And, as the rain splashed against my mother's windshield, I realized that day was here.
Chapter 19
My mother said she'd pick up the Percocet prescription for me and go back to my apartment while Vinny took me to the airport to rent a car. She said she wanted to take care of me, but I knew she really wanted to grill me more about my day, and probably what happened at her house the day before. I was no longer in control. And when I got to the airport rental car counter, it was more bad news.
All they had was a Kia Rio. A fucking Kia. But it was an automatic, not like my car with its stick shift and clutch, and even with my stitched-up hand I would be able to manage it.
I slid behind the wheel and looked at all the unfamiliar dials and gauges. I'd spent fourteen years in my Honda Accord. Which made me wonder about all my shit in the car. Were the cops going to confiscate everything? Hell, my police scanner was in the backseat, along with two months of newspapers I hadn't gotten around to clipping yet.
And what about my cassettes? My Rolling Stones cassettes? I glanced at the radio and the CD player in the Kia. No cassettes here.
Vinny was leaning on the open door, watching me. ''I can lend you some music,'' he said, going over to his SUV and reaching in the passenger door. He came back with two CDs.
''Who the hell are the White Stripes?'' I asked, flipping to the second one, ''And Our Lady Peace? Sounds like a goddamn convent.'' I am very unhip when it comes to music. I like the classics—the Stones, Springsteen, The Who, Elton John—and I had never heard of either of these bands.
''Give them a chance, Annie. I figured you'd rather have those than Frank.''
He was smiling, and his resemblance to Frank Sinatra again caught me off guard.
''Yeah, okay,'' I said.
Vinny stooped down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. ''Maybe we can pick up where we left off earlier,'' he whispered. ''But right now I have to get going.''
He backed away, slamming the car door shut, and I watched as he climbed into the Explorer.
I started up the Kia and put in the White Stripes CD. I couldn't drive without music, and radio usually sucked. I pulled out of the lot, favoring my left hand by steering mostly with my right, and headed home, the beat of the music getting the better of me.
As I reached Chapel Street, I realized I should call Marty before going home. I didn't want my mother eavesdropping, so I pulled into an empty parking spot, turned on my cell phone for the first time in hours and punched his number into my phone.
''What the hell's going on?'' He knew it was me; he didn't even say hello. ''I've been trying to reach you.''
''I had to turn the phone off in the emergency room and forgot to turn it back on. This is the first chance I've had to call.'' I filled him in on my eventful day.
''Kevin Prisley's been over in Fair Haven, but he's back now. He didn't know it was your car. No one said whose car it was. We don't know anything about the body except that whoever it was got shot.''
''Kevin? Where's Dick?''
''I gave you two the day off, remember?'' And I
could tell by his tone he was regretting it. ''Did the cops tell you whose body it was in the car?''
''No.'' I thought about Hector but didn't mention him, because Tom had said it wasn't him. ''All I know is, there was a lot of blood.'' I paused. ''When I got over there, I saw a bunch of guys at the end of James Street. Gang shooting, maybe?''
''I'll have Kevin check it out.''
My hand was throbbing. ''Listen, Marty, I gotta go. I need to take those Percocets. If I can get anything else out of Tom, I'll let you know, but for right now, that's all I've got.''
''I can't believe they used your car,'' Marty said.
''Yeah, me, too,'' I said.
''If you're not up to it, you don't have to come in tomorrow,'' he said.
''Let me see how I feel,'' I said, knowing that I would have a hard time staying away from this story.
I punched END and I was thinking about those Percocets by the time I reached my brownstone. My mother would be easier to take if I was drugged.
I dragged my ass up the stairs and opened my apartment door. I sniffed. Someone was cooking.
My mother was stirring something on the stove.
''What's that?'' I asked, pulling off my slicker and hanging it on the coat rack next to the door.
''Soup.''
But how?
''You had a can of chicken broth in the back of the cupboard, and I found some noodles and a carrot,'' she continued. ''There are even crackers.''
I knew about the crackers and the carrot. But the noodles? When did I buy them?
''Why don't you go wash up?'' My mother peered into my face. ''You look terrible.''
''Jesus, Mom, I fell on a broken bottle and a body was found in my car. Wouldn't you look pretty bad after that?''
She ignored me and turned back to the makeshift soup. I went into the bedroom, took off my jeans, and pulled on my yoga pants. I gingerly peeled off my fleece and T-shirt, throwing them in the laundry basket after the jeans, and stretched into an oversized sweatshirt that announced that what happens in Vegas stays there. Not a bad idea. A thick pair of socks on my feet, and I was finally comfortable. Well, almost. My mother had left the Percocets next to the sink in the bathroom. I popped one and braced myself for a little mother-daughter bonding. Yeah, right.
