At precisely five, I saw Ranger's truck ease to a stop in front of the bonds office. I grabbed my bag and my jacket and I went out to meet him. The instant I got in beside Ranger I saw Tank peel away and take off.
“I thought he was supposed
to be guarding my body,” I said to Ranger.
Ranger looked at me with dark eyes. “It's my turn to guard your body, babe.”
Oh boy.
Ever since I could remember I've loved adventure stories and heroes. I guess that's true for all kids. And maybe all adults, too. My best friend Mary Lou Molnar and I would choose up roles when we were kids. I'd be Snake Eyes from GI Joe or Inspector Gadget or Han Solo. I'd run through the neighbors' yards, shouting, Thundercats, ho! And Mary Lou would follow after me, living her own fantasy as Smurfette or Wendy Darling or Marcia Brady. Mary Lou always had a good sense of gender and of her own abilities. Mary Lou's fantasies were close to the reality of her life. I, on the other hand, have never been able to merge the reality with the fantasy. In my mind, I'm still Snake Eyes. In truth, I'm closer to Lucy Ricardo. I don't have a lot of the skills I should have as a crime fighter. I'm not good with guns and I've never found the time to take self-?defense. The only black belt in my closet is a narrow snakeskin with a gold buckle.
“Tell me about Bart Cone,” I said to Ranger. “Was his house filled with florist bills? Photos of murdered women? Body parts in the freezer?”
“None of the above. He has the minimum furniture. A bed, a chair, a table, a desk. No computer on the desk. No television. He had two books at bedside. Into Thin Air. And a nuts and bolts catalogue. It didn't look to me like he'd cracked the spine on Into Thin Air.”
“Sounds like his wife had a good divorce lawyer.”
“Cone had minimum food in the refrigerator. His medicine chest was filled with antidepressants and sleeping pills.”
“Do you think he's crazy?”
“I think he has no life. I think he's the job.”
“Like us.”
Ranger looked over at me. “You have a life. You shop for shoes. You eat Butterscotch Krimpets. You have a hamster, half ownership of a dog, thirty percent of a cop. And you have a scary family.”
“You think I only have thirty percent of Morelli?”
“I think you have as much as he can give anyone right now.”
“How about you?” I asked. “How much can you give?”
Ranger kept his eyes on the road. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“So I've been told.”
It was close to 5:30 when we reached the apartment house on Market. Ranger pulled into the driveway and parked in a small lot to the rear of the house. We took the back entrance and went directly to the second floor. We knocked on Carl Rosen's door. No one answered. Ranger crossed the hall and knocked on 2A. A woman in her fifties opened the door and peered out.
“We're looking for Carl Rosen,” Ranger said. “I don't suppose you've seen him.”
“No,” the woman said. “I haven't seen him, but he's usually home by now. Sorry.”
The woman slipped back into her apartment. Her door closed and three locks tumbled into place. Ranger paced away from the door, called Tank, and asked him to run a basic information check on Rosen. Three minutes later the information came back. Carl Rosen worked at the hospital. He drove a '94 blue Honda Civic. He was unmarried. Tank also had previous addresses and jobs and a list of relatives. Ranger disconnected and knocked one more time on Rosen s door. When no one answered, Ranger slid a slim tool into the lock and opened the door. He left me outside to do lookout and he disappeared into the apartment.
Ten minutes later, Ranger walked out of the apartment and locked the door behind him. “I can't remember the last time I broke into so many places and found so little,” Ranger said. “Not even a computer. Just the power cord plugged into the wall. Either Rosen takes his laptop with him to work or else someone's gone through his apartment in front of us.”
“Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
I called Morelli and told him I'd be late. I was thinking an hour maybe, but we were still waiting at nine o'clock. We were sitting on the floor outside Rosen's apartment, backs to the wall, legs outstretched.
“My ass is asleep,” I said to Ranger.
“And you'd like me to do something about it?” Ranger asked.
“Just making conversation.”