09 To the Nines (14 page)

“I'm on a diet,” Lula explained to Tank. “The fat just melts away on this diet, but you've gotta eat lots of pork chops.”

I locked Bob in the house and Lula and I drove back to the office with Tank following.

“That was sort of embarrassing,” Lula said. “It's hard to explain a pork chop in your purse.”

“Sorry it all got destroyed.”

“Yeah, I really wanted that pork chop. I don't care so much about the bag. I bought the bag from Ray Smiley, out of the back of his Pontiac. It was one of those things that accidentally fell off a truck.” Lulas eyes got bigger. “Hey, we should make a stopover at the mall. I could get a new purse and then just for the hell of it we could go into Victoria's Secret and see if Tank follows us in. That's how you tell what a man's really made of. It's one thing for a man to be big and brave and kill a spider. Any man could do that. Trailin' after a woman when she's shopping for thongs and push-up bras is a whole other category of man. And then if you want to see how far von can go with it, you ask him to carry one of those little pink bags they give you.”

I've never been shopping with Ranger so I can't say how he'd do with the Victorias Secret test. Morelli flunked hands down. Morelli takes off for soft-serve ice cream when I head for Victoria's Secret.

“No time,” I told Lula. “Ranger's picking me up at five o'clock.” And Ranger doesn't like to be kept waiting.

At precisely five, I saw Ranger's truck ease to a stop in front of the bonds office. I grabbed my bag and my jacket and I went out to meet him. The instant I got in beside Ranger I saw Tank peel away and take off.

“I thought he was supposed to be guarding my body,” I said to Ranger.

Ranger looked at me with dark eyes. “It's my turn to guard your body, babe.”

Oh boy.

Ever since I could remember I've loved adventure stories and heroes. I guess that's true for all kids. And maybe all adults, too. My best friend Mary Lou Molnar and I would choose up roles when we were kids. I'd be Snake Eyes from GI Joe or Inspector Gadget or Han Solo. I'd run through the neighbors' yards, shouting, Thundercats, ho! And Mary Lou would follow after me, living her own fantasy as Smurfette or Wendy Darling or Marcia Brady. Mary Lou always had a good sense of gender and of her own abilities. Mary Lou's fantasies were close to the reality of her life. I, on the other hand, have never been able to merge the reality with the fantasy. In my mind, I'm still Snake Eyes. In truth, I'm closer to Lucy Ricardo. I don't have a lot of the skills I should have as a crime fighter. I'm not good with guns and I've never found the time to take self-defense. The only black belt in my closet is a narrow snakeskin with a gold buckle.

“Tell me about Bart Cone,” I said to Ranger. “Was his house filled with florist bills? Photos of murdered women? Body parts in the freezer?”

“None of the above. He has the minimum furniture. A bed, a chair, a table, a desk. No computer on the desk. No television. He had two books at bedside. Into Thin Air. And a nuts and bolts catalogue. It didn't look to me like he'd cracked the spine on Into Thin Air.”

“Sounds like his wife had a good divorce lawyer.”

“Cone had minimum food in the refrigerator. His medicine chest was filled with antidepressants and sleeping pills.”

“Do you think he's crazy?”

“I think he has no life. I think he's the job.”

“Like us.”

Ranger looked over at me. “You have a life. You shop for shoes. You eat Butterscotch Krimpets. You have a hamster, half ownership of a dog, thirty percent of a cop. And you have a scary family.”

“You think I only have thirty percent of Morelli?”

“I think you have as much as he can give anyone right now.”

“How about you?” I asked. “How much can you give?”

Ranger kept his eyes on the road. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“So I've been told.”

It was close to 5:30 when we reached the apartment house on Market. Ranger pulled into the driveway and parked in a small lot to the rear of the house. We took the back entrance and went directly to the second floor. We knocked on Carl Rosen's door. No one answered. Ranger crossed the hall and knocked on 2A. A woman in her fifties opened the door and peered out.

“We're looking for Carl Rosen,” Ranger said. “I don't suppose you've seen him.”

“No,” the woman said. “I haven't seen him, but he's usually home by now. Sorry.”

