High Five (21 page)

Man, you can't get away with anything in the Burg. “I know about the late-night stuff. Anything else?”

“That's it.”

“Besides seeing Terry, he's also involved in a project that ties in with Uncle Fred's disappearance, and he won't tell me anything.”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah. And after I gave him some of the best weeks of my life. Anyway, it seems like he works nights, so I thought I'd see what he was up to.”

“You going to pick me up in the Porsche?”

“The Porsche is out of commission. I was hoping you could drive,” I said. “I'm afraid Morelli might recognize the Buick.”

“No problemo.”

“And wear sneakers and something dark.”

Last time we went snooping together Mary Lou wore ankle boots with spike heels and gold earrings the size of dinner plates. Not exactly the invisible snooper.

Briggs was standing behind me. “You're going to spy on Morelli? This should be good.”

“He's leaving me no choice.”

“I bet you five dollars he spots you.”

“Deal.”

“T
HERE COULD BE
a perfectly good explanation for the Terry thing,” I said to Mary Lou.

“Yeah, like he's a prick?”

That's one of the things I like about Mary Lou. She's willing to believe the worst about anyone. Of course it's easy to believe the worst about Morelli. He's never cared a whole lot about public opinion and has never made much of an attempt to improve his rogue reputation. And in the past, his reputation was well deserved.

We were in Mary Lou's Dodge minivan. It smelled like Gummi Bears and grape lollipops and McDonald's cheeseburgers. And when I turned to look out the back window I was confronted with two kiddie car seats that made me feel sort of left out of things. We were idling in front of Morelli's house, staring into his front windows, seeing nothing. The lights were on, but the curtains were drawn. His truck was parked at the curb, so probably he was home, but there was no guarantee. He lived in a rowhouse and that made surveillance difficult because we couldn't creep around the entire house and easily do our Peeping Tom thing.

“We can't see anything like this, “ I said. “Let's park on the cross street and go on foot.”

Mary Lou had followed my instructions and was dressed in black. Black leather jacket with fringe running down the sleeves, tight black leather slacks—and as a compromise between my suggestion of sneakers and her preferred four-inch heels, she was wearing black cowboy boots.

Morelli's house was halfway down the block, his narrow yard backed up to a one-lane service road, and the side borders of his yard were delineated by bedraggled hedgerows. Morelli hadn't yet discovered gardening.

The sky was overcast. No moon. No streetlights lining the back alley. This was all fine by me. The darker the better. I was wearing a utility belt that held pepper spray, a flashlight, a Smith and Wesson .38, a stun gun, and a cell phone. I'd constantly watched our tail for signs of Ramirez and had seen nothing. That didn't fill me with security, since spotting Ramirez clearly wasn't one of my talents.

We walked the alley and paused when we reached Morelli's yard. Lights were on in the kitchen. Shades were up at the single kitchen window and at the back door. Morelli passed in front of the window, and Mary Lou and I took a step back, further into shadow. He returned and worked at the counter, probably fixing something to eat.

The sound of the phone ringing carried out to us. Morelli answered the phone and paced in the kitchen while he talked.

“Not someone he's happy to hear from,” Mary Lou said. “He hasn't cracked a smile.”

Morelli hung up and ate a sandwich, still standing at the counter. He washed it down with a Coke. I thought the Coke was a good sign. If he was in for the night he probably would have had a beer. He flipped the light off and left the kitchen.

Now I had a problem. If I chose to watch the wrong half of the house I might miss Morelli leaving. And by the time I ran to the car and took off after him, it could be too late. Mary Lou and I could split up, but that would negate my reason for inviting Mary Lou along. I'd wanted another set of eyes looking for Ramirez.

“Come on,” I said, creeping toward the house. “We need to get closer.”

I pressed my nose to the windowpane on Morelli's back door. I could see clear to the front, looking through the kitchen and dining room. I could hear the television, but I couldn't see it. And I couldn't see any sign of Morelli.

