“Pharmaceuticals?”
"Sex. And you can open your eyes. The Vic's gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Car heaven.”
Twenty minutes later, Ranger stopped at a light on Broad, and his cell buzzed. He answered on a Bluetooth earpiece and listened for a couple minutes, his mood somber, his expression not showing anything. He thanked the caller and disconnected.
“They found the accountant, Ziggy Zabar,” Ranger said. “He washed ashore about a quarter mile south of the Ferry Street Bridge. He was identified by a credit card and a medic alert bracelet for a heart condition.”
Ranger parked behind the medical examiners truck, and we walked the distance to the crime scene. It was turning into a miserable day and the weather was holding the crowd down. Only a few hardy photographers and reporters. No gawkers. A handful of uniforms, a couple plainclothes guys. An EMS team that looked like they wanted to be somewhere else. No one I recognized. We ducked under the yellow tape and found Tank.
Tank is Rangers next in command and his shadow. No need to describe him. His name says it all. He was dressed in RangeMan black, and he looked impervious to the weather.
Tank was with Ziggy Zabar s brother, Zip, also in Range-Man black, his face stoic, his posture rigid.
“We picked the call up from police dispatch,” Tank said, stepping away from Zip. “He's been in the water awhile, and he's not in great shape, but I've looked at him, and even in his condition it's obvious it was an execution. Single bullet nice and clean in the forehead. He's wearing an ankle shackle, so I'm guessing he was attached to something heavy, and the tide broke him loose.”
I sucked in some air. I didn't know Ziggy Zabar, but it was horrible all the same.
We stayed for a while, keeping Zip company while he watched over his dead brother. The police photographer left and the EMS guys came in with a body bag. I could hear the motor running on the ME truck at the top of the hill. The uniforms had their collars turned up and were shuffling their feet. The mist had turned into a drizzle.
Ranger was wearing his SEAL ball cap. He tucked my hair behind my ears and put his hat on my head to keep me dry. “You look like you need that birthday cake.”
“I'd settle for a peanut butter sandwich and some dry socks.”
“I want to talk to the ME, and then I have some things to do.” He handed me the keys to the Cayenne. “Use my car. I can ride with Tank and Zip. I don't care if you destroy the car, but take care of the hat. I want it back.”
I scrambled up the hill, hoisted myself into the Porsche, and turned the heat on full blast. As I pulled off the service road onto Broad, my cell phone buzzed. It was Marty Gobel.
“I need you to come in and make a statement,” Marty said. “I know this isn't anything you want to do, but I can't put it off any longer.”
“That's okay,” I told him. “I understand. I'll be there in ten minutes.”
The cop shop is on Perry Street. Half the building is the courthouse and half the police station. It's redbrick, and the architecture could best be categorized as utilitarian municipal. Money wasn't wasted on fancy columns or art. This is strictly a -watt building. Still, it serves its purpose, and it's in a neighborhood where it's convenient for the police to find crime.
I parked in the public lot across the street and stowed the pepper spray, handcuffs, and stun gun in the console. I applied fresh lip gloss and went to talk to Marty.
I crossed the lobby to the cop-in-a-cage and gave him my name. Court was in session across the hall and people were milling around, waiting to pass through security.
Marty met me in the lobby. We got coffee and found an empty room where he could take my statement.
“So,” Marty said when we were seated, “why did you kill Dickie Orr?”
I felt my mouth drop open and my eyes go wide.
Marty gave a bark of laughter. “I'm just fucking with you,” he said. “The guys made me do it.”
“Should I have an attorney present?” I asked him.
“Do you have one?”
“My brother-in-law.”
“Oh jeez, are you talking about Albert Kloughn? He chases ambulances. He paid for his law degree with chickens. Got it somewhere in the islands, right?”
I did some mental knuckle cracking. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you have an alibi?”
Oh boy.
An hour later, I pushed my chair back. “I'm done,” I told Gobel. “If you want any more, you'll have to feed me.”
“The best I could do is a Snickers bar.”
“How many?”
Gobel closed his notepad. “I'm done anyway. You and Morelli aren't planning on going out of the country any time soon, are you?”
I slanted my eyes at him. “What are you saying?”
“Well, you know, you're kind of a suspect. Actually, you're our only suspect.”
“What's my motive?”
“You hated him.”
“Everybody hated him.”
“Not true. Not everybody. And you stand to inherit a lot of money. He had a will drawn up when you were married, and it never got changed. You get everything.”
“What?” I said it on a whoosh of air because it literally knocked the wind out of me.
“You didn't know?”
“I don't believe it.” This was the most contentious divorce in the history of the Burg. The shouting was heard for miles. We called each other names that didn't even exist.“Believe it,” Marty Gobel said.
