WHEN RANGER KNOCKED on my door at eight-thirty I was as ready as I was going to get. I'd taken a shower and done the best I could with my hair in the absence of gel. I carry a lot of stuff in my bag. Who would have thought I'd need gel.
Ranger had coffee and fruit and a whole-grain bagel for breakfast. I had an Egg McMuffin, a chocolate shake, and breakfast fries. Plus Ranger was treating so I got a Disney action figure.
It was warmer in Richmond than it had been in Jersey. Some of the trees and early azaleas were flowering. The sky was clear and struggling to be blue. It was going to be a good day for bullying a couple old ladies.
Traffic was heavy on the major roads but disappeared the instant we entered Louie D's neighborhood. School buses had come and gone, and the adult inhabitants were off to yoga class, the gourmet market, the tennis club, Gymboree, and work. The neighborhood had a lived-in, get-up-and-go feel this morning. With the exception of Louie D's house. Louie D's house looked exactly as it had at 3:00 A.M. Dark and still.
Ranger called Tank and was told Ronald left his house at eight with the cooler. Tank had followed him south to Whitehorse and then turned back once he was certain Ronald was on his way to Richmond.
“So what do you think of the house?” I asked Ranger.
“I think it looks like it has a secret.”
We both got out of the car and walked to the door. Ranger rang the bell. After a moment the door was opened by a woman in her early sixties. Her brown hair was cut short and framed a long, narrow face dominated by thick black eyebrows. She was dressed in black. Black shirtwaist dress on her small, wiry frame, black cardigan sweater, black loafers, and dark stockings. She wore no makeup or jewelry other than a simple silver cross around her neck. Her eyes were dark-rimmed and dull, as if she hadn't slept for a very long time.
“Yes?” she said without animation. No smile on her thin, colorless lips.
“I'm looking for Estelle Colucci,” I said.
“Estelle isn't here.”
“Her husband said she would be visiting.”
“Her husband was wrong.”
Ranger moved forward and the woman blocked his way. “Are you Mrs. DeStefano?” Ranger asked.
“I'm Christina Gallone. Sophia DeStefano is my sister.”
“We need to speak to Mrs. DeStefano,” Ranger said.
“She's not seeing visitors.”
Ranger pushed her back into the room. “I think she is.”
“No!” Christina said, pulling at Ranger. “She's not well. You have to leave!”
A second woman stepped out of the kitchen, into the foyer. She was older than Christina, but the resemblance was there. She wore the same black dress and shoes and simple silver cross. She was the taller of the two, her short brown hair shot with gray. Her face was more animated than her sister's, but her eyes were eerily empty, sucking light in and giving nothing out. My first impression was that she was medicated. My second guess would be that she was insane. And I was pretty sure I was looking at the crazy-eyed woman who shot Mooner.
“What's going on?” she asked.
“Mrs. DeStefano?” Ranger asked.
“Yes.”
“We'd like to speak to you about the disappearance of two young men.”
The sisters looked at each other and the nape of my neck prickled. The living room was to my left. It was dark and forbidding, formally furnished with polished mahogany tables and heavy brocade upholstery. The drapes were closed, allowing no sunlight to penetrate the interior. A small study opened to my right. The door was partially open, revealing a cluttered desk. Again, curtains were drawn in the study.
“What would you like to know,” Sophia said.
“Their names are Walter Dunphy and Douglas Kruper, and we'd like to know if you've seen them.”
“I don't know either of them.”
“Douglas Kruper is in violation of his bail bond,” Ranger said. “We have reason to believe he's here in this house, and as apprehension agents for Vincent Plum we're authorized to conduct a search.”
“You'll do no such thing. You will leave immediately or I'll call the police.”
“If you'd feel more comfortable having the police present while we search, by all means place the call.”
Again, the exchange of silent communication between the sisters, Christina twisting her skirt in her fingers now.
“I don't appreciate this intrusion,” Sophia said. “It's disrespectful.”
Uh-oh, I thought. There goes my tongue . . . just like Sophia's poor dead neighbor.
Ranger stepped to the side and opened the door to the coat closet. He had his gun in his hand, at his side.
“Stop that,” Sophia said. “You have no right to search this house. Do you know who I am? Do you realize I'm the widow of Louis DeStefano?”
Ranger opened another door. Powder room.
“I command you to stop or suffer the consequences,” Sophia said.
Ranger opened the door to the study and flipped the light on, watching the women while investigating the house.
I followed his lead and walked through the living room and dining room, turning the lights on. I walked through the kitchen. There was a locked door in a hallway just off the kitchen. Pantry or cellar probably. I was reluctant to investigate. I didn't have a gun. And even if I had a gun, I wouldn't be much good at using it.
Sophia suddenly came after me in the kitchen. “Out of there!” she shouted, grabbing me by the wrist, yanking me forward. “You will get out of my kitchen.”