“Do you see him?” Mary Lou wanted to know.

“No.

She peered through the back door window with me. “Too bad we can't see the front door from here. How will we know if Morelli goes out?”

“He shuts his lights off when he goes out.”

Blink. The lights went out, and the sound of the front door opening and shutting carried back to us.

“Shit!” I sprang away from the door and took off for the car.

Mary Lou ran after me, doing pretty good considering the tight pants and cowboy boots and the fact that she had legs several inches shorter than mine.

We piled into the car. Mary Lou rammed the key into the ignition, and the mom car jumped into chase mode. We whipped around the corner and saw Morelli's taillights disappear as he made a right-hand turn two blocks down.

“Perfect,” I said. “We don't want to be so close that he sees us.”

“Do you think he's going to see Terry?”

“It's possible. Or maybe he's relieving someone on stakeout.” Now that the first rush of emotion was behind me, I found it hard to believe Joe was romantically or sexually involved with Terry. It had nothing to do with Joe the man. It had to do with Joe the cop. Joe wouldn't get himself entangled with the Grizollis. He'd told me he had something in common with Terry—that they were both in vice. And I suspected that was the connection. I thought it possible that Joe and Terry were working together, although I couldn't imagine in what capacity. And since the Feds were in town, I guessed Vito Grizolli was involved. Maybe Joe and Terry were acting as intermediaries between Vito and the Feds. And Bunchy's interest in the checks might support my skimming theory. Although I didn't know why the government would be interested in skimming.

Joe turned onto Hamilton, drove a quarter mile, and pulled into the 7-Eleven. Mary Lou zipped past him, circled a block, and waited at the side of the road with her lights off. Joe came out of the store carrying a bag and got back into his car.

“Oh, man, I'm dying to know what's in the bag,” Mary Lou said. “Do they sell condoms at the 7-Eleven? I never noticed.” “He's got dessert in that bag,” I said. “My money's on ice cream. Chocolate.”

“And I bet he's taking the ice cream to Terry!” His engine caught, and he retraced his route down Hamilton. “He's not going to Terry's,” I said. “He's going home.” “What a rip. I thought I was going to see some action.” I didn't actually want to see a whole lot of action. I just wanted to find Uncle Fred and get on with my life. Unfortunately, I wasn't going to learn anything new if Morelli sat in front of his television eating ice cream all night.

Mary Lou dropped a block behind Morelli, keeping him in sight. He parked in front of his house, and Mary Lou and I parked on the cross street again. We got out of the mom car, skulked back down the alley, and stopped short at the edge of Morelli's yard. The light was on in his kitchen, and Morelli was moving in front of the window.

“What's he doing?” Mary Lou asked. “What's he doing?”

“Getting a spoon. I was right—he went out to buy ice cream.”

The light blinked out, and Morelli disappeared. Mary Lou and I scuttled across Morelli's backyard and squinted into his window.

“Do you see him?” Mary Lou asked.

“No. He's disappeared.”

“I didn't hear the front door open.”

“No, and he's got the television on. He's just out of sight somewhere.”

Mary Lou crept closer. “Too bad he's got the shades pulled on his front windows.”

“I'll try to be more considerate next time,” Morelli said, standing inches behind us.

Mary Lou and I yelped and instinctively sprang away, but Morelli had both of us by the back of our jackets.

“Look who we have here,” Morelli said. “Lucy and Ethel. Is this the girls' night out?”

“We were looking for my cat,” Mary Lou said. “It's been lost, and we thought we saw it run through your yard.”

Morelli grinned at Mary Lou. “Nice to see you, Mary Lou. It's been a while.”

“The kids keep me busy,” Mary Lou said. “Soccer and preschool and Kenny keeps getting these ear infections—”

“How's Lenny doing?”

“He's great. He's thinking about hiring someone else. His father's going to retire, you know.”

