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![Going Rogue by Janet Evanovich Chapter 5](https://aarp.widen.net/content/nbvk4ijeux/jpeg/77637-04-ch05.jpg?crop=true&anchor=0,0&q=80&color=ffffffff&u=alkyaq&w=2048&h=1177)
Chapter Five
Carpenter Beedle looked like the walking dead when we bonded him out.
“It was horrible in there,” he said, shuffling to my car. “There was snoring and groaning all night long. And the lights were on. And I had to sleep on a thin mattress on a slab. And the blanket was itchy. And there wasn’t a seat on the toilet.”
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“Yeah, but I bet they gave you a Big Mac and fries for dinner last night,” Lula said. “And what’d you get this morning? Did you get a breakfast sandwich?”
“The food was okay,” he said. “I just couldn’t sleep with the snoring. I thought jail would be better. I didn’t think there’d be snoring. Are you taking me home now?”
“We need to talk first,” I said. “I’m looking for a coin. Paul Mori gave it to Vinnie as security just before Vinnie bailed you out. Somehow, Vinnie immediately lost it.”
“Gee, bummer,” Beedle said.
I did my best impression of Morelli interrogating a suspect. Steely eyes. Calm demeanor with just a hint of don’t try to shit me. “Where’s the coin?”
“How would I know?”
“You picked Vinnie’s pocket, and you took the coin.”
“No way.”
“Do you want us to send you back to jail?”
“No!”
“Then tell me about the coin.”
“I sold it.”
I did a mental double take. I hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Truth is, I’d thought chances were zero to slim that he had taken the coin. This questioning went under the category of no stone left unturned.
“My understanding is that it was worthless,” I said. “Just a commemorative coin.”
“True, it was a commemorative coin, but it wasn’t worthless. It was a collectible. It came with a board game that’s no longer being produced, The Treasure of Gowa. It was huge back in the day. Not so much now.”
“Who did you sell it to?” Lula asked. “Benji at the comic book store downtown.”
Lula grinned. “For real? That store is awesome.”
“Yeah,” Beedle said. “He gave me twenty bucks. Do I get to go home now?”
“Not yet,” I said. “We need to get the coin back, and you need to identify it.”
“What’s the big deal about the coin?” Beedle asked.
“It has sentimental value,” I said, opening the back door for Beedle.
The comic book store was on a side street, minutes away from the municipal building. I found a parking place and we all marched in. Benji came out from behind the counter and did a complicated geek high-five thing with Beedle. Lula went straight to the action figure collection.
“What’s up?” Benji said to Beedle. “What’s with the ladies?”
“They’re interested in that coin I brought in. The Knights Templar one.”
“I sold it. I knew I would. I knew this dude would want it. He’s in all the time. He goes nuts over anything that’s got mummies or knights. Almost messed himself when he saw the coin.”
“Do you have his name?” I asked. “His address?”
“That’s all confidential,” Benji said. “We take our customer information real serious here.”
Lula came over with a box in her hand. “How much is Thor?” she asked.
“Forty-nine ninety-five,” Benji said.
“That’s robbery,” Lula said. “I could get him online for half that price.”
“This is collectible quality,” Benji said. “The box has never been opened.”
“I don’t care about that,” Lula said. “Do you have a cheaper Thor?”
“You might try the toy department at Target,” Benji said. “They usually have a good selection of Avengers.”
“About the coin,” I said to Benji. “I need a name and an address.”
“No can do.”
“What do you mean by no can do?” Lula said. “Are you telling us you aren’t going to cooperate with the police?”
“Are you the police?” Benji asked.
“We’re almost the police,” Lula said. “We’re technically law enforcement. Especially me since I’m a temporary replacement office manager.”
“Well, I sell comic books and collectibles and I’ve got a code of conduct to uphold. Customer confidentiality is paramount here,” Benji said.
Lula leaned in so that their noses were almost touching. “Comic books don’t require confidentiality. Nobody cares who buys Donald Duck or who buys Spider-Man. And anyway, we aren’t even talking about a comic book. We’re talking about a stolen coin that you fenced.”
“I didn’t know it was stolen,” Benji said.
“Don’t matter,” Lula said. “You did it all the same. Seems to me you should cooperate with us law enforcers so we can return it to its rightful owner.”
Benji looked over at Beedle, and Beedle shrugged.
“The dude’s name is Melvin Sparks,” Benji said. “I don’t have an address or anything. He pays in cash.”
“Do you know why someone would really, really want this coin?” I asked him. “What’s special about it?”
“Not a lot’s special about it except that they aren’t making any more of them,” Benji said. “Sparks wants it because he’s a collector. That’s what collectors do. They collect things.”
“Okay, I get that,” I said. “Can you give me a description of the coin?”
Benji went to a small office in the back corner of the store and located the coin on the internet. He printed a picture of it and gave it to me.
“There’s a knight Templar on one side in classic pose with his sword,” Benji said. “There’s a cross and some writing on the other side. If you look close you can see the writing says ‘The Treasure of Gowa. Made in Hoboken.’ ”
“Good enough,” I said to Benji. “Appreciate the help.”
We returned to my car, and I typed “Melvin Sparks, Trenton, New Jersey” into my smartphone. We had search engines on the office computer that would tell me if Sparks aced math class in seventh grade. I couldn’t get that kind of detail on my smartphone, but I could get his address and some other basic information.
