12 Twelve Sharp (4 page)

I rolled into the lot, parked, and got out to look at the damage. It wasn't bad, all things considered. A line slicing through the paint. A ding on point of impact. Considering that I once had a car smashed by a garbage truck, this hardly counted. I locked up and went into the building.

Mrs Bestler was in the elevator. She was in her eighties, and her own personal elevator didn't quite go all the way to the top anymore. 'Going up!' she sang out to me.

'Second floor,' I said.

She pushed the button and smiled at me. 'Second floor, ladies lingerie and better dresses. Watch your step, dear.'

I thanked Mrs Bestler for the ride and got out of the elevator. I walked the length of my hall and let myself into my apartment. One bedroom, one bath, kitchen, dining room, and living room. All beige, none of my choosing, redecorated by the building owner after an apartment fire. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige curtains. Total seventies orange and brown bathroom. My luck the fire didn't destroy the bathroom.

My hamster Rex lives in a glass cage on my beige kitchen counter. He poked his head out of his soup can when I came in. His whiskers twitched and his black button eyes were wide in expectation. I said hello and dropped a couple Cheerios into his food dish. He rushed out, shoved the Cheerios into his mouth and disappeared into his soup can. My kind of roommate.

I called Morelli and told him I'd be over in an hour. I took a shower, did the hair and makeup thing, put on some pretty undies, clean jeans, and a sexy little knit shirt and checked my messages. No Ranger.

This was a dilemma. I didn't know what to do about Carmen. My instincts told me she wasn't what she said. My curiosity had me in a state. And my hormones still had me a teensy bit jealous. Probably I wouldn't be bothered so much if she wasn't so pretty. Truth is, she looked like a woman Ranger might find attractive, except for the crazy part. I couldn't see Ranger with an irrational woman. Ranger was organized. Ranger didn't act on impulse.

Anyway, here she was, and I seemed to be in the middle of something. Whether or not she was Ranger's wife wasn't my most pressing problem. The fact that Carmen felt comfortable shooting at me put her beyond the nuisance category and into the yikes category. I was supposed to call Tank if I needed help, but I wasn't ready to push that button just yet. If Tank thought I was in danger he'd assign someone to follow me around whether I wanted it or not. My experience with Ranger's men is that this isn't desirable. They're big and hard to hide. And they're overly protective, since the fear is that Ranger might shoot them in the foot should they let anything bad happen to me.

I stuffed a change of clothes into my shoulder bag and locked my apartment up behind me. I headed out and did a fast check on my car before getting in. No spray-painted slogans suggesting I was a slut. Windows hadn't been broken by a sledgehammer. No ticking noises coming from the undercarriage. Looked to me like Carmen hadn't yet discovered my address.

I drove the short distance to Morelli's house and parked at the curb. Morelli lived in a pleasant neighborhood with narrow streets, small attached houses, and hard-working people. I spent enough time here that knocking wasn't a required formality. I let myself in and heard Bob galloping at me from the kitchen. He hurled himself against me, tail wagging, eyes bright. Bob was in theory a golden retriever, but his gene pool was questionable. He was big and orange and fluffy. He loved everybody, and he ate everything… including table legs and upholstered chairs. I gave him a hug, he realized I didn't have any bakery bags, and he trotted away.

Morelli didn't gallop at me, but he didn't drag his feet either. He met me halfway to the kitchen, pressed me into the wall, plastered himself against me and kissed me. Morelli was off-duty in jeans and a T-shirt and bare feet. And the only weapon Morelli was currently carrying was pressed into my stomach.

'Bob really missed you,' he said, his mouth moving down my neck.

'Bob?'

'Yeah.' He hooked a finger into my shirt and slid it off my shoulder so his mouth could kiss more of me. 'Bob's been nuts without you.'

'Sounds serious.'

'Fucking pathetic.'

His hands slid down to my waist, under my shirt, and in an instant the shirt was off.

'You aren't hungry, are you?' he asked.

'Not for what's in the kitchen.'

I was dressed in one of Morelli's shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. I was beside Morelli, on his couch, and we were eating cold pizza and watching a ball game.

'I had an interesting experience today,' I told him. 'A woman introduced herself to me as Ranger's wife. And then she pulled a gun on me and got two rounds off at my car.'