Lenny had graduated from high school and had gone directly into the family business, Stankovik and Sons, Plumbing and Heating. He made a good living at it, but he frequently smelled like stagnant water and metal piping.

“I need to talk to Stephanie,” Morelli said.

Mary Lou started backing up. “Hey, don't let me get in the way. I was just leaving. I've got my car parked around the corner.”

Morelli opened his back door. “You,” he said, releasing my jacket. “Go in the house. I'll be right back. I'm going to walk Mary Lou to her car.”

“Not necessary,” Mary Lou said, looking nervous, like she was going to run like hell at any moment. “I can find my own way.”

“It's dark back here,” Morelli said to Mary Lou. “And you've just been contaminated by Calamity Jane. You're not getting out of my sight until you're safely locked in your car.”

I did as I was told. I scurried into the house while Morelli walked Mary Lou to her car. And as soon as they cleared his yard I scrolled back through his caller ID. I scribbled the numbers on a pad by the phone, ripped the page off, and stuffed it into my pocket. The last number to come in had an identification block on it. No number available. If I'd known the number hadn't registered I might not have been so fast to jump to Morelli's command.

The ice cream was still sitting on the counter. And it was melting. Probably I should eat it, so it didn't get
totally
melted and have to get thrown away.

I was savoring the last spoonful when Morelli returned. He closed and locked the door behind him and pulled the shades.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Nothing personal,” Morelli said, “but you've got bad people following you around. I don't want someone sniping at you through my kitchen window.”

“You think it's that serious?”

“Honey, your car was bombed.”

I was starting to get used to it. “How did you spot Mary Lou and me?”

“Rule number one, when you've got your nose pressed to someone's window. .. don't talk. Rule number two, when doing surveillance don't use a car with vanity plates that have your best friend's name on them. Rule three, never underestimate nosy neighbors. Mrs. Rupp called and wanted to know why you were standing in the alley, looking into her windows, and she was wondering if she should call the police. I explained it was most likely
my
windows you were looking in and reminded her that
I
was the police, so she needn't bother with another phone call.”

“Well, it's all your fault because you won't tell me anything,” I said.

“If I told you what was going on, you'd tell Mary Lou, and she'd tell Lenny, and Lenny would tell the guys down at the plumbing supply house, and the next day it'd be in the newspaper.”

“Mary Lou doesn't tell Lenny anything,” I said.

“What the hell was she wearing? She looked like the friendly neighborhood dominatrix. The only things missing were a whip and a pimp.”

“She was making a fashion statement.”

Morelli looked down at my utility belt.

“What kind of a statement is this?”

“Fear.”

He gave his head a disbelieving shake. “You know what my biggest fear is? I worry that someday you might be the mother of my children.”

I wasn't sure if I should be pleased or annoyed, so I changed the subject. “I deserve to know about this investigation,” I said. “I'm sitting right in the middle of it.” He was just implacably staring at me, so I hit him with the heavy stuff. “And I know about your late-night meetings with Terry. And not only that, but I am
not
going away. And I will continue to harass and follow you until I figure this out.” So there.

“I'd tie you up and wrap you in a rug and drive you to the landfill,” Morelli said, “but Mary Lou would probably finger me.”

“Okay, so how about sex? Maybe we can make a deal?”

Morelli grinned. “You've got my attention.”

“Start talking.”

“Not so fast. I want to know what I'm going to get for this information.”

“What do you want?”

“Everything.”

“Not working tonight?”

He looked at his watch. “Shit. Yeah, I'm working. In fact I'm late. I need to relieve
Bunchy
on a surveillance watch.”

“Who are you watching?”

He stared at me for a moment. “Okay, I'm going to tell you, because I don't want you riding all over Trenton looking for me. But if I find out you leaked this to anyone I swear I'll come get you.”

I held my hand up. “Scout's honor. My lips are sealed.”

