22 Tricky Twenty-Two (12 page)

THE BONDS OFFICE
is open for half a day on Saturdays, but I work all the time. It’s not a big sacrifice for me because I have no hobbies, I don’t play any sports, and I no longer have a boyfriend. As a special Saturday treat I skipped breakfast at home and got coffee and a cruller at Dunkin’ Donuts. Lula and Connie were already at the office when I strolled in.

“What are we going to do today?” Lula asked me. “Are we going looking for bad guys?”

“I’m going to Rangeman to ask Ranger for help with the Gobbles dilemma.”

“That could be why you’re wearing a tight low-cut shirt that shows off your boobies,” Lula said. “And you got on the tight skinny jeans. And you got on makeup.”

“I always dress like this.”

“No way. Half the time you can’t tell if you buy your clothes in the men’s department or the women’s department. You’re one of them comfortable dressers.”

“She has a point,” Connie said. “You haven’t got your hair in a ponytail today, either.”

“Jeez,” I said. “I hadn’t really thought about any of that. I just get up every morning and get dressed.”

“Exactly,” Lula said, “but today you got dressed special. This here’s your unconscious telling you to get sexed up for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Totally Edible. Let’s face it. You’re hot for him.”

“Of course I’m hot for him,” I said. “You’d have to be dead not to be hot for him. That doesn’t mean I’m setting out to seduce him.”

“Well, I’m just saying you got seduction cleavage going on,” Lula said. “And I’m thinking your unconscious has plans.”

“As long as those plans stay in my unconscious,” I said. I tossed my empty coffee cup into the trash. “I’m off to Rangeman.”

I texted Ranger from the car to make sure he had time to talk to me, and he texted back
Babe.
I took that to mean he had time.

I parked in the underground garage and took the elevator to the third-floor control room where Ranger had an office. When Ranger got out of the military he worked as a bounty hunter with a vacant lot for an address. In a relatively short amount of time he went from a vacant lot to a slick office building, an exclusive client base, and a fleet of new cars. He has a silent partner who remains very silent. The control room is state of the art. The décor is minimalist. The attitude is calm and quiet.

I walked through the control room to Ranger’s office. The door was open, and Ranger was working at his computer. I closed the door and took a seat across the desk from him.

“Catching up on Facebook?” I asked him.

“Designing a security system.”

“I had an interesting chat with Ken Globovic last night. Long story short is that Gobbles and his friend Becker were building fireworks in the basement of Zeta house. Professor Pooka came on board to help and totally took over. He has the basement door locked, and he has the only key. No one gets in the basement but Pooka. I’m told Pooka lives in an apartment like the Unabomber, and that it has an alarm system. And Becker has been missing for over a week. Gobbles has been FTA because he’s trying to find Becker.”

“No police involvement?”

“Becker called his parents and assured them that he was fine.”

“But Gobbles doesn’t think Becker is fine.”

“Right.”

“Why do we care?”

“I don’t know. I just care.”

Ranger looked at me for a beat. “I like your shirt.”

“It’s working, right?”

“Not as good as the red dress, but it’s close. What do you want me to do?”

“I want to see what’s in the Zeta cellar and Pooka’s apartment.”

“I’m assuming we don’t want Pooka in his apartment when we look at it.”

“Correct. I can arrange to have him out when we’re going in, but there’s the alarm.”

“I can manage the alarm. Just give me the address.”

“You’re going to hack his alarm?”

“Not me personally.”

I texted Gobbles and told him to get Pooka out of his apartment and to send me the address. I got an answer back in less than five minutes. Gobbles was meeting Pooka at a Starbucks in a half hour. The address he gave me for Pooka’s apartment was close to Kiltman.

Ranger made a phone call and passed the address on, asking for a two-hour window. I assumed this was to his hacker, who for all I knew could be in China.

“Let’s roll,” Ranger said. “I have afternoon client meetings.”

I stood and he gave me a slow full-body scan, taking in the skinny jeans.

“Babe, you must want more than two simple break-ins.”

I smiled at him. “Maybe.”

Holy cats. Was I flirting with Ranger? This was all Lula’s fault.

We took the elevator to the garage, and Ranger chose to drive my Macan. The Macan was like a stealth Porsche. It flew under the radar and didn’t draw the attention of Ranger’s 911 Turbo.

Pooka lived in a large house that had been subdivided into four apartments. His apartment was on the second floor and ran front to back. He had his own outside entrance at the rear of the house, plus an interior entrance that opened off the front door. He was two blocks from the Kiltman campus and three blocks from the Starbucks where he was going to meet Gobbles. It was a Saturday morning and traffic was minimal.