'Am I supposed to be surprised at this?'

There's a certain amount of professional respect between Morelli and Ranger. And from time to time they've worked together for the common good. Beyond that, Morelli thinks Ranger's a head case.

'Do you know anything about this woman?' I asked Morelli.

'No.'

'Ranger left for Miami today. Do you know anything about that?'

'No.'

'Do you know anything about anything?'

'I know a few things,' Morelli said. Tell me more about Ranger's wife.'

'Her name is Carmen. I saw a Virginia driver's license issued to Carmen Manoso. And two credit cards. She's pretty. Sort of curly brown hair, blue eyes, about five-foot-five, Caucasian, nice shape. Fake boobs.'

'How do you know the boobs are fake?'

'Actually, I'm just hoping they're fake. And she was dressed in black SWAT clothes.'

'That's cute,' Morelli said. 'Mr and Mrs Ranger clothes.'

'She said one minute they were in bed and then poof, he was gone. Cleaned out the bank account and emptied the office. And the cell number she has for him is out of service.'

'And your cell number for him?'

'It's in service, but he's not answering.'

'It doesn't work for me,' Morelli said. 'I can't see Ranger tying himself up in a marriage.'

I happened to know that Ranger had been married for about twenty minutes when he was in the military. He has a ten-year-old daughter from that marriage, and the daughter lives in Miami with her mother and stepfather. So far as I know, he's been careful to avoid entanglements since. At least, that's what I believed, until a couple hours ago.

'Who is this woman if she's not his wife?' I asked.

'Wacked-out bimbo? Paid assassin? Demented relative?'

'Get serious.'

'I am serious.'

'Okay, different subject. Did you do the report on Melvin Pickle? Do you know his status?'

'Oswald did the report. Pickle shouldn't have any problem getting rebonded. Probably have to go through some kind of mental health screening.' Morelli eyed the last piece of pizza. 'Do you want it?' he asked.

'You can have it,' I told him, 'but it'll cost you.'

'What's the price?'

'How about running Carmen Manoso through the system?'

'I'd need more than a piece of pizza for that,' Morelli said. 'I'd need a night of balls-to-the-wall sex.'

'You're going to get that anyway,' I told him.

Morelli was already out of the house when I dragged myself down the stairs and into the kitchen. I gave Bob a hug, scooped some coffee into the coffeemaker, added water, pushed the button, and listened to the magical gurgle of coffee brewing. Morelli had a loaf of raisin bread out on the counter. I considered toasting a slice, but it seemed like unnecessary work, so I ate a slice raw. I drank my coffee and read the paper Morelli left behind.

'Gotta go to work,' I said to Bob, pushing back from the table.

Bob didn't look like he cared a lot. Bob had found a patch of sun on the kitchen floor and was soaking it up.

I showered and got dressed in clean jeans and a little knit shirt. I swiped some mascara on my lashes and took off. I had two files pulled from the pack on the seat next to me. Leon James, the arsonist. And Lonnie Johnson. Both high bonds.

I drove the short distance to Hamilton and parked in front of the office. I got out of the Mini and looked across the street at the black SUV with Virginia plates and tinted windows. Carmen was on the job. I stuck my head into the office. Lula was on the couch reading a movie star magazine. Connie was at her desk.

'How long's the SUV been across the street?' I asked.

'It was there when I opened the office,' Connie said.

'Anybody come in to say hello?'

'Nope.'

I turned and walked across the street and rapped on the driver's side window of the SUV.

The window rolled down, and Carmen looked out at me. 'Looks to me like you spent the night with someone,' she said. 'Like maybe you spent the night with my husband.'

'I spent the night with my boyfriend. Not that it's any of your business.'

'I'm going to stick to you like nothing you've ever seen. I know you're going to lead me to the son of a bitch. And when I find him, I'm going to kill him. And then I'm going to kill you.'

Carmen Manoso had said this with eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. And I realized that the jealousy I felt over her and Ranger was nothing compared to the jealousy she felt toward me. Like it or not, fact or fiction, I was the other woman.

'Maybe we should talk this over,' I said. 'There are some things that don't add up for me. Maybe I can help you. And I have a couple questions.'

The gun appeared, pointed at a spot in the middle of my forehead. 'I'm not answering any more questions,' Carmen said.