I jerked away from her. And in a motion I can only describe as reptilian, Sophia reached into a kitchen drawer and came out with a gun. She turned and aimed and shot Ranger. And then she turned on me.
Without thinking, acting totally from blind fear, I lunged at her and took her down to the floor. The gun skidded away and I scuttled after it. Ranger got to it before I did. He calmly picked it up and put it in his pocket.
I was on my feet, not sure what to do. The sleeve of Ranger's cashmere jacket was soaked with blood. “Should I call for help?” I asked Ranger.
He shrugged out of the jacket and looked at his arm. “It's not bad,” he said. “Get me a towel for now.” He reached behind him and brought out cuffs. “Cuff them together.”
“Don't touch me,” Sophia said. “You touch me and I'll kill you. I'll scratch your eyes out.”
I closed a bracelet on Christina's wrist and tugged her toward Sophia. “Hold your hand out,” I said to Sophia.
“Never,” she said. And she spit at me.
Ranger moved closer. “Hold your hand out or I'll shoot your sister.”
“Louie, do you hear me, Louie?” Sophia shouted, looking up, presumably beyond the ceiling. “Do you see what's happening? Do you see the disgrace? Jesus, God,” she wailed. “Jesus, God.”
“Where are they?” Ranger asked. “Where are the two men?”
“They're mine,” Sophia said. “I won't give them up. Not until I get what I want. That moron DeChooch, hiring his fence to drive the heart back to Richmond. Too lazy, too ashamed to bring the heart back himself. And do you know what that little pisser brought me? An empty cooler. Thought he could get away with it. Him and his friend.”
“Where are they?” Ranger asked again.
“They're where they should be. In hell. And they're going to stay there until they tell me what they did with the heart. I want to know who has the heart.”
“Ronald DeChooch has the heart,” I said. “He's on his way here.”
Sophia's eyes narrowed. “Ronald DeChooch.” She spit on her floor. “That's what I think of Ronald DeChooch. I'll believe he's got Louie's heart when I see it.”
Obviously she hadn't been told the full story with my involvement.
“You have to let my sister go,” Christina begged. “You can see she's not well.”
“Do you have cuffs on you?” Ranger asked me.
I dug around in my bag and came up with cuffs.
“Cuff them to the r
efrigerator,” Ranger said, “and then see if you can find a first-aid kit.”
We both had previous personal experience with gunshot wounds, so we had the drill down pretty good. I found some first-aid supplies in the upstairs bathroom, got a sterile compress on Ranger's arm, and bound it with gauze and tape.
Ranger tried the locked room off the kitchen.
“Where's the key?” he asked.
“Rot in hell,” Sophia said, her snake eyes narrowed.
Ranger put his foot to the door and the door crashed open. There was a small landing and steps leading down to the cellar. It was inky black. Ranger flipped the light on and went down the stairs, gun drawn. It was an unfinished basement with the usual assortment of cartons and tools and articles too good to throw away but of no practical use. A couple pieces of outdoor furniture partially covered with discarded sheets. One corner devoted to furnace and water heater. One corner devoted to laundry. And one corner had been walled off floor-to-ceiling with cinder blocks, forming a small enclosed room, maybe nine by nine. The door was metal and padlocked.
I looked at Ranger. “Bomb shelter? Root cellar? Cold storage?”
“Hell,” Ranger said. He motioned me back and fired off two rounds, destroying the lock.
We pulled the door open and staggered back from the stench of fear and excretion. The small room was unlit but eyes looked out at us from the far corner. Mooner and Dougie were huddled together. They were naked and filthy, their hair matted, their arms dotted with open sores. They were handcuffed to a metal table that was attached to the wall. Empty plastic water bottles and bread bags littered the floor.
“Dude,” Mooner said.
I felt my legs go and sank down to one knee.
Ranger pulled me up with a hand under my armpit. “Not now,” he said. “Get the sheets off the furniture.”
A couple more gunshots. Ranger was freeing them from the table.
Mooner was in better shape than Dougie. Dougie had been in the room longer. He'd lost weight and his arms were scarred with burn marks.
“I thought I was going to die here,” Dougie said.
Ranger and I exchanged glances. If we hadn't intervened they most likely would have. Sophia wouldn't have turned them loose after kidnapping and torturing them.
We wrapped them in the sheets and got them upstairs. I went to the kitchen to call for police and couldn't believe what I was seeing. A pair of cuffs hung from the refrigerator. The refrigerator door was smeared with blood. The women were gone.
Ranger stood behind me. “Probably gnawed her hand off,” he said.
I dialed 911 and ten minutes later a patrol car angled into the curb. It was followed by a second car and EMS.
We didn't leave Richmond until early evening. Mooner and Dougie were hydrated and dosed with antibiotics. Ranger's arm was sutured and dressed. We'd spent a lot of time with the police. Difficult to explain some of the story. We neglected to mention the pig heart en route from Trenton. And we hadn't muddied the waters with Grandma's kidnapping. Dougie's 'Vette was found locked in Sophia's garage. It would be shipped back to Trenton later in the week.