The woman slipped back into her apartment. Her door closed and three locks tumbled into place. Ranger paced away from the door, called Tank, and asked him to run a basic information check on Rosen. Three minutes later the information came back. Carl Rosen worked at the hospital. He drove a '94 blue Honda Civic. He was unmarried. Tank also had previous addresses and jobs and a list of relatives. Ranger disconnected and knocked one more time on Rosen s door. When no one answered, Ranger slid a slim tool into the lock and opened the door. He left me outside to do lookout and he disappeared into the apartment.

Ten minutes later, Ranger walked out of the apartment and locked the door behind him. “I can't remember the last time I broke into so many places and found so little,” Ranger said. “Not even a computer. Just the power cord plugged into the wall. Either Rosen takes his laptop with him to work or else someone's gone through his apartment in front of us.”

“Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

I called Morelli and told him I'd be late. I was thinking an hour maybe, but we were still waiting at nine o'clock. We were sitting on the floor outside Rosen's apartment, backs to the wall, legs outstretched.

“My ass is asleep,” I said to Ranger.

“And you'd like me to do something about it?” Ranger asked.

“Just making conversation.”

“There are a lot of reasons why Rosen might not be home yet, but I have a bad feeling in my gut that this isn't going to turn out good,” Ranger said.

“How much longer do you want to sit here?” '

“Let's give him until ten.”

“Okay,” Morelli said, “tell me again. You were doing what with Ranger?”

“We wanted to talk to Carl Rosen, but he never came home.” I told Morelli about the waitress at the Blue Bird and how she remembered about the flowers.

“Christ,” Morelli said. “That never came out in any of the investigation. I've read through the file. Carl Rosen was questioned, along with everyone else in that apartment building, but no one ever said anything about flowers.”

“I guess they didn't think it related.”

“Tomorrow morning I'll talk to Ollie. He was the principal on the case.”

Oh great. Blubber-butt Ollie. The Bain of my existence. The guy who once tried to arrest me for impersonating a bounty hunter.

It was late. And I was tired. I'd done nothing for hours and it had sapped my energy. Spending time with Ranger was an odd experience. I was always aware of the sexual pull, magnified by the silence that surrounded him. The attraction had changed since we'd had the one night together. We knew the power of it now. We set boundaries after that night. His were different from mine. My boundaries were physical and Rangers were emotional. I still knew almost nothing about him. And I suspected it would always be that way.

I had one task left before going to bed. I needed to check my email. Not a pleasant experience anymore. I knew there'd be a message from the killer. I had a terrible feeling of dread that it would be about Carl Rosen.

I tapped my code into AOL and waited for my mail to appear. A chill slid along my spine when I saw the subject line tally ho.

Dear prey, the email began, so sorry you couldn't get to talk to Carl, but that might have ruined the hunt. Alas, it's necessary to eliminate participants. After all, this is a survival game, isn't it?

Morelli was reading over my shoulder. “Doesn't sound good for Carl.”

“This guy thinks he's playing a game.”

“Have you run across any paranoid schizophrenics lately? Any completely wacko nut cases?”

“My path is littered with them. Have you guys had any luck tracking the emails?”

“No. Hiding the origin of an email requires some sophistication, but it's possible. The Mercer County Prosecutors Office is working with us. We'll see what we can do with this new one. I'm going to confiscate your computer for a while.”

“Were you able to locate the flower source?”

“They didn't come from any of the local florists. This guy probably picked them up at a supermarket. We have notices up in all the supermarket lunchrooms for checkers to watch for red roses and white carnations going out. We've dusted your apartment for prints, but nothing worthwhile came up.”

“This is very creepy.”

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “Let's go to bed and I'll take your mind off your problems.”

I woke up the next morning thinking maybe I only had thirty percent of Morelli, but it was a damn good thirty percent.

My schedule for fighting crime began considerably later in the day than Morelli's, so by the time I wandered into the kitchen Morelli was already at work. I got coffee brewing and dropped a frozen waffle into the toaster. The morning paper was on the table. I did a fast scan, but saw nothing about a body found floating in the Delaware.

I took a mug of coffee and padded out to the living room, opened the door, and looked up and down the street for Tank. No Tank in sight. That didn't mean he wasn't there.

I called Ranger and told him about the latest email. “I don't suppose you've seen Carl Rosen this morning?” I asked.

“No. His car hasn't surfaced. And he didn't show up for work.”

