Notorious Nineteen (16 page)

“None of which are legal,” I said.

“It’s legal for
us
,” Lula said.

I flicked the lights on. “Sometimes.”

Susan still had the hammer in her hand. “Stand back. I’m going on a Geoffrey hunt, and when I find him I’m going to hit him with this hammer until he tells me where he hid the money.”

We moved out of the small foyer into the living room. The furniture looked comfortable. Lots of shades of beige. Dark wood tables. Beanpot lamps. An orange chenille throw on the couch.

“This looks like a page out of a Pottery Barn catalog,” Lula said. “I recognize all this. I get that catalog in the mail.”

Susan stalked her prey through the rest of the house. She had steely eyes and a white-knuckle grip on her hammer. She opened closet doors and looked under beds, and swore when there was no Geoffrey cowering behind Norma’s pink fuzzy bathrobe.

“If she finds her husband you might want to jump in and take control before she splits his head open like it was a walnut,” Lula whispered to me.

I didn’t think she was going to find her husband. I could pretty much tell from the living room that there wasn’t a man in residence. No size 12 running shoes under the coffee table. No crushed beer cans or Doritos bags hanging out on end tables. The pillows on the couch were all plumped and lined up perfectly. And in the kitchen the dishes were inside the dishwasher and not left on the counter.

While Susan was looking for her husband I was looking for information about Nurse Norma. Drug paraphernalia, bank statements, travel plans, a phone number or an address written on a pad by the phone, compromising photos, something that would tie her to The Clinic. I didn’t find any of those things but I now knew she wore lacy thongs, she used Bumble and Bumble shampoo, she fell asleep reading
Cosmo, Glamour
, and professional articles on Botox, thermal fat reduction, and heart transplants.

The thongs, shampoo discovery, and reading selections didn’t tell me why Norma was going to The Clinic every day if there were no patients. And if Cubbin wasn’t in Norma’s condo or at The Clinic, where the heck was he? Oddly enough the one thing that tied it all together was the Yeti. He was in Cubbin’s house, and he was in The Clinic.

“I can’t believe it,” Susan said, back in the middle of the living room after totally searching the condo. “He’s not here. I was so sure he was here.”

“We would have liked if he was here,” Lula said. “Stephanie needs to buy a car.”

“Do you have any other ideas?” I asked Susan. “Let’s start fresh. Where would Geoffrey go to hide? Would he go to a relative? Would he go to the shore? Would he steal a car and drive to Phoenix?”

“He wouldn’t go to a relative,” she said. “They’d turn him in. They were horrified when he was accused of embezzling the money. And they were probably the reason he took the money in the first place. Geoffrey was sort of the schmuck of the family. He wasn’t making a lot of money. He didn’t have a glamour job. And then there was always the one-nut thing hanging over his head.”

“You be surprised how many men only have one nut,” Lula said.

“Yeah, well, he was the only one in his family with one nut, and the rest of his equipment wasn’t impressive. Unfortunately I don’t know firsthand but I’m told his brother is hung like a horse.”

“How about the shore?” I asked.

“I can’t see him at the shore. It was never his favorite place. I don’t know about stealing a car and driving to Phoenix. I guess he could do that, but it seems to me he’d be in some pain and wouldn’t want to be moving around that much. He was never great with pain. Most likely he’d try to get out of the country. He always wanted to go to Australia.”

“Does he have a passport?” I asked.

“I took his passport out of the safety deposit box and hid it.”

“And it’s still in your hiding place?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe that’s what the Yeti was looking for,” Lula said. “Of course with the kind of money ol’ Geoffrey stole he could buy a new passport.”

“What will you do now?” I asked Susan.

“I guess I’ll go home and wait to be evicted.”

“Well, good news,” Lula said. “That could take a while. I hear they’re real backed up on foreclosures.”

I dropped Lula at the office and cruised around the block, trying to decide what to do next. For the better part of the day I’d forgotten about the gruesome note, but now that it was time to go home I had a hollow feeling in my stomach. It was the stretch of pavement between my car and the door to my apartment building that bothered me most. I felt vulnerable when I walked that stretch of pavement. I could delay the experience by eating dinner with my parents, visiting Morelli, or dropping in on Ranger, but eventually I had to get from my car to my door. Better to do it sooner than later, I decided. It would be more dangerous when it was dark.

