Look Alive Twenty-Five

by Janet Evanovich

  “What do you make of this? Can you trace down Hotshot?”

  “Doubtful if I can trace Hotshot through YouTube, but the feds might be able, and I can hack into the feds.”

  “Why is this up on YouTube?” I asked.

  “Someone wanted it seen.”

  “They wanted to get caught? They were proud of their photography? What?”

  “Tell Lula to keep surfing. Maybe she’ll stumble on something else.”

  “Morelli is on his way over to the office, and then I’ll go home with him. Your guy can clock out. Tell him thank you from me.”

  “Babe,” Ranger said. And he hung up.

  It took Morelli twenty minutes to get to the office, and Connie was three minutes behind him. I had the videos on Connie’s computer, and we all crowded together to look.

  “I did a fast review of the kidnap victims before I left,” Morelli said. “This first one is Elroy Ruiz. Age thirty-two. It’s difficult to see his face in the video, but he has the right build. The next up is Kenny Brown. The video is dark but this looks like our man. The next victim is more recognizable. He gets to the dumpster and turns toward the camera. His name is Ryan Meier. Nineteen years old. In the country on a student visa.”

  “Where’s he from?” I asked.

  “Switzerland.”

  I had an immediate aha! moment. Wulf is a Swiss national. This is the Wulf connection.

  I advanced to the fourth video, and Wayne Kulicki walked out of the deli. He had a bag of garbage, and he didn’t seem concerned. He didn’t look around. Nothing caught his attention on his way to the dumpster. He tossed the bag in, turned and faced the camera, and there was the blinding flash. Next frame was of his shoe.

  The last video was Hal. He walked to the dumpster, tossed the bag, turned and walked toward the camera, smiling. Flash of light. No more Hal.

  “There are three different camera angles here,” I said. “The first video was shot from the second floor of the deli building. That’s why you can’t see the manager’s face. The second, third, and fourth were shot from a camera just to the right of the deli’s back door at a height of about six feet. And it looks like Hal was captured on video by a camera that was placed in the dry cleaner’s parking lot.”

  “It’s like making these movies was all part of the kidnapping,” Lula said. “I want to see season two where they show you what happens next.”

  “There’s no Vinnie video,” I said.

  Vinnie walked in from the back entrance. “What do you mean, ‘There’s no Vinnie video’?”

  “Lula found videos of the kidnap victims on YouTube, but you aren’t included. Are you remembering anything at all from the kidnapping?” Morelli asked Vinnie.

  “Bananas. Everything was black, and I kept smelling bananas.”

  “Was this in the beginning when you were first captured?” Morelli asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything except bananas.” Vinnie narrowed his eyes. “I hate bananas.”

  Morelli made a couple calls to report the videos.

  “Will you be able to trace them?” I asked him.

  “Possibly. It’ll get passed up the chain of command.”

  “What about camera placement? Do you think someone was in the building, on the second floor, for the first kidnapping?”

  “Either that or they used a drone,” Morelli said. “After the first guy, Elroy Ruiz, everyone looked directly at the camera. It could be because they saw or heard a drone.”

  “I like the idea of a drone taking video,” Lula said. “A drone’s like a miniature alien spaceship, only you could get it on Amazon.”

  I stepped away from the computer. I didn’t like looking at the videos. It made my stomach feel icky. I wanted to find the men and see them return to their normal routines. I wanted to know that they were healthy. And I didn’t want them dead. Please, please, please, I thought. Let them all be okay. And let this all be over soon. The protect-Stephanie routine was getting old.

  We left the bonds office and drove the short distance to Morelli’s house. His brother Anthony was sitting on the front step when we parked. He had a lumpy white garbage bag with him.

  Morelli tried to squelch a grimace but wasn’t entirely successful. “Looks like Anthony got kicked out of his house again.”

  Anthony got kicked out of his house all the time. Sometimes his wife even divorced him, but they always remarried.

  “I think Anthony likes getting kicked out of his house,” I said. “He drinks beer and shoots pool with you, and doesn’t have to take care of his kids.”

  Every time Anthony got kicked out, he returned to have make-up sex, and nine months later his wife popped out another kid. It was like Darlene Boot and her chickens, except it was Anthony and his kids, running around feral in the unmowed grass around his house.

  He stood and smiled when he saw us.

  “Yo,” Anthony said.

  “Yo,” Morelli answered.

  This was Morelli man-speak. No more was necessary. We all trooped in and said hello to Bob.

  “Now what?” I asked Morelli.

  “You take Bob for a walk, and I’ll fire up the grill.”

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will snatch me?”

  “You aren’t associated with the diner anymore, and you have Bob to protect you.”

  Bob was sitting in the kitchen licking his privates. I wasn’t sure how much good Bob was going to be as a guard dog.

  “And I’m sure Ranger tracks your every move,” Morelli said. “You’ve probably got GPS in your shoes, your underwear, and woven into your hair.”

  I hooked Bob up and walked him for almost an hour. I returned to the house, and the Morelli boys were playing billiards.

  I looked out the back door. Nothing cooking on the grill. I looked around the kitchen. No burgers sitting on the counter, waiting to get eaten.