Ranger parked across the street and one house down. Julie was going to call us when Pooka walked into the Starbucks, but it wasn’t necessary because we saw Pooka leave his house. He exited through the front door and turned left. We watched him walk a block and turn left again.

We crossed the street, walked into the house as if we owned it, and took the stairs to Pooka’s apartment. Ranger tried the door. Locked. He took a slim pick from his pocket and opened the door. No alarm.

We stepped in, closed the door, and stood for a couple beats taking it all in. It was like a hoarder was conducting mad scientist lab experiments. Small aquariums stacked three tall lined a kitchen counter. There were more of them in the room that was designed to be a living room but was now a strange office and lab.

He had a large scarred wood desk that held stacks of papers, crumpled fast food bags, cigarettes stubbed out in used coffee cups, a small digital food scale, and a place for a computer, but the computer was missing.

The single bedroom contained more aquariums, more stacks of papers, and an unmade bed. The ratty quilt on the bed had ink stains and cigarette burns on it. More crumpled fast food bags and discarded Starbucks coffee cups.

I took a closer look at the aquariums and broke out in goosebumps. They were filled with tiny bugs. Every aquarium.

“What are these?” I asked Ranger.

“I’m not an expert, but they look like fleas,” Ranger said. “I imagine he’s breeding them for use in an experiment.”

No surprises in the bathroom. It was filthy as expected. The medicine chest was crammed with sleep aids, decongestants, pill bottles without labels, Benadryl, and a variety of prescription meds.

Kitchen cabinets were filled with screw-capped jars holding powdered chemicals. Some were labeled and some weren’t. One whole cabinet was devoted to small empty glass vials with stoppers. Mixed in with the powdered chemicals was a box of Cheerios and a jar of peanut butter.

He had a pint of chocolate ice cream and a bag of frozen mice in his freezer. The refrigerator contained a half gallon of milk, and what appeared to be a bag of blood.

There were assorted devices on a small kitchen table that a biologist or chemist might use. A Bunsen burner, a couple glass flasks, a suction device, and there were furry black spots of something growing in a petri dish.

“I’m completely grossed out,” I said to Ranger. “How can anyone live in here?”

“I want to take a quick look at some of these stacks of papers. While I’m doing that I’d like you to document the apartment. Go through and take pictures of the fleas and the equipment and the medicine chest.”

We’d been in the apartment for exactly a half hour when we got a call from Julie saying Pooka was on his way home.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We couldn’t keep him here any longer. He wanted Gobbles to go home with him, and when Gobbles refused he got angry and stomped off.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

Ranger and I took the back door out, crossed into the neighboring yard, and returned to the Macan.

“Next stop the Zeta house,” Ranger said.

“Take the loop road through the campus and turn when you see Windward Dorm. Zeta is a couple buildings down from Windward.” I buckled myself in. “Did you find anything interesting in all those stacks of papers?”

“Some of them looked like student term papers. Most of them were copies of professional articles. I don’t know enough biology to understand the content. His doctoral thesis was bound and on his desk. There were a couple professional journals on his desk. He had pages that mentioned him earmarked.”

Ranger turned onto the loop road, found Zeta, and parked in the small lot at the side of the building.

“I’ve never seen the campus this quiet,” I said. “No one’s picketing Zeta. No one’s playing Frisbee. No music blasting out. No one’s on the porch yelling sexist slurs at the women passing by. No women passing by.”

“Saturday morning,” Ranger said.

The inside of Zeta was just as quiet. No music. No television. A couple brothers stumbled past us on the way to the kitchen.

“We’re invisible,” I said to Ranger, leading him to the cellar door. “Probably everyone is still blind drunk from last night.”

Ranger looked at the two locks that had been installed on the door. “No problem here.”

Moments later the door was open and we stepped inside. Ranger locked us in and flipped the lights on. The Zeta basement was one large room that had been finished at a basic utilitarian level. Cement floor, raw drywall ceiling and walls. No-frills fluorescent lighting. Mechanicals were at the far end of the room. Cases of soda and water were stacked back by the mechanicals. There were several empty kegs by the cases of soda.

Two large folding tables had been set up in the middle of the room directly under one of the lights, and paper tubes were lined up on the tables. A box of firecrackers had been set to the side on the floor. A bunch of empty red and silver tins had been tossed into a big box. Another box held tins that hadn’t been opened.

“Fireworks,” I said.

“I know something about fireworks and these aren’t typical. Besides the usual components these are designed to hold a containment package.”

“A stink bomb?”

“Not likely. The odor would disperse too quickly.”