I drove home, parked, and retrieved Ranger’s small Ruger from under the driver’s seat. I walked into my building with the gun in my hand and hoped I wouldn’t run into any of my fellow tenants. I had a reputation for being the building’s Calamity Jane, and I didn’t want to enhance that image. I made it safely to my door, slipped inside, and threw all the bolts.

My apartment is mostly furnished with relatives’ discards. It won’t get a spread in
Architectural Digest
, but it’s comfortable in a secondhand kind of way. I can’t cook, and I never have dinner parties, so my dining room table serves as a computer desk. I have a couch and coffee table positioned in front of the television, and that’s about it for interior decorating.

I said hello to Rex and gave him a baby carrot. I took a half-empty box of Frosted Flakes out of the cupboard, settled in front of the television, and snacked my way through dinner. I was channel surfing, looking for a nine o’clock show, and I noticed a red glow coming from the parking lot. I went to the window and saw that Ranger’s car was on fire. A second later my cellphone rang.

“Now what?” Ranger asked.

“Someone toasted your car. I imagine we know who did it. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but personally I think I was safer in the Buick.”

Ranger disconnected, and I stayed at the window to watch the fire trucks arrive. Two Rangeman SUVs and a cop car followed the fire trucks. No need for me to go out. Rangeman would take care of it. I pulled my curtains closed, double checked the locks on my door, and went back to the Frosted Flakes and television, wishing I had a bottle of wine to help make it all go away.

SEVENTEEN

I COAXED MYSELF
out of bed, shuffled into the bathroom, and stood under the shower, trying to get energized. It hadn’t been a totally restful night. I’d had nightmares about fire and difficulty getting back to sleep. I ended the shower when I ran out of hot water.

I got dressed, went to the window, and looked down at the lot. Ranger’s Mercedes SUV was gone. Uncle Sandor’s Buick was back. I slogged into the kitchen. No more cereal. Ate it all last night. No point making coffee since there wasn’t any cereal or milk. I filled Rex’s bowl with hamster kibble, gave him fresh water, and hung my messenger bag on my shoulder. I opened my door and found another note.
Be prepared to die
. Crap. I returned to the kitchen and got Ranger’s gun.

Twenty minutes later I reached the bonds office. My first stop was the coffeemaker. The box of donuts on Connie’s desk was the second stop.

“You look like you need to visit the makeup counter at Macy’s and get some industrial strength concealer,” Lula said to me. “I’m hoping there’s a good story that goes with the bags under your eyes.”

“Someone torched Ranger’s Mercedes last night when it was parked in my lot.”

“It should be illegal to do that to a Mercedes,” Lula said.

“It
is
illegal,” I said.

“Well, yeah, but you know what I mean. Did Mr. Tall Dark and Sexy come by to watch his car burn and console you?”

“No. I haven’t seen him. He sent a couple guys to take care of it.”

I finished off a Boston Kreme and went to the box for another donut.

“Any new skips come in?” I asked Connie.

“Arthur Beasley missed his court date. He’s charged with indecent exposure. It’s a small bond but he should be easy to find. He works at the nudie beach in Atlantic City.”

This got Lula’s attention. “There’s a nudie beach in Atlantic City? I never heard of it.”

“I have an address,” Connie said. “I think it’s new. It’s attached to a casino.”

“Is the casino nude too?” Lula asked.

“I don’t know,” Connie said. “And I don’t
want
to know. Have you seen the people who go to Atlantic City? Would you really like to see them naked?”

“Anybody else?” I asked.

“Lauren Lazar. She got high on one of those new designer drugs and tried to sell her little sister to the night manager of the convenience store on Hyland. Apparently she had the munchies and wanted a bunch of Little Debbie snack cakes.”

“I get that,” Lula said. “Sometimes I think about doing some pretty bad shit for those Little Debbies.”

I was working my way through a jelly donut when my cellphone buzzed.

“You gotta help me,” Briggs said. “You gotta get over here. I can’t believe this friggin’ happened. I mean, what are the chances? I finally get a halfway decent job and it turns to doodie right in front of my eyes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I friggin’ lost another one!”

“Another patient is missing?”

“You got it. Disappeared in the middle of the night just like Cubbin. Nobody knows nothing about it.”

“Did you look at the video?”

“Yeah. Nada. Nothing. Zip. Zero. And I’ve personally gone over every inch of that floor. I’ve looked in every closet, under every bed, in all the bathrooms.”

