High Five (26 page)

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."

MORELLI 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."