 

 

M
ORELLI LEANED BACK
against the counter and folded his arms. “Somehow it came to light that there was a discrepancy between how much money Vito Grizolli's cleaning business was taking in and how much was reported for income tax purposes.”

“Gee, what a surprise.”

“Yeah. Well, the Feds decided they wanted to nail him on it, so they started to do their thing, and it soon became pretty obvious that Vito, in fact, is losing money he has no knowledge of.”

“Someone is skimming Vito?”

Morelli started to laugh. “Can you believe it?”

“Man, there's a lot of that going on.”

“Enough to make it worthwhile for Treasury to deal with Vito so they can maybe get a bigger fish.”

“Like what kind of a bigger fish?”

Morelli shrugged. “Don't know. The two brain surgeons I'm working with think it's some new crime organization.”

“What do you think?”

“Until you showed me the checks, I thought it was just some guy with a death wish trying to pay off his mortgage. Now I'm not sure what I think, but a new crime organization feels far out there. I don't see any other signs of a new organization.”

“Maybe it's just coincidence.”

“I don't think so. There are too many things adding up. Three companies involved so far. Three accounts-receivable clerks have died. Another is missing. Fred is missing. Someone set a bomb to your car.”

“How about the bank? Were Vito's missing accounts processed through First Trenton?”

“Yes. It'd be helpful to pull some records, but we'd run the risk of alerting whoever is involved that there's an investigation going on.

“It turns out, RGC had also been flagged for possible tax evasion. The RGC stands for Ruben, Grizolli, and Cotell. I knew Grizolli was part owner, but I didn't know there'd been any irregularities. My Treasury contacts didn't tell me that part.”

“You're working as a team, and they didn't tell you about RGC?”

“You don't know these guys. Real hot dogs. And they don't like being coupled with local law enforcement.”

I smiled at him.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Sounds like I'm describing myself. Anyway, Bronfman, the guy you know as Bunchy, was doing surveillance at RGC, looking to see who went in and out. He was sitting in the cafe across the street the Friday that Fred disappeared. I guess Fred had wanted to get an early start, but he got to RGC before the office opened, so he went across the street for coffee. Bronfman and Fred got to talking and Bronfman realized Fred was one of the nonrecorded accounts. The following Tuesday, Bronfman got to thinking it might be helpful to get a canceled check from Fred, one way or another, went to talk to Fred, and discovered Fred was missing.

“When Mabel told him you were on the case, Bronfman decided he could use you to front for him. You could poke around and ask questions, and it wasn't as likely anyone would run for the hills. Didn't turn out exactly as he'd planned, because he hadn't counted on your ornery, suspicious nature.”

“I didn't tell him much.”

“No. His efforts got him zero. That's the good part.” Morelli locked eyes with me. “Now that you know what's going on, you're going to tell me what you have, though, right?”

“Sure.” Maybe.

“Christ,” Morelli said.

“Hey, I might tell you something.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't have enough pieces to put this together sooner.”

“Part my fault,” I said.

“Yeah, part your fault. You're not talking to me enough. Part my fault, too.”

“What's your role with Treasury?”

“Vito wouldn't talk to them directly. Said he'd only deal with someone he knew. And I guess he feels protected when information goes through a couple of sources. Makes it easier to deny. So Vito talks to Terry, and Terry talks to me, and I talk to Frick and Frack.”

“Who are you watching?”

Morelli flipped the kitchen light off. “Vito's accounts-receivable person. Harvey Tipp.”

“You better be watching him close. Harvey's life expectancy might not be too good.”

M
ORELLI DROPPED ME
off on his way to relieve Bronfman.

“Thanks for the ride,” I told Morelli.

He snagged my collar as I turned to leave. “We have an agreement,” he said. “And you owe me.”

“Now?”

“Later.”

“How much later?”

“To be determined,” Morelli said. “I just don't want you to forget.”

Not much chance of that.

Briggs was working when I got upstairs. “You keep long hours,” I said.

