on with girls with big hooters. Only this guy had pictures of SWAT guys taking people down. It's like he's seen too many cop movies. When he first came on the job he was applying to all the local police academies, only no one would give him a call back.

'After he was here a couple months he started talking about the bounty hunter thing. Watched all the shows on television. Apparently he was hooked on some bounty hunter in Jersey who was supposed to be a real hotshot, and he said he was studying him. Used to take off weekends so he could “observe” this guy. So maybe he's in Jersey now. Good for Virginia, that's my opinion.

'You look like a nice girl,' he said. 'Take my advice and buy yourself a new iPod.'

I walked back to Ranger and gave him the whole story. 'I imagine the hotshot Jersey bounty hunter would be you,' I said to Ranger.

Ranger called Tank and gave him the name. 'Run an address history for me,' Ranger said. 'I want to know what's open.'

We found the food court and sat at a table while we ate pizza and waited for Tank to call back. The call came in at five minutes to seven. Ranger took two addresses down and disconnected.

'We have Scrog's parents' house in Fairfax and an apartment in Dale City.'

'Did you ever search his office or the apartment he shared with Carmen?'

'We went through the office in Arlington on the first pass. He didn't leave anything. Same with the apartment. He didn't leave on an impulse. He'd removed everything that could identify him. There were some clothes hanging in the closet and some things in the dresser. Everything else belonged to Carmen.'

Scrog's Dale City apartment building was a two-story cinderblock bunker with a parking lot and a close-up view of the interstate. Scrog was on the second floor. Unit 209. Ten units to a floor. Stained carpet. Strong burrito aroma coming out of 206.

Ranger knocked on the door of 209. No answer. He tried the knob. Locked. 'I don't suppose you have anything helpful in your bag?' he asked me.

'Like a set of burglary tools? No.'

Ranger put his foot to the door, kicked it open, and stepped inside. I followed behind him and tried to get the door to stay closed.

'Don't worry about it,' Ranger said, flipping the light on. 'We won't be in here long. There's not a lot to see.'

It was a one-bath studio apartment with a small kitchenette along one wall. The blinds were drawn on the single window. There was a sofa bed open and unmade, a small table with two wooden ladder-back chairs, a two-drawer metal file cabinet, and two laundry baskets holding a computer and accessories.

'This guy travels light,' Ranger said.

'Maybe he has stuff stored with his parents.'

Ranger opened a closet and a bunch of guns fell out. He stepped over the guns and squatted in front of the file cabinet and opened the top drawer.

'He has a file labeled “Captures” but it's empty. He also has a file labeled “Wanted,” and it's filled with pictures he's ripped off federal bulletin boards.'

Ranger pulled the bottom drawer open, removed a scrapbook, and handed it over to me. 'I have a bad feeling about this scrapbook. Scan it while I look through the cupboards.'

'Your bad feeling is justified,' I said, flipping pages. 'This is homage to Ranger. It looks to me like he was following you around. There are pictures in here of your office building and your cars. There are pictures of you. Pictures of you with me. Pictures of… omigod.'

It was a picture of Carmen naked. The handwriting on the bottom read: OUR WEDDING NIGHT, PRACTICING FOR THE REAL THING. And it was followed by a snapshot of me. And for the first time I saw the resemblance between Carmen and me. Not that we'd pass for twins, more that we were similar in coloring and build.

Ranger looked over my shoulder. 'This guy is sick.'

'Do you think he married Carmen because she looks a little like me?'

'Yes. I think he's trying to move into my life.'

'He left her behind and killed her.'

'Guess he's done practicing,' Ranger said.

The next page had a picture of Ranger in front of the Martines' house, talking to Ron. The caption read: RANGER MAKES A MYSTERIOUS VISIT AND I KNOW HIS SECRET. This was followed by pictures of Julie.

Ranger went dead still. He stared at the pictures of his daughter and his face showed no emotion, but he wasn't breathing. It was as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. His hands were loose at his sides and his eyes were focused on the pictures. He was looking at a little girl with silky brown hair, intelligent brown eyes, and flawless light brown skin… the image of her father. I slipped my hand in his and waited for him to pull himself together.

'She'll be okay,' I said. 'He's playing a role. He's going to act like he's her dad.'

Ranger nodded. 'I'd like to think that was true. Let's pack up. I'm going to take the computer and the scrapbook. I don't see anything else of value to us.'

We carted Scrog's stuff downstairs and out to the car and put it in the trunk. The sun had set, and the parking lot was dark. Traffic noise carried over the apartment building.

'Now what?' I said to Ranger. 'Do you want to talk to his parents?'

'No. I have what I need. Let's go home.'

We took 95 north to the beltway, driving in silence, Ranger in his zone. We were following taillights in the dark, gliding through the night like disembodied spirits. We were between time and place, encapsulated in steel and fiberglass. All this much more poetic than the reality of the moment, which was that my ass was falling asleep. I'd like to say I was in a zone like Ranger, but the truth was, I'd never in my life achieved a zone. In fact, I couldn't even imagine a zone, and didn't really know what one was. If I had to describe my condition, I'd have to say I was freaked.

I fell asleep somewhere in Maryland and didn't wake up until we were on Broad Street. I stretched and looked at Ranger. His hand was loose on the wheel. His breathing was even. At first glance, he seemed relaxed. If you looked more closely, the tension around his eyes and the corners of his mouth was visible. I wondered what was really inside him. And at what cost he kept it hidden.

He parked in my lot and got out of the car. 'I'm going to see you upstairs,' he said.

'Not necessary.'

He beeped the car locked and moved me toward the building. 'It is necessary. There's some psycho running around wanting to add you to his Ranger memorabilia.'

'You're right,' I said. 'Thanks. I'm happy to be escorted.'

We got upstairs without incident, Ranger opened the door to my apartment and flicked the lights on. Rex was quietly running on his wheel.

'The attack hamster is on the job,' Ranger said.

I dropped a peanut into Rex's cage and turned back to Ranger. He looked tired under the kitchen light. He had dark smudges under his eyes and his mouth was tight, fighting sleep. 'You look exhausted,' I said to him.

'Long day.'

'You have another half-hour drive to get to your safe house. Would you like to stay here tonight?'

'Yes.'

'This isn't a sexual invitation,' I said.

'I know. The couch will be fine.'

I woke up slowly. I opened my eyes and saw there was a bar of light shining through the crack in my bedroom curtains. It was morning. And I was in my own bed, feeling incredibly comfy. I looked down and realized there was a man's arm thrown across my chest, the hand lightly curled around my breast.

Ranger.

I moved my head ever so slightly on the pillow and looked over at him. He was still asleep. He had a decent beard growth going and his hair had fallen across his forehead. I was pretty sure he wasn't in my bed when I fell asleep. I looked under the covers. I was wearing my knit tank top and short pajama bottoms. Ranger was wearing briefs. Could be worse, I thought.

'Hey,' I said.

He wrapped his arms around me and cuddled me into him, his eyes still closed.

'Ranger!'

'Mmm.'

'What are you doing in my bed?'

'So far I'm not doing anything, but that could change.'

'You said you were going to sleep on the couch.'

'I lied.'

This was bad because he felt way too good. I looked beyond him to the clock. Nine o'clock, 'I have to go to work,' I said. 'I'm already late.'

He drew me in a little closer and stroked his thumb across my breast. 'Are you sure you want to go to work now?'