“He didn’t go home?”

“No. The police looked. His wife says she hasn’t seen him. Not that she cares. They were in the middle of a divorce.”

“And you want me to come to the hospital
why
?”

“To keep me from blowin’ my brains out.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Randy.”

“Easy for you to say. Just get over here. I could use some help. I had cops crawling all over the hospital. And now I’ve got a pack of reporters camped out in the lobby.”

Seemed like a lot of fuss for someone who was only missing for a few hours. “Who did you lose?”

“Elwood Pitch.”

Oh boy. Elwood Pitch was a state legislator who’s been arrested for human trafficking. He was caught driving a U-Haul crammed with girls ages nine to fourteen. The girls had been smuggled in from Mexico via Port Newark and were told they’d be working as prostitutes. Pitch claimed he thought the truck was full of bananas. What he expected to do with the bananas was never made clear. Like Cubbin, Pitch was awaiting trial.

“Did Pitch get his appendix removed?” I asked Briggs.

“He didn’t get anything removed. He was admitted with stomach pains and kept overnight for observation.”

This was too weird. Two guys out on bail disappear in exactly the same way. Hard to pass it off as a bizarre coincidence.

“I’m on my way,” I told him.

“Where we going?” Lula wanted to know.

“Central Hospital. Elwood Pitch checked in with stomach pains last night. They kept him for observation and he mysteriously disappeared.”

“Get the heck out,” Lula said. “What is this, Lose a Slime-bag Month at that hospital?”

“Briggs wants me to hold his hand,” I said to Lula. “He’s having a meltdown.”

“That don’t sound like a lot of fun to me,” Lula said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna stay here with the box of donuts. I might even do some filing.”

“Did Vinnie bond out Pitch?” I asked Connie.

“Yes. And it was a really high bond.”

I parked in the hospital lot a half hour later, and I remembered that Tiki was in the backseat. Chances were slim that Logan would find me here, but I thought better safe than sorry, so I locked Tiki in the trunk. I reached the hospital entrance and felt terrible. I’d been locked in a trunk once and it wasn’t good. And now I’d put Tiki in the trunk.

He’s a piece of wood, I told myself. He doesn’t have feelings.
Except he felt real
. Damn. I returned to the car and got Tiki and brought him into the hospital with me.

“It’s about time,” Briggs said when he saw me. “What have you got under your arm?”

“Tiki. I didn’t want to leave him in the car.”

“Why?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“I bet.”

We were in Briggs’s office when Morelli strolled in. He was wearing a blue collared shirt, jeans, and running shoes. Other plainclothes cops wore dress slacks and dress shoes and sometimes a suit. When Morelli dressed like that he looked like a casino pit boss, so he had special permission to go casual. He pulled a chair out and slouched into it.

“What have you got?” Morelli said to Briggs.

“Nothing,” Briggs said.

“Are you working missing persons?” I said to Morelli.

“Pitch was my collar. I worked with ICE to bring him down and I don’t like that he’s disappeared. I pulled four nine-year-old girls out of that truck. They were terrified and dehydrated and one of them was unconscious. They were smuggled into the country in a cargo container and then locked in that truck for ten hours. This is personal for me.”

“Me too,” Briggs said. “I look like an idiot. Security at this hospital sucks.”

“Count me in,” I said. “Vinnie bonded Pitch.”

“Walk me through it,” Morelli said. “What do I need to know?”

“There were two nurses on duty,” Briggs said. “Norma Kruger and Julie Marconni.”

“The same nurses that were on duty when Cubbin disappeared,” I said.

Briggs nodded. “Yeah. And the times were the same too. Kruger checked on Pitch at two in the morning and he was sleeping. And then when she went in just before going off shift at seven he was gone.”

“I was on the floor,” Morelli said. “There are security cameras covering all exits.”

“I watched the video,” Briggs said. “I didn’t see Pitch leaving.”

Morelli looked like he’d had heartburn. If he had had Briggs downtown, locked in a little room, he’d have run over him like a four-ton dump truck. Sitting in Briggs’s office on the first floor of Central Hospital required more diplomacy, and diplomacy wasn’t Morelli’s strongest attribute. I suspected Morelli wanted to grab Briggs and shake him like a rag doll until Briggs remembered seeing Pitch leave the building.