“How do you know about the will? Aren't wills secret?”
“Not this one. His girlfriend has a copy. Joyce Barn-hardt. He was in the process of changing it, so she would be his sole heir, but he never signed it.”
“You're kidding again, right? This is another joke.”
“Swear to God. If they ever find his body you'll be rich. Of course, you might not be in a good position to enjoy it.”
I left Gobel, locked myself in the Cayenne, and called Morelli. “Did you know I was Dickie's sole heir?” I asked him.
“No. How did you find that out?”
“Gobel. Joyce told him. Apparently she has a copy of Dickie s will.”
“So you talked to Marty. How'd it go?”
“By the time we were done, I was sort of feeling I might have killed Dickie.”
There was a moment of silence. “You didn't, did you?”
“No! Yeesh. I'm going home. I'm all discombobulated.”
“Look in the freezer when you get home. I got you happy food.”
“How happy?”
“Stouffer's macaroni and cheese. The family size.”
“I love you!”
I could feel Morelli smile at the other end. “I own you now. I know where all the buttons are.”
I rushed home and went straight to the freezer. I yanked the door open and there it was-the family size. I almost fainted from joy. I popped it into the microwave and ran into the bedroom to get dry clothes. I was changing out of my socks, and I realized the room didn't feel exactly right. I'd left the bed unmade and rumpled, and now it was less rumpled, and the pillows were all lined up on the headboard. And my T-shirt drawer was partially open.
I moved to the chest beside the bed and got the cylinder of pepper spray from the top drawer. I looked under the bed and in every closet. Didn't find anyone. Whoever had been here was now gone.
I called Morelli.
“I've got it in the microwave,” I told him. “When did you bring it over?”
'Testerday. When I brought all the rest of the stuff. Why?"
“I think someone was in my apartment while I was gone this morning.”
“Probably Ranger fingering your underwear.”
“No. I was with Ranger. And if Ranger was here, I'd never know.” And if Ranger wanted to finger my underwear, he'd do it while I was wearing it.
“If you're worried, you can move yourself over to my house. Bob loves company.”
“How ab
out you?”
“I'd like it too. Just kick the beer cans and pizza boxes out of your way and make yourself at home.”
“Could it have been the police looking for evidence?”
“No. We couldn't use evidence obtained that way. And besides, no one's that smart here. Only television cops do that sort of thing.”
“Good to know. Gotta run. My mac and cheese just dinged.”
“I've got some paperwork to finish, and then I'm heading out. Where will I find you?”
“I'm going to stay here. There weren't any death threats spray-painted on the walls, so maybe I'm just imagining things. I'm a little spooked, what with being accused of murder.”
“You're not accused yet,” Morelli said. “You're only under suspicion.”
I hung up, stuffed my feet into the shearling boots, and pulled a hooded fleece sweatshirt over my head. I liked Morelli's house better than my apartment, but all my clothes and makeup and hair things were here. When Morelli spent the night with me, he borrowed my razor, used whatever soap was in the bathroom, and re-dressed in the clothes that had hit the floor the night before. He kept some underwear and socks here, and that was it. When I stayed with Morelli, it was a whole production.
I polished off the mac and cheese and washed it down with a beer. I was now warm inside and out, and no longer cared so much about the Dickie issue.
I'd dropped a cheesy macaroni into Rex's food cup, and he was busy stuffing it into his cheeks. His whiskers were whirring and his tiny black eyes were bright.
“Time to go get a Diggery,” I said to Rex. “Now that I'm full of mac and cheese, I can do anything-leap tall buildings in a single bound, stop a speeding locomotive, get a bikini wax.”
Rex flicked a glance at me and scurried into his soup can.
FIVE
It was mid-afternoon and still gray and drizzly, but the drizzle wasn't freezing on the roads. I thought that was a good sign. I was on my way to the mall in Ranger s car and hat, and I was feeling very kick-ass. I was armed with the pepper spray and the stun gun. I had my cuffs. I had my paperwork. I was ready to do a takedown.
I parked at the food court entrance and made a tour of the concessions. Pizza, burgers, ice cream, smoothies, Chinese, cookies, subs, Mexican, sandwiches. I didn't see Dig-gery. Then I did a fast scan of the tables and spotted him on the far side, against a wall. He was talking to someone, and there were papers spread across the table.
I got a diet soda and found an empty table just behind Diggery. He was busy talking and didn't notice me. He seemed to be filling out some sort of form. He finished the form, gave it to the woman across from him, and she gave him some money and left. A new person immediately sat down and gave Diggery a large yellow envelope. I wasn't taking any chances with this. I wasn't going to give Diggery an opportunity to bolt and run. I quietly moved to Diggery and clapped a bracelet on his right wrist.