“What then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see anything unusual here that he might want to put inside the shell.”

“Was there anything in his apartment?”

“Fleas,” Ranger said.

“What would he do with the fleas?”

“How crazy is this professor? Is he terrorist crazy?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve had limited contact. He’s angry. Doesn’t seem to like the school. I know from Monica Linken that he was turned down for tenure and his research was defunded.”

“When I was going through the papers I found several articles on Unit 731 and aerial dispersion of pathogens.”

“What’s Unit 731?”

“It was a unit of the Japanese Imperial Army during World War II. It was engaged in covert biological and chemical warfare research and development. I’m mentioning this because the articles were on Pooka’s desk, and not warehoused in a stack in a corner. I didn’t read through the articles, so I don’t know if they’re relevant, but I know that one of the Unit 731 projects involved bubonic plague and fleas. The Japanese army infected fleas with the plague and dropped them from planes on the Chinese countryside. Supposedly they killed thousands of people. Maybe hundreds of thousands.”

“Omigod. Pooka’s fleas. Do you think he’s planning on dropping plague-infected fleas at homecoming?”

“Not sure where he’d get plague, but he has a lot of fleas. Someone would have to be really sick to disseminate plague.”

I was looking at the red and silver tins. “What are these?”

“Blasting grade black powder. It’s used as a bursting charge. Pooka isn’t much of a housekeeper. He’s obviously spilled some on the floor and not cleaned it up. You don’t want to light a match around this stuff. Be careful not to step in it.”

I pulled my phone out and called Morelli.

“I found the black powder,” I said. “Meet me at the Zeta house.”

RANGER STAYED UNTIL
Morelli arrived and then he took off, picked up by one of his patrolmen.

Morelli stood hands on hips, looking around the cellar.

“Fireworks,” he said. “The lab should have picked up on that. This is blasting powder. Gun enthusiasts use a different grade.”

“Pooka is the only one with a key to the cellar,” I told Morelli.

“How did you and Ranger get in?”

“I suspected Gobbles might be down here, so we let ourselves in. I also suspected Gobbles might be in Pooka’s apartment so we let ourselves in there, too.”

Morelli looked like he was in pain. “Do I want to know this?”

“For you to decide. I have pictures.”

“Body parts in the fridge?” he asked.

“Blood.”

“What?”

“He had a bag that looked like it contained blood in his refrigerator. And he had dead mice in his freezer. I think he was feeding it to his fleas.”

“Fleas. Why doesn’t he just get his fleas a dog like everyone else?”

“He’s
raising
the fleas. He’s got aquariums all over his apartment, and they’re filled with fleas.”

“You’re making this up.”

“I swear.” I gave him my phone. “Thumb through the pictures.”

“This is Pooka’s apartment?”

“Pictures don’t do it justice. You can’t smell pictures.”

“Here’s my problem,” Morelli said. “All this might prove is that the murder victims were in this cellar. I have nothing that connects it to the murder weapon.”

“Do you know about Unit 731?”

“Yes. The Japanese army had a facility where they performed horrible acts in the name of science.”

“And they dropped fleas that were contaminated with bubonic plague on the Chinese,” I said.

“Did you see any vials of bubonic plague in Pooka’s apartment?”

“No, but some of the vials weren’t labeled.”

Even as I said it I felt like an idiot. I mean, the whole thing was too bizarre and hard to believe.

“Was that a serious question?” I asked Morelli.

“I think so, but it’s so far-fetched I’m almost embarrassed I asked it.”

“The fireworks Pooka was building have a place to put a little canister of something or other,” I said. “Originally it was supposed to be a stink bomb, but the plan might have gotten changed, and maybe he was planning on exploding fleas over the campus at homecoming.”

“Oh boy.”

“Why else would he be raising fleas?”

“No clue,” Morelli said. “Maybe there’s a market for fleas, and he’s selling them on eBay. Maybe they’re pets. Maybe they’re used for scientific experiments.”

Morelli examined the shells that were lined up on the table.

“There are two different setups here,” he said. “I can see where one has a place for a canister. I don’t know about exploding fleas, but at the very least this is illegal. You can’t manufacture, store, or transport fireworks in New Jersey without a permit. And I don’t see any permits displayed. I’m shutting this down, and I’ll bring someone in to take a look at it, and clean it out.”

A half hour later, the area was secured by two uniforms, and a munitions guy was at work.

“Are you going to take a look at his apartment?” I asked Morelli.

“I’m going to question him and list him as a person of interest, but I can’t go into his apartment. It’s not like I’m a bounty hunter with blanket permission. I have to go to a judge before I can get in.”