“Is Tank out there? I didn't see him.”

“He saw you. He said you were frightening.”

“I haven't taken a shower yet. My hair might be a little unruly.”

“Takes a lot to scare Tank,” Ranger said. And he was gone.

I took a shower and I did the full-on hair thing. Hot rollers, gel, the works. I tweezed my eyebrows, painted my toenails, and spent an hour applying makeup. I shrugged into a swirly flowered skirt and finished it all off with a stretchy little white knit top. I was Jersey Girl right down to the strappy sandals with the four-inch heels. Not only did I have to do some image correction for Tank, but I'd be damned if I was going to die needing a pedicure.

I clacked out of the house carrying my big leather shoulder bag and took off for the office in the Escape. I looked great, but I couldn't run for a damn in the shoes so I had sneakers in my shoulder bag. . . just in case I had to chase down a bad guy.

I turned onto Hamilton and Andrew Cone called.

“I have something for you,” he said. “This is really good. Can you stop around?”

Andrew sounded excited. Maybe this was my lucky day. Hot dog.

Connie was at her desk when I swung in. “Uh-oh,” she said, “big hair and full face paint, high heels, and a Barbie shirt. What's going on?”

“It's too complicated to explain.” And I wasn't sure I understood, anyway. “Where's Lula?”

“She's up the street. She's still on the diet. Went through all her meat in a half hour and had to walk up to the coffee shop for some bacon.”

“Lula walked to the coffee shop? That's two blocks away. Lula never walks anywhere.”

“She parked in back and got blocked in by someone. I guess she figured it was faster to walk.”

“She must have really needed the bacon.”

“She was on a mission.”

I moseyed over to the door, looked up the street, and spotted Lula at the end of the block. She was walking fast in her Via Spiga heels, holding a white food bag against her chest. Two dogs, a beagle and a golden retriever, trotted close behind Lula. A third dog crossed the street and joined the pack. Every couple steps Lula would turn and yell something at the dogs. When the beagle jumped for the bag when Lula was half a block away, Lula let out a shriek and started running.

“Stop running,” I yelled at her. “You're making it worse. They think it's a game.”

They were snapping at her heels now and barking.

“Do something,” Lula yelled. “Shoot them!”

“Drop the bag! They want the bacon.”

“No way I'm giving up my bacon.”

Lula was running knees high, arms pumping. She was wearing the Via Spigas and a short black spandex skirt that was hiked up to her waist, showing Hamilton Avenue what a big woman looks like in a red satin thong.

“Open the door!” Lula shouted. “I can make it. I'm almost there. Just hold the damn door open!”

Lula tossed the dogs a slice of bacon from the bag, the dogs dove after the bacon, and Lula rushed past me into the office. I slammed the door shut and we all stood looking at the dogs milling around outside.

Lula tugged her skirt down. “Tank's out there, isn't he?”

“Yep.”

“I explained pretty good about the pork chop, but I'm at a loss here.”

“It speaks for itself,” I said to Lula.

Grease stains were starting to show through the bag. “I love this diet,” Lula said. “I love pork chops. And I love ribs. And I love bacon. I love bacon most of all.”

Lula was eating bacon like it was popcorn, chomping on it out of the bag, rolling her eyes in gastronomic ecstasy.

“How much bacon do you have there?” Connie wanted to know.

“Three pounds minus the one strip I gave up to the dogs.”

“Sounds like a lot of bacon,” Connie said.

“I'm pushing the boundaries of science here,” Lula said. “I'm gonna be a supermodel with a smile on my face on account of I'm gonna be full of bacon.”

“I need to go to TriBro,” I said. “I'm looking for someone to ride shotgun.”

“That would be me,” Lula said.

Lula and Tank waited in the lot while I went in to talk to Andrew Cone.

“This is really good,” Cone said. “I had to tell you this in person. First thing this morning I found an email from one of the people I do business with in Vegas. Bill Weber. He said Samuel Singh filled out a job application and Weber was emailing to check references. I got so excited, I called the guy. Got him out of bed. Forgot about the time change.”

“Singh's in Vegas? And he was dumb enough to list you as a reference?”

Cone bobbed his head up and down, smiling wide. “Yes.”

“I bet he even gave a street address.”