My mother put a bowl of soup down in front of me on the counter. I perched on a stool and dipped the spoon in the broth, taking a tentative sip. Pretty good. My mother watched as I ate it all, and about five crackers. I was still a little hungry, but the pill was taking effect and I felt myself relaxing. My hand didn't hurt at all now.
''So tell me what happened with the break-in yesterday,'' she said after tucking a blanket around me on the couch. All I wanted to do was go to sleep, but she hovered over me, and I knew I had to give her at least the short version.
So I did.
When I was finished, she gazed at me from my rocking chair, her hands folded in her lap. ''You said you really didn't look at the fax, but how did you know which warehouse to go to?'' she asked softly.
I frowned, my eyelids feeling like lead weights. I struggled to stay awake. ''What do you mean?''
She didn't say anything, studying my face for a few seconds. ''Are you and Vinny back together?''
Her question threw me off in my Percocet-laced fog. ''No. I don't think so.''
''Your detective didn't seem happy to see him.''
''No. He probably wasn't.'' It was an effort to form the words with my mouth. ''Mom, I have to sleep now,'' I said.
I vaguely remember feeling her lips on my cheek as she kissed me good-bye.
Instead of waking up feeling refreshed, my neck ached from sleeping funny on the couch and my hand was aching. I'd passed out cold and never bothered moving to my bed. The blanket was on the floor, and I shivered under the sweatshirt. The clock on the wall over the stove told me it was eight a.m.
Even though Marty had said I could stay home, what the hell would I do with myself? I'd be thinking about my car, the body, Rodriguez, and the floater all day. Might as well get my ass to the paper.
Speaking of which, it wasn't on the doorstep. I'd been fighting with the circulation people; they were insisting that I hadn't paid, and I kept telling them that I got a free paper because I worked there. Now, apparently, they had decided to punish me by not delivering it.
It wasn't easy taking a shower. I managed to wash myself and my hair with one hand, but it took forever. By the time I was dressed and ready to go, it was almost nine o'clock. I was hungry. I needed food. I took a couple of ibuprofens before going downstairs.
It was still raining, so I was wearing the yellow slicker again. With all my activity during the last twenty-four hours, I might as well just wrap myself in crime scene tape.
I certainly didn't want any questions from George, so Clark's Dairy was out. This was one day I wanted to go somewhere where no one knew my name.
So I went to the Twin Pines Diner in East Haven, on Route 1, your basic diner with good eggs and hash browns. It was perfect, and I was going to be alone.
Or so I thought. Until Rocco DeLucia walked in and sat down across the table from me. He started perusing the menu, ignoring my glare. Finally, when the waitress filled his coffee cup, he looked up at me and grinned.
''Heard you had an exciting day yesterday, Annie.''
''Did you follow me here?''
''Oh, don't get pissed. I was coming to see you when I saw you get in that new car and drive away. Figured I'd just catch up with you.''
The waitress came back to take our order before I could say something really nasty. I ordered eggs over easy and an English muffin. Rocco ordered a threeegg Western omelet and pancakes.
Pancakes. Why didn't I think of that?
''It's not a new car,'' I said. ''It's a rental.''
''Oh, yeah, but you're going to need a new one.''
''Why?''
''Don't tell me you'll still drive that Honda after the cops scrape that body out of the trunk.''
I hadn't thought of it that way. Granted, the car was fourteen years old and paid off, but I figured I'd get a new one after selling the Accord and at least get some money toward a replacement. Would the cops clean the car enough so I could sell it and never tell the ignorant buyer why?
Maybe the fact that I hadn't seen the body in the trunk made it unfathomable that it was actually there. Maybe that's why I was in such complete denial about this.
I frowned. ''So why did you want to see me bad enough you had to follow me?''
Rocco leaned forward. ''Got more information for you,'' he whispered.
''Oh, right, like the Homeland Security thing?'' But even as I said it, I thought of David Welden and the bees. Something else to follow up on today.
''Keep your voice down.'' Rocco glanced around us at the other tables of people who obviously had their own lives to worry about without paying attention to ours.
I rolled my eyes at him. ''Christ, Rocco, does Vinny know you're into conspiracy theories?''
He leaned back. ''Speaking of Vinny, what's going on with you two? You back together?''
Rocco and my mother should get together and talk about us. Maybe Tom would want to join them.
''What's this important information you have?'' I asked, ignoring his questions.
The waitress interrupted us with our plates. That was fast. I'd have to come here more often.
I took a bite of my eggs, staring at Rocco's pancakes. Shit, he noticed.
''Want some?'' And before I could say anything, a pancake the size of a fucking dinner plate was sitting on top of my eggs.
But I wasn't going to complain, since I now had this incredible craving for it. I dug my fork in. ''So what's up?'' I asked again.