“Would you like me to go back in?”

“No! I have enough problems. I’m drinking Prilosec by the gallons. You’re like Calamity Jane. I’m afraid you’ll come out of there with the plague.”

“So you think he might be harboring plague-infected fleas?”

“No. I was making a point.” He checked his watch. “You want to go to lunch?”

“Sure.”

We went to a deli that was a block from the school and sat at one of the small outside tables.

“You look nice,” Morelli said. “Are you going someplace special?”

“Turning over a new leaf.”

“I thought the old leaf was pretty good.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably be back to the old leaf tomorrow.”

I ordered a ham and cheese panini, and Morelli ordered cottage cheese.

“You’re going to get kicked out of Trenton for ordering cottage cheese,” I said.

“I don’t know what to eat. Everything bothers me.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah. He has stomach problems, too. So what are you going to do about Globovic? I get the feeling you’re not working too hard to bring him in.”

“There’s a complication. Globovic was working with a guy named Becker to make fireworks for homecoming. They ran into some problems and asked Pooka to help them, and Pooka took over. Globovic got arrested and shortly after that Becker went missing and hasn’t been seen since. Globovic is FTA because he’s trying to find Becker.”

“Why hasn’t anyone reported this to the police?”

“Globovic doesn’t think the police will pay attention to him because Becker called his parents and told them he was fine.”

“What do
you
think?” Morelli asked me.

“I think there’s something bad going on. Three men are dead and Becker is missing.”

“You realize this isn’t your job, right? You’re not on the payroll to save the world?”

“So then who’s supposed to save the world?”

“Good point,” Morelli said. “For sure not me. I need a bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Gobbles called while Morelli was away.

“How did it go?” he asked. “Did you find anything in his apartment? I heard you got into the Zeta cellar and the police are there now.”

“His apartment was just as you described it. The aquariums were filled with fleas.”

“That makes sense. We were just starting to build the new models, and we all had flea bites. Pooka said he probably brought them in. That he’d been having flea problems in his apartment. It was the first week of school, and we were having an alum mixer, and Harry Getz was there. So Becker asked Getz to send someone around to get rid of the fleas.”

“Why Getz?” I asked.

“He owns an extermination company. Actually I guess it’s construction, but they do exterminating, too. He was partners with another Zeta alum, Doug Linken, and the company was in the toilet.”

“And did he get rid of the fleas?”

“Yeah. Some guy came and sprayed the cellar.”

“Did Getz ever go into the cellar?”

“Yeah, he came back to check on the fleas and Becker took him down. That was when the three of us had keys. Getz saw that we were building fireworks and didn’t like it. Said it was a fire hazard, and we needed to clean it out. He said he was going to have a talk with Pooka.”

“What day was that?”

“It was the day Getz got shot. He was at Zeta around lunchtime, and he was shot that night. It was a Wednesday, and then Becker disappeared the next day, and Pooka had the locks changed a second time.”

“Do you suppose Pooka shot Getz?”

“Why would he do that? Over fireworks? That’s not a good reason to shoot someone.”

Not if you’re sane.

“I’ll be back in touch,” I said. “Let me know if you hear from Becker.”

“I was hoping he was in the cellar,” Gobbles said. “And alive.”

I disconnected and Morelli came back.

“You look kind of white,” I said to him.

“Just the thought of food has my intestines in a knot.”

“That’s serious.”

“It’s probably some stupid virus.”

The waitress set our food down and Morelli went from white to green.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. A month maybe. Maybe two months.”

“You never said anything.”

“Look at me. I’m macho man. We don’t talk about stuff like that. It screws with our hotness. Cramping and diarrhea aren’t on the checklist of ways to get laid.” He poked at his cottage cheese. “I think I’m getting old. My Uncle Baldy talks about this stuff, and he’s a hundred.”

“Jeez, Morelli, you have a house and a dog and a toaster. I thought you were past the Italian Stallion thing. I thought you had some level of maturity.”

“There’s a difference between
having
maturity and being
mature.
I’m not ready to be mature. I don’t want to see the AARP magazine in my mailbox.”

Morelli’s phone buzzed with a text message. “I have to go,” he said. “They want me back at the fraternity.”

“You didn’t have anything to eat. Do you want half my sandwich?”

“Thanks, but I’m supposed to be off gluten. I can’t eat bread.”

“Pizza?”

“Dead to me.”

“Birthday cake?”