“I've got to get this project done. I lost a lot of ground when my apartment got burglarized. I was lucky I had my laptop in the closet in the bedroom, and they missed it. I had most of my work backed up on the laptop, so it wasn't a total disaster.”

I
WOKE UP
at four and couldn't get back to sleep. I lay there for an hour, listening for sounds on my fire escape, planning my escape should someone toss a fire bomb through my bedroom window. Finally I gave up and tiptoed into the kitchen for a snack. I had so many things to worry about I could barely sort through them. Fred was last on the list. Morelli collecting on what was owed was closer to the top.

Briggs padded in after me. “Spooked again?”

“Yeah. Too much on my mind. I can't sleep.” I looked down at him. He was wearing Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas. “Nice jam-mies,” I said.

“I have a hard time finding things that fit. When I want to really impress the ladies I wear Spider-Man.”

“Is it hard being a little person?”

“Has its ups and downs. I get a lot of perks because people think I'm cute. And I try to take advantage of my minority status.”

“I noticed.”

“Hey,” Briggs said, “you gotta use what God gave you.” True.

“So, you want to do something? You want to play Monopoly?”

“Okay, but I want to be the shoe.”

We were still playing at seven o'clock, when the phone rang.

“I'm in your parking lot,” Ranger said. “Do you want to come down, or do you want me to come up?”

“Why are you calling? You always just break in.”

“I didn't want to take a chance on scaring the hell out of you and getting shot.”

“Good thinking. What's the occasion?”

“Wheels, Babe.”

I went to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and looked down at Ranger. He was standing alongside a black BMW.

“I'll be right down,” I said to Ranger. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

I pulled on a pair of jeans, shoved my feet into ratty sneakers, and covered my flannel nightshirt with an oversized gray sweatshirt. I grabbed my keys and took off for the stairs.

“Looking a little scary, Babe,” Ranger said when he saw me.

“A friend of mine suggested this look could be a new concept in birth control.”

“It's not
that
scary.”

I smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from my sweatshirt and closely examined a speck of lint on my sleeve. I looked up and found Ranger smiling.

“The ball's in your court,” Ranger said. “Let me know when you're ready.”

“For the car?”

He smiled.

“Are you sure you want to give me another car?”

“This one's equipped with sensors on the undercarriage.” He held a small remote. “Push the green button to set the sensors. If there's motion under the car the alarm sounds and the red light on the dash stays lit. Unfortunately, the car doesn't know the difference between a cat, a baseball, and a bomb, so if the light is flashing you have to do some investigating. Not perfect, but better than stepping on the accelerator and being turned into confetti. Probably it's not necessary. It's unlikely someone would try to blow you up twice.” He handed the remote over to me and explained the rest of the security system.

“Just like James Bond,” I said.

“You have plans for the day?”

“I need to call Morelli and see if the guy who delayed me at RGC, Mark Stemper, turned up. Then I suppose I'll do my rounds. Visit Mabel. Check in at the office. Harass the garbage people.” Keep my eyes peeled for Ramirez. Have my head examined.

“Somebody out there's feeling real cranky because you're not dead. You might want to wear your vest.”

I watched him drive away, and before I went into the building I armed the car. I finished up the game with Briggs, took a shower, shook my head with the hopes it would style my hair, and applied mascara so people would notice my eyes and not pay too close attention to the rest of me.

I scrambled an egg and ate it with a glass of orange juice and a multivitamin. A healthy breakfast to start the day off right— just in case I lived through the morning.

I decided Ranger might have a good idea about the vest. It made me sort of flat-chested, but then, what didn't? I was wearing jeans and boots and a T-shirt with the vest Velcroed tight to my body. I buttoned a navy flannel shirt over the vest and thought it didn't look too bad.

There were no bomb alert lights flashing when I got to the car, so I slid behind the wheel feeling secure. My parents' house was first on the visitation list. I thought it wouldn't hurt to have a cup of coffee and catch up on the latest rumors.