''My police source says there's going to be a raid at that warehouse where your car was found yesterday.''
The minute he said it, I remembered my mother's words from the night before. Something about her fax, and how did I know to go there. I'd been so doped up, I hadn't thought anything of it.
''What sort of raid?'' I asked carefully, taking another bite of pancake but watching his face.
''It's a sweatshop.''
I tried to remember what was on that fax. Names. Lots of them. Were they the names of illegals working at the warehouse? And if so, how would anyone know my mother had them? And why would my mother be involved?
But then I had another thought. Lourdes. She was at my mother's house when I got there. She might have seen the fax. She might have told Hector about it. He might have gone back to get it, breaking into my mother's house. But why break in if Lourdes had a key?
And why would my mother want Vinny to know when the fax was missing? What did Vinny know about all this? What was he working on for her?
Too many questions and not enough answers. I hated that.
But the biggest question that I wanted an answer to was who the hell was in my car. I watched Rocco eat, picking at my own food now, wondering how I was going to get rid of him. I had to go see Tom. He had to have an ID by now.
I spotted a newspaper on the table next to us, so I reached over and grabbed it. The story about my car and its body had been relegated to the police blotter on page two. It wasn't even big enough for page one. But a story about a crazy house cat attacking its neighbors stared out at me from under the New Haven Herald banner on page one. What the fuck was wrong with this picture?
I scanned the blotter story, which was pretty information-free, like Marty had said. And even though I'd told him it was my car, he didn't put that in the story. But somehow, after I'd spoken with Marty, Kevin had finally gotten the name of the person in the trunk.
Rosario Ortiz. The girl from the mailroom. The sister of the guy who'd tried to gun down Tom and Sam O'Neill.
Chapter 20
The more I thought about it, the more I realized no one had actually told me the body was male. I'd just assumed that. And hell, anyone who ever watched The Odd Couple knew what that meant. But I'm dating myself.
I put the paper down, and Rocco picked it up, scanning the story. ''That's it?'' he asked flatly.
I shrugged. ''Not much information.''
''You wouldn't go on the record?''
I snorted. ''With what? I don't know shit.''
''But it's your car.''
''I don't know shit,'' I repeated, glancing at my watch. I had to go to work. But I remembered something, something that I had pushed to the back burner while Rocco told me his ''information.''
''I want to know why you were in Fair Haven that day Marisol saw the body getting dumped.''
Rocco picked the check up off the table and studied it, ignoring me.
''Listen, Rocco, it seems pretty convenient that you were there.''
He looked up at me as he simultaneously pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.
''I've got something I have to do now. Can we get together later?''
''Why can't you just tell me?''
It looked like he was going to say something when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my purse. ''Yeah?'' I asked after seeing Marty's number. ''I'm on my way in.''
''When you get here, come to Charlie Simmons' office.''
''Am I in trouble?'' I asked.
''No.'' But there was something about his tone that made me wonder if I was.
As I put my phone back in my bag, I knew I'd have to wait on interrogating Rocco. He paid the breakfast tab, and I thanked him as we stood between our cars, the shiny white BMW next to the white Kia Rio. They shouldn't even have been in the same parking lot together.
''Later?'' I asked.
Rocco shrugged. ''Sure, okay,'' he said, climbing into his car.
I watched him drive away before getting into the Kia. The seat wasn't uncomfortable, but it didn't have my shape to it. I slipped in the White Stripes—I was getting used to it; it wasn't bad—and figured I'd stop by Radio Shack later for a new police scanner. Who knew when I'd get mine back, if ever.
I couldn't park in the lot. I'd forgotten about the paving project that was supposed to last at least a week. A sign advertising employee parking was propped up at the entrance to the visitors' lot, an arrow pointing down the street.
I ignored it and parked in the visitors' lot. Hell, security wouldn't know whose car this was, since it was a rental and they only had my Accord on record.
Marty and Charlie Simmons were waiting for me. The door was closed, but I could see them through the glass. They saw me, too, and Charlie was beckoning me to join them, like it was a fucking party.
I didn't even take off my slicker, but pushed the
door open and stood dripping all over the carpet. Charlie sat behind the desk, while Marty was seated in one of the two chairs in front of him. The empty chair was obviously mine, but standing made me feel more in control.
''What's up?'' I tried to ask nonchalantly, looking from Charlie to Marty a
nd back to Charlie.
Charlie leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head with his elbows sticking out like he had goddamn wings. ''Why was a body found in your car in Fair Haven, Annie?''
I snorted. ''It's not like I fucking put it there.''
Marty made like he was going to say something, but Charlie held up his hand to stop him. ''There's no call for that sort of language.''
Dead of the Day (2007) Page 14