  “What about dinner?” I asked.

  “I dialed dinner,” Morelli said. “Someone borrowed my propane.”

  “Are you sure someone didn’t steal it?” I asked.

  “It was me,” Anthony said. “I took it last week and forgot to tell him.”

  I filled Bob’s bowl with dog kibble, got a beer out of the fridge, and Richie Schmidt walked in with our Pino’s order. Morelli and I went to school with Richie. He married Morelli’s cousin Doris, and he’s part of the poker night crowd. He’s an electrician, but he moonlights doing Pino’s deliveries a couple times a week.

  “I got a chicken parm and two meatball subs,” Richie said. “Looks like someone got thrown out of the house again.”

  “I’m not good at the marriage thing,” Anthony said. “I keep having these indiscretions.”

  I rolled my eyes so far back into my head I almost fell over. Anthony had a good heart, and he was a charming guy, but he would hit on anything that moved and had a vagina. I wasn’t even sure if the vagina was a requirement.

  “Grab a beer,” Anthony said to Richie. “The game’s going to come on right away.”

  If I asked Morelli to get rid of the guys, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Truth is, I was happy to have them in his house, helping with my getaway.

  I ate a meatball sub and finished my beer. Richie was at the pool table cueing up, and Anthony had the game on Morelli’s big flat screen. Morelli came over and wrapped an arm around me.

  “Do you want me to get rid of these idiots?” he asked.

  “No. I’m glad they’re here because I have to leave. I need to get back to my apartment. I miss Rex and my pillow.”

  “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  “No, but you can come to my house.”

  “Can I bring my own pillow?” Morelli asked.

  “You can bring whatever you want.”

  “Deal.”

  Morelli kissed m
e, and I had a moment of reconsidering.

  “I like having you here,” Morelli said.

  “And I like being here, but I need space. I need my life to be normal.”

  “Cupcake, it’s going to take more than a couple hours alone in your apartment for your life to be normal.”

  “I guess there’s all kinds of normal.”

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  Morelli drove me home and walked me to my door.

  “I could stay,” he said.

  “What about Richie and Anthony?”

  “They won’t miss me. Richie will go home after the game, and Anthony will fall asleep on the couch. I’ll call him at nine-thirty and tell him to give Bob a bathroom break.”

  “Would you be staying because you think I need protection?”

  “No. I’d be staying because I don’t want to watch the game with Richie and Anthony, and because I want to get naked with you. And then after I get naked I want to . . .”

  I pulled Morelli inside before he could finish the sentence. Mr. Macko across the hall was known to crank his hearing aid up and listen at the door. He was ninety-three. I didn’t want him to go into A-fib from listening to Morelli’s plans for the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  IT WAS DARK in my bedroom with just a sliver of light shining under my bathroom door. I was naked and tangled in the sheet. Morelli wasn’t next to me, and I was cold without his body heat. I pushed my hair off my face so I could see the time. Five o’clock. He came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. He kissed me on my shoulder and covered me with the quilt.

  “Gotta go,” he said.

  “Unh.” It was all I could manage.

  Morelli got energized after sex. I relaxed into mush.

  “How do you do it?” I asked him.

  “You inspire me.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  And I meant it. It was a really nice answer. It was also true that it didn’t take much to get Morelli inspired.

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  I waited for the sun to come up before I set my feet on the floor. I showered and got dressed and went to the kitchen. I texted Mrs. Delgado that I was home and didn’t need her to look in on Rex. I made coffee and ate cereal out of the box. My apartment wasn’t great, but it was home, and I was enjoying the luxury of returning to my routine. And I was enjoying the luxury of not having a babysitter following me around.

  I looked out my living room window, down at the parking lot. A Rangeman SUV was parked beside my car. So much for independence. I gave up a sigh and told myself it could be worse. At least he wasn’t sitting in my living room.

  I cleaned the hamster cage, made my bed with fresh linens, and gathered the laundry to take to my parents’ house. There was a laundry room in the basement of my apartment building, but it was lit by a flickering neon light, and it smelled like overused gym clothes and stagnant water. If I took my laundry to my mother, there was the added advantage of having it folded and ironed. Plus, I always got a bag of leftovers to take home with me. Half a pot roast. A chunk of chocolate cake. Five-bean salad. A bowl of pasta and red sauce with sausage. The possibilities were endless and wonderful.

  I had the laundry basket in my hands, turned, and yelped when I bumped into Wulf.

  “What the . . .” I said.

  “We need to talk,” Wulf said.

  “Again?”

  That got a small smile from Wulf. “This won’t take long.” He glanced at my laundry basket. “I see you have a full morning.”

  My windows were closed and locked and my door was double bolted, but here was Wulf. No point in asking how he got in. There were three men in my life who had seemingly supernatural skills when it came to getting into my apartment. Wulf, Diesel, and Ranger weren’t stopped by the locks on my door. Morelli wasn’t stopped by my door locks either, but that was because he had a key.

  “As you know, I’ve been engaged by a friend to find someone,” Wulf said.

  “Ryan Meier.”