Stephanie Plum 13 - Lean Mean Thirteen
Diggery looked down at the cuff and then up at me. “Fuck,” Diggery said. “You need to get rebonded,” I told him. “You missed your court date.”
“I'm conducting business now,” Diggery said. "A little respect, okay? I don't come barging
into your office, do I?"
“This isn't an office. It's a food court. What the heck are you doing?”
“He's doing my taxes,” the woman across from him said. “He does them every year.” I looked at the woman. “You let him do your taxes?”
“He's certifiable.”
Couldn't argue with that. “He's also under arrest,” I told her. "You're going to have to make
other arrangements."
“What arrangements? I can't do these forms. I can't figure them out.”
Four more people came forward. Three men and a woman.
“What's going on?” one of the men asked. “What's the holdup?”
“Simon has to leave now,” I told him.
"No way. I've been waiting for an hour, and I'm next in line. You want a piece of Simon,
take a number."
“Get up,” I said to Diggery.
“It's gonna get ugly,” he said. "You don't want to piss off Oscar over there. He don't got a
lot of patience, and he's missing his afternoon TV shows to do this."
“I can't believe you're doing taxes.”
"It was just one of them things that mushroomed. Not that it should be so surprising since I
have a very strong entrepreneurial side to me."
I looked at my watch. “If we hustle, I can get you bonded out today, and you can be back here in a couple hours.”
“I'm not waiting no more couple hours,” Oscar said, giving me a shot to the shoulder that knocked me into the woman behind me.
I took the stun gun out of my coat pocket. “Back off,” I said to Oscar. “Simon is in violation of his bond, and he needs to go with me.”
“I've got one of those too,” the woman behind me said. And ZINNNNG.
When I came around, I was on my back on the floor, and I was looking at the rent-a-cop from the lingerie trip with Grandma.
“Are you okay?” he said. “Did you have a spell? Can you get a flashback from a stun gun?”
“It's my life,” I said to him. “It's complicated.”
He dragged me up and set me in a chair. “Do you want water or something?”
“Yeah, water would be good.”
By the time he came with the water, the clanging in my head had almost completely stopped. I sipped the water and looked around. No Diggery. His clients were gone too. No doubt moved on to a taco stand or gas station. I was missing my cuffs and stun gun. I was probably lucky they hadn't taken my shoes and my watch.
I retreated to the parking lot, and carefully maneuvered the car onto the highway. I drove on autopilot and suddenly realized I was stopped in front of my parents' house. I checked to make sure I was no longer drooling, then went into the house. My dad was in front of the television, sound asleep with the paper draped over his stomach. My mother and grandmother were in the kitchen cooking.
Grandma was wearing tight black spandex yoga pants and a pink T-shirt that said I'm Sassy, and she'd dyed her hair red. My mother was at the stove, but the ironing board was up, and the iron was plugged in. I suspected it was the red hair that got the iron out.
Since the iron was already out, I decided I'd just jump in. “So,” I said to Grandma, “how'd the date go?”
“It was pretty good,” Grandma said. “The funeral parlor had a new cookie. Chocolate with white chocolate chips. And they did a real good job with Harry Rozinski. You couldn't hardly tell half his nose was eaten away with the skin cancer.”
“Was he wearing jewelry?”
“No. But Lorraine Birnbaum was next door in viewing room #, and she was all decked out. She was wearing a real nice-looking watch, and they left her wedding band and diamond on her. The diamond was real big too. You probably don't remember Lorraine. She moved away when you were little. She came back to live with her daughter after her husband died last year, but she didn't last too long. Her memorial said she was being buried on Friday.”
“Did Elmer behave himself?”
“Yeah. That was the only disappointment. I was ready to put out, but he got some acid reflux from the cookies and had to go home.”
My mother was at the stove sauteing ground beef for stuffed peppers. She reached for the cupboard where she kept her liquor stash, paused, then pulled herself together and went on with the sauteing.
“Sissy Cramp and I went shopping today,” Grandma said, “and I got these new clothes and went to the beauty parlor. I thought I should spruce up since Elmer has all that nice black hair. It's a marvel that at his age he hasn't got a gray hair on his head.”
“He hasn't got any hair on his head,” I told Grandma. “He wears a wig.”
“That would explain a lot of things,” Grandma said.
My mother and I looked at each other and shared a grimace.
br /> “I read somewhere red is the hot color for hair this year,” Grandma said. “So I had Dolly do me red this time. What do you think?”
“I think it's fun,” I told Grandma. “It brings out the color in your eyes.”
I could see my mother bite into her lower lip, and I knew she was eyeing the liquor cabinet again.