Grandma appeared at the door the minute I swerved in to the curb. “Boy, that's a pip of a car,” she said, watching me angle out and set the security system. “What kind of car is it?”

“It's a BMW.”

“We just read in the paper where you had a Porsche, and it got blown up. Your mother's in the bathroom taking an aspirin.”

I ran up the porch stairs two at a time. “It was in the paper?”

“Yeah, only they didn't have a picture of you, like usual. They just had a picture of the car. Boy, it looked flat as a pancake.”

Great. “Did they say anything else?”

“They called you the Bombshell Bounty Hunter.”

Maybe I needed an aspirin too. I dropped my shoulder bag on a kitchen chair and reached for the paper on the table. Oh, God, it was on the front page.

“The paper said the police were pretty sure it was a bomb,” Grandma said. “Only after the garbage truck fell on the car I guess they had a hard time figuring out what was what.”

My mother came into the kitchen. “Whose car is that parked in front of our house?”

“That's Stephanie's new car,” Grandma said. “Isn't it a pip?”

One of my mother's eyebrows raised in question. “Two new cars? Where are these cars coming from?”

“Company cars,” I said.

“Oh?”

“Anal sex is
not
involved,” I told her.

My mother and grandmother both gasped.

“Sorry,” I said. “It just slipped out.”

“I thought only homosexual men did anal sex,” Grandma said.

“Anybody with an anus can do it,” I told her.

“Hmm,” she said. “I got one of them.”

I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “So what's new?”

Grandma got coffee and sat across from me. “Harriet Mullen had a baby boy. They had to do a C-section on her at the last minute, but everything turned out okay. And Mickey Szajak died. Guess it was about time.”

“Are you hearing anything these days about Vito Grizolli?”

“I saw him at the meat market last week, and I thought he'd put on some weight.”

“How's he doing financially?”

“I hear he's making big money on that cleaning business. And I saw Vivien driving a new Buick.”

Vivien was Vito's wife. She was sixty-five, wore fake eyelashes, and dyed her hair bright red because that's the way Vito liked it. Anyone who voiced a critical opinion got fitted with cement booties and accidentally took a dive into the Delaware River.

“I don't suppose there are any rumors going around about First Trenton.”

My mother and grandmother both looked up from their coffee.

“The bank?” my mother asked. “Why do you want to know about the bank?”

“I don't know. Fred had an account there. I was just fishing.”

Grandma stared at my chest. “You look different. Are you wearing one of them sports brassieres?” She looked more closely. “Hot dog. I know what it is. You're wearing a bulletproof vest. Ellen, look at this,” she said to my mother. “Stephanie's wearing a bulletproof vest. Isn't that something?”

My mother's face had turned white. “Why me?” she said.

N
EXT STOP WAS
Mabel's house.

Mabel opened the door and smiled. “Stephanie, how nice to see you, dear. Would you like tea?”

“I can't stay,” I said. “I just wanted to stop around and see how you were doing.”

“Isn't that sweet of you. I'm doing peachy. I think I've decided on a trip to Bermuda.”

I picked a brochure off the coffee table. “Singles cruises for seniors?”

“They have some very good rates.”

“Anything happen that I should know about? Like, have you heard from Fred?”

“I haven't heard a word from Fred. I suppose he's dead.”

Boy, don't get all broken up over it. “It's only been two weeks,” I said. “He could still turn up.”

Mabel slid a longing look at the brochures. “I suppose that's true.”

Ten minutes later I was at the office.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Lula said. “Did you see the paper this morning? You got a big spread. And not that I'm bummed or anything, but I didn't even get a mention. And I didn't get a cool name like Bombshell Bounty Hunter either. Hell, I could bombshell your ass off.”

“I know that,” I said. “And that's why I was wondering if you wanted to ride along with me again today?”

“I don't know. What kind of car are you driving? You back to driving that Buick?”