Ranger gave me the keys to the Mercedes when we left the hospital. “Don't attract attention,” he said. “Wouldn't want the police to look too closely at this car.”
Dougie and Mooner, dressed in new sweats and sneakers, were bundled into the backseat, looking clean and relieved to be out of the cellar.
The ride back was quiet. Dougie and Mooner instantly fell asleep. Ranger went into his zone. If I'd been more alert I might have used the time to sort through my life. As it was I had to concentrate on the road, working not to drift off to autopilot.
I opened my apartment door half expecting to find Benny and Ziggy. Instead I found quiet. Blissful quiet. I locked the door behind me and collapsed on the couch.
I woke up three hours later and stumbled out to the kitchen. I dropped a cracker and a grape into Rex's cage and apologized. Not only was I a slut lusting after two men, I was a bad hamster mother.
My answering machine was furiously blinking. Most of the messages were from my mother. Two were from Morelli. One was from Tina's Bridal Shoppe telling me my gown was in. A message from Ranger telling me Tank had left my bike in my lot, advising me to be careful. Sophia and Christina were out there somewhere.
The last message was from Vinnie. “Congratulations, you got your grandmother back. And now I hear you got Mooner and Dougie back. Do you know who's missing? Eddie DeChooch. Remember him? He's the guy I want you to get back. He's the guy who's gonna bankrupt me if you don't drag his decrepit ass back to jail. He's old, for crissake. He's blind. He can't hear. He can't take a piss without help. And you can't catch him. What's the problem here?”
Crap. Eddie DeChooch. I'd actually forgotten about him. He was staying in a house somewhere. It had a garage that opened to a basement. And from the number of rooms Grandma had described it was a pretty big house. Nothing you'd find in the Burg. Nothing you'd find in Ronald's neighborhood, either. What else did I have. Zero. I had no idea how to find Eddie DeChooch. To tell the truth, I didn't even want to find Eddie DeChooch.
It was 4:00 A.M. and I was exhausted. I turned the ringer off on my phone, shuffled into my bedroom, crawled under the covers, and didn't wake up until two in the afternoon.
I HAD A movie in the VCR and a bowl of popcorn on my lap when my pager buzzed.
“Where are you?” Vinnie asked. “I called your house and nobody answered.”
“I have the ringer turned off on my phone. I need a day off.”
“Your day off is over. I just picked a call up on the police scanner,” Vinnie said. “A freight train coming out of Philly rammed a white Cadillac on the Deeter Street crossing. Only happened a few minutes ago. Sounds like the car's squash city. I want you to get down there pronto. With any luck there'll be something identifiable left from what used to be DeChooch.”
I looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was almost seven. Twenty-four hours ago I was in Richmond, getting ready to drive home. It was like a bad dream. Hard to believe.
I grabbed my bag and the bike keys and shoved what was left of a sandwich into my mouth. DeChooch wasn't my favorite person but I didn't necessarily want him run over by a train. On the other hand, it would make my life better. I rolled my eyes as I barreled through the lobby. I was going straight to hell for thinking a thought like that.
It took me twenty minutes to get to Deeter Street. Much of the area was blocked off by police cars and emergency vehicles. I parked three blocks away and walked the rest. Crime-scene tape was going up as I approached. Not so much to preserve the scene as to keep the gawkers back. I scanned the crowd for a familiar face, searching out someone who could get me inside. I spotted Carl Costanza, standing with several uniformed cops. They'd responded to the call and now were one step above the gawkers, looking at the wreck, shaking their heads. Chief Joe Juniak was with them.
I pushed my way through to Carl and Juniak, trying not to look too closely at the smashed car, not wanting to see severed limbs lying about.
“Hey,” Carl said when he saw me. “I've been expecting you. It's a white Cadillac. Used to be, anyway.”
“Has it been identified?”
“No. The plates aren't visible.”
“Anybody in the car?”
“Hard to tell. The car's only about two feet high. Got flipped over and compacted. The fire department has their infrared out, trying to detect body heat.”
I gave an involuntary shiver. “Ick.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. I was the second on the scene. I took one look at the Cadillac and my nuts went north.”
I couldn't see much of the car from where I was standing. That was fine by me now that I knew the extent of the destruction. It had been hit by a freight train and the train didn't look like it had sustained any damage. From what I could see it hadn't derailed.
“Has anyone called Mary Maggie Mason?” I asked. “If this is the car Eddie De
Chooch was driving, Mary Maggie is the owner.”
“I doubt anyone's called her,” Costanza said. “I don't think we're that organized yet.”
Somewhere in my possession was Mary Maggie's address and phone number. I pawed through the loose change, gum wrappers, nail file, breath mints, and other assorted flotsam that collects in the bottom of my bag and finally found what I was looking for.