  “Yes. Ryan is my friend’s son. He was in this country on a student visa. He left school, overstayed his visa, and took an illegal job working at the deli. Shortly after taking the job he disappeared.”

  “Leaving a shoe behind in the parking lot.”

  “Correct. Everyone is busy trying to solve the kidnapping mystery, looking for the kidnapper. I don’t care about the kidnapper. I want to find Ryan Meier.”

  “Isn’t it all the same?”

  “Different focus. Different process. Five men are hidden somewhere, dead or alive. My focus is on finding those men. Three had already been kidnapped when I came on the scene. I watched the alley and was present for the fourth kidnapping.”

  “Wayne Kulicki.”

  “Yes.”

  “You could have saved him.”

  “I wasn’t interested in saving him. I was interested in where they took him.”

  “And?”

  “They loaded him into a van. I followed the van to the top deck of a parking garage. They off-loaded Kulicki, put him into a helicopter, and that was the last I saw of him. The stolen van was left behind. The three men in the van left with Kulicki.”

  “Wow. It’s like a movie.”

  Wulf smiled. “Yes. I like when there’s some drama involved in a crime.”

  “Did you recognize any of the men?”

  “Victor Waggle. It was dark and they were all wearing hoodies, but there was a moment on the roof when Waggle’s hood was blown off by the rotor wash.”

  “I’m surprised you know Victor Waggle.”

  “The trail goes from Ernie Sitz to Leonard Skoogie to Victor Waggle. There are others involved, but I haven’t identified them. I’m telling you this because it’s gone cold. Every time I had a good lead, either the police or Ranger bungled in and it went away. And now you’ve eliminated the deli.”

  “I had nothing to do with that fire!”

  “You’re a magnet for disaster. You’re also inept but lucky. And at this point I need some luck. Hanging out in the deli, waiting for someone to snatch you, didn’t work. You need to go proactive. I think the five men are still alive, but that could change if the principals panic.”

  “Do you have any suggestions on the proactive thing?”

  “Just be your usual annoying, bumbling self. Leonard Skoogie is dead, so he’s not going to be any help. There’s a good possibility that Ernie Sitz is back in the country, but I haven’t seen him. You should go after Waggle.”

  “I’ve tried.”

  “Try harder.”

  “What about you? What are you going to be doing?”

  “I’ll be watching you.”

  “Great. Just what I need. One more man watching my every move. Did you see them take Hal?” I asked Wulf.

  “No. I missed that one.”

  “Had to be a big helicopter to take him away.”

  “Yes,” Wulf said. “Something that could airlift a tank.”

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  Ranger called just as I was getting ready to leave for laundry drop-off and office check-in.

  “The fire marshal has cleared us to get into the deli building,” Ranger said. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

  “Do you think it’s necessary for me to walk through?”

  “Yes. You’re still the manager.”

  I made a quick detour to my parents’ house. I grabbed a cheese Danish from the bakery box on the counter in my mom’s kitchen, filled my travel mug with fresh coffee, and headed for the deli. Ranger was already there.

  The sidewalk in front of the deli was still cordoned off with crime scene tape. The debris from the fire hadn’t yet been cleared away. The brick front was stained with black soot, and the windows were boarded up. The front door was o
pen.

  I parked and walked over to Ranger. He was wearing black rubber boots and a Rangeman ball cap. He had boots and a hat for me.

  “Tell me about Wulf while you change your shoes,” he said.

  “The Rangeman guy in the car saw him?”

  “No. He got picked up by the camera over your door in the hall.”

  “What, no sound?”

  “It only picks up sound in the hall.”

  I swapped out my shoes for the boots, and put the hat on. “Wulf is after his friend’s kid, Ryan Meier. He was the third manager to get kidnapped. Wulf said the trail goes from Sitz to Skoogie to Victor Waggle. When the deli burned down the trail went cold for him, so he wants me to hang myself out there and go after Waggle. He said he saw the Kulicki kidnapping. Three men in hoodies loaded Kulicki into a stolen van, drove to the top of a parking garage, loaded Kulicki into a helicopter, and took off with him.”

  “That sounds overly dramatic. And expensive.”

  “It may or may not be true,” I said.

  “Anything else from Wulf?”

  “Nope. That was it . . . other than mentioning that you’re a bungler.”

  “It’s nice to be acknowledged,” Ranger said. “Let’s go inside.”

  There was light from the open front and back doors, but the kitchen area was in total darkness. Ranger switched on a wide-beam flashlight and swept the beam across the area. I’ve investigated fire scenes before, so I knew what to expect. That didn’t lessen the impact any. The destruction was frightening and depressing. The interior was charred black. Soot-stained water puddled on the floor and streaked across the stainless-steel appliances. A knife survived. Number seventeen on the dinner menu didn’t.

  We’d been told to follow the crime scene tape that ran front to back and not to stray. Parts of the floor had been marked as unsafe.

  We walked the hall to the back door, looking in at the pantry and the walk-in fridge. We stepped out into the sunshine and sucked in fresh air.

  “Did any of your cameras survive the fire?” I asked.

  “I have one across the alley, attached to the building on the next street. The rest were destroyed.”