I stepped to the rear of the SUV and got the plate. Then I hustled across the street and into the office.

'Well?' Connie asked.

'It's Carmen, the woman in black. She claims to be Ranger's wife. I've seen her driver's license. It reads Carmen Manoso. Her story is that he walked out on her last week, and she's looking for him.'

'Holy crap,' Lula said.

Connie started punching information into her computer. 'Do you know anything else? Address?'

'Arlington. I didn't see her driver's license long enough to get more,' I told her. 'And I have the plate.' I scribbled it on a piece of paper for her. 'Supposedly Ranger had an office in the area, closed it without warning and disappeared.'

This is the age of instant access. Connie had computer programs that pulled everything from credit history to medical history to high school grades and movie preferences. Connie could find out if you were constipated in 1994.

'Here she is,' Connie said. 'Carmen Manoso. Twenty-two years old. Maiden name, Carmen Cruz. Married to Ricardo Carlos Manoso. Blah, blah, blah. I don't see anything especially interesting. She's originally from Lanham, Maryland, and then Springfield, Virginia. No children. No history of mental illness. No criminal history that I can see. Unimpressive work history. Mostly in retail sales. Waited tables at a bar in Springfield and most recently lists herself as self-employed, bounty hunter. Some financial information. The SUV is leased. Lives in a rental in Arlington. I can go deeper, but it'll take a day or two.'

'What about Ranger? Can you run a check on him?'

'Connie and me try to run a check on him all the time,' Lula said. 'It's like he doesn't exist.'

I looked at Connie. 'Is that true?'

'I'm surprised his name showed up in Carmen's data base,' Connie said. 'He has a way of erasing himself.'

I redialed Ranger's cell number and got his service again. 'Hey, man of mystery,' I said, 'your wife is here, and she's looking for you with a gun in her hand.'

'That would get my attention,' Lula said.

'Only if you were near a cell tower,' I told her. 'And sometimes Ranger goes places where no cell tower has gone before. Let's saddle up. I want to see what Lonnie Johnson's house looks like today. See if anyone's shooting at him.'

Lula's Firebird was parked in the small back lot, so we left through the back door and took her car. After a couple blocks I called Connie.

'Is Carmen still at the curb?'

'Yep. She didn't see your rear exit. Guess bounty hunter skills aren't high on the list for things you learn when you're married to Ranger.'

I hung up, and Lula cruised down Hamilton and hooked a right turn into Johnson's neighborhood. We were a block away when we saw the lone fire truck. It was parked in front of Johnson's house… or at least, what was left of it.

'Hunh,' Lula said, creeping in for a closer look. 'Hope he had insurance.'

Johnson's house was a pile of blackened rubble.

I got out of the car and walked to the fire truck where two firemen were checking a form off on a clipboard.

'What happened?' I asked.

'The house burned down,' one of them said.

They looked at each other and laughed. Fireman humor.

'Anyone hurt?'

'No. Everyone got out. Are you a friend?'

'I knew Lonnie Johnson. Do you know where he went?'

'No, but he went there fast. Left his girlfriend behind to sort through the mess. She said it was a kitchen fire, but there was no way.'

How about this: maybe the firebomb landed in the kitchen.

I got back into the car and slouched in my seat.

'Look on the bright side,' Lula said. 'Nobody's shooting. And I don't see no rocket launcher.'

I think we'll file Lonnie Johnson in the lost cause file,' I said to Lula. 'If he has any sense at all, he's on a bus out of town.'

'Good idea,' Lula said. 'Who we got next up?'

I'd planned to do the arsonist next, but he'd lost some appeal now that I had my nose clogged with barbecued house. I got the stack of files from the back seat and fingered through them.

Luis Queen had been picked up for solicitation. Not a high bond, but he'd be easy to find. I hauled Luis Queen in all the time. Unfortunately, it was too early for Queen. He wouldn't be on his corner turning tricks until midafternoon. Queen liked to sleep in.

Caroline Scarzolli held some potential. She was a low-bond shoplifter. First-time offender. Worked in a lingerie and gadget shop. I handed the file to Lula. 'How about this one?'

'I like this one,' Lula said. 'Scarzolli will be at work now, and I've been wanting to take a look at this store. I gave up being a 'ho, but I still like to keep up on the technology.'