“Gone from my life.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

I finished my lunch and headed for home. Morelli had always seemed invincible to me. He waded through crap every day and it all washed off in the shower. Even as a kid he was constantly getting into trouble and landing on his feet. He broke his leg and he was fine. He was shot and he was fine. Never defeated. And now he was the victim of cramping and diarrhea and he wasn’t sounding good. It was so atypical for Morelli that it was hard for me to wrap my head around it.

I was still thinking about Morelli when I got to my apartment building. Maybe he was right to reach the conclusion that the stress of the job had finally gotten to him. And having a Calamity Jane girlfriend added to the stress. So he was cutting us out of his life. I guess I couldn’t blame him. I might do the same. Not sure I’d want a relationship with someone who gave me cramps.

I parked, took the elevator to the second floor, and found a man sitting in front of my door. He jumped up when he saw me. Excited. All smiley. Not a big guy. Maybe five five. In his thirties. Thinning sandy blond hair. Looked like he never spent a day in the sun. Dress slacks and a blue dress shirt tucked in. Red suspenders.

“Gina Bigelow!” he said. “I’d know you anywhere. We finally meet.”

Just when you think your day can’t possibly get any more bizarre…it does.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Kenny.”

He reached out for me. “Do I dare kiss you hello?”

“No. If you take one step closer I’ll zap you with my stun gun.”

“Hah. I knew you’d be a great kidder.”

“There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not the person you’ve been talking to online. Do you know what it means to be catfished?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’ve been catfished. Someone used my picture without my permission.”

“That’s terrible.” He thought about it for a beat and got all smiley again. “It doesn’t matter. Here you are and here I am and it’s perfect. It was meant to be. It was fate that brought us together.”

“It wasn’t fate. It was my grandmother. I’m sorry for your inconvenience but you’re going to have to leave. I have things to do.”

“What sort of things?”

“Just
things.
”

“I could do them with you.”

“No!”

“Would you like to have dinner with me? I’ll take you someplace nice.”

“No.”

“It’s the least you could do. I’ve spent a lot of time on this. And I’ve put in a certain amount of effort.”

“How about you have dinner with my grandmother?”

“I don’t think so. I think I deserve dinner with you.”

“Why me?” I asked. “Why do these things happen to me?”

“I guess you’re lucky,” he said. “I’ll come back at six o’clock. Do you like seafood?”

“No.”

“Would you like a kitten? My cat just had kittens.”

“Thank you, but no. I have a hamster.”

I watched him leave, and I let myself into my apartment. Good God, I thought. I had a date. Just shoot me.

At five-thirty I dragged myself over to my closet and tried to muster up some enthusiasm for dressing for dinner. I didn’t want to wear anything sexy or, for that matter, mildly attractive. I settled on black slacks, a simple white shirt, the red jacket, and flats. I was debating if this date was worth makeup when Gobbles called on my cellphone.

“We’ve been watching Pooka,” Gobbles said. “He just went to Zeta and freaked. We weren’t even close to him, and we could hear him going apeshit. He was demanding to know who had violated his private space. That was his exact word.
Violated.
”

“Were the police still there?”

“No. From what I hear they cleaned the place out and have crime scene tape across the cellar door. Pooka was completely gonzo. He was waving his arms and ranting. He kept asking who was responsible. It’s possible that your name was mentioned. Like I said, we were at a distance and couldn’t hear everything, but you should be extra careful. He’s really nuts.”

“Thanks. I’ll put my bulletproof vest on.”

“Do you really have one?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” Gobbles said.

I hung up and decided the night was worth one swipe of mascara and some lip gloss.

A little before six someone rapped on my door. Kenny is early, I thought. And my guess is he was always early. He had
premature ejaculator
written all over him. I opened the door and Pooka burst in.

“You!” he said. “You brought the police to my workroom. How dare you? You ruined everything. It was all in place. Justice was going to be served. And you destroyed it. Now I have to start over. It won’t be as spectacular, but I’ll succeed. And you’ll pay. You’re on the list. You’re at the top. I would kill you now but that would be too easy for you. I want you to live with fear. I want you to know a horrible death is in your future.”

“They were just fireworks.”

“Not just fireworks. Those fireworks were an elegant delivery system. They would have brought joy and then horror. You’ve delayed the inevitable, but my mission will go forward. This institution must be destroyed. It will be a symbol of the evil it represents. No one will set foot on this soil for a century. It will be the Chernobyl of academia.”

“Is this about tenure?” I asked. “I could put in a good word for you.”

“Really?” He shook his head. “No. I won’t be swayed. Tenure is the work of the devil.” His hand went to the amulet. “We won’t be tricked into passivity by empty promises.”

“
We?
Let me take a wild guess here. Does the amulet talk to you?”