“He’s at 1207 Kerry Street, apartment 5B,” I said.
“I know where that is,” Lula said. “That’s a mediocre neighborhood. It’s not horrible and it’s not great. You see what I’m saying? It’s mostly safe because the cars aren’t interesting enough to steal.”
I took State Street to South Central, drove one block on South Central, and turned onto Kerry. Sparks’s building was on the corner. It was six floors of unadorned masonry and double-hung windows. the ivy had been chiseled in big block letters over the front door.
“That’s a nice name for a building,” Lula said, “except there’s no ivy anywhere around.”
I parked at the curb, and we entered the small foyer. There were rows of mailboxes on one wall and two elevators on the opposite wall. We took the elevator to the fifth floor, and I rang the bell at 5B. A man answered and squinted out at us. He was about five feet ten inches, in his forties, had thinning sandy blond hair and a soft, squishy-looking body.
Lula elbowed me and mouthed, mediocre.
“Melvin Sparks?” I asked.
I introduced myself and explained that I needed to reclaim the coin.
“No way,” Sparks said. “Never gonna happen. Finders keepers.” And he slammed the door shut and locked it.
“You’re supposed to put your foot in the door before he gets to close it and lock it,” Lula said to me.
“He caught me by surprise,” I said.
“That’s lame. You’re lucky you don’t get your fake bounty hunter badge revoked.”
“What about you? Why didn’t you put your foot in the door?”
“Look at my shoes. Do they look like foot-in-the-door shoes? These shoes are Manolo knockoffs. Notice the pointy toe and five-inch stiletto heel. I could spear an olive out of a martini with these shoes but I sure as hell wouldn’t chance ruining them by going all bounty hunter.”
I rang the doorbell a couple hundred times and pounded on the door, but Sparks didn’t respond.
“We need someone to kick the door down,” Lula said to me. “Obviously I can’t do it in my Manolos. And we know you’re inept at door kicking.”
Beedle was standing behind us. We turned and looked down at his foot in the orthopedic boot.
“It’s made out of foam and plastic,” Beedle said. “And that looks like a metal fire door.”
“He might be right about the door,” Lula said. “We need a blowtorch. Anybody got a blowtorch?”
Connie was being held hostage somewhere. I didn’t know the circumstances. They could be awful. She could be injured. She could be scared . . . although who knew with Connie. Connie didn’t scare easily. I’d done okay with finding a lead on the coin, but I was at a temporary dead end.
I called Morelli when we got back to my car. “I heard about Paul Mori and I’m curious,” I said. “Are there any persons of interest?”
“Approximately two hundred thirty people hated him. Aside from that, no.”
“How about video? Were there cameras at his dry-cleaning shop?”
“I don’t know. Schmidt is the principal on the case. I imagine he’s looking into it. Why are you asking?”
“There might be a connection with Connie’s disappearance.”
I sat through a moment of silence on Morelli’s end. “And?” he finally said.
“And I’ll tell you about it later. It’s complicated.”
I imagined Morelli was staring down at his shoe, making an effort to keep his composure. He knew I was withholding information.
“You aren’t going rogue on me, are you?” he asked. “Who, me?”
Lula looked at me when I disconnected from Morelli. “I bet he loved that conversation.”
“He accused me of going rogue.”
“Who, you?”
I dropped Beedle at his parents’ house with strict instructions that he wasn’t to leave, and I headed for the office.
+++
Grandma was slumped in Connie’s chair with her mouth open and her eyes closed when Lula and I walked in.
“I hope she’s not dead,” Lula said. “I hate when people are dead.”
Grandma gave a snort and sat up. “I was just resting my eyes.”
“Anything happen while we were gone?” I asked her.
“Nope. It’s been real quiet. Did you get the coin?”
“No,” I said, “but we know where it is. I came back so I could use Connie’s computer. I want to do a search on Melvin Sparks.”
Grandma got up, and I sat down. I cleared the screen of bingo and poker apps and fed Sparks into one of Connie’s search engines. All the usual stuff appeared. Age, address, education. There was nothing derogatory. No arrests. No wife. No children. A sister. Occupation was listed as a merchandise stocker at Scoopers. That’s why he was at home on a Tuesday afternoon, I thought. He works the night shift stocking shelves.
I called Scoopers employment and asked about jobs stocking shelves. I was told that the night shift started at nine o’clock and ran until three in the morning.
I called Ranger.
“I have a situation,” I said. “I could use some help.”
“Babe,” Ranger said.
Depending on the inflection, babe means many things in Ranger-speak. It can be as simple as hello or as complex as take off your clothes. In this case it meant that he was listening.
I gave him the short version of Connie’s kidnapping.
“You realize that paying ransom doesn’t always guarantee a happy ending,” Ranger said.
“It’s all I have right now. We don’t know for sure how Paul Mori got the coin. The caller said he stole it. It’s most likely that Mori found it in something brought in for dry cleaning. He had a reputation for keeping found objects.”
“Have you checked security cameras?”
“The cameras at the bail bonds office aren’t operational, and I haven’t personally checked for cameras at the dry-cleaning store. Even if Mori had cameras, I have no way to access them. And if I could access them, combing through hours, probably days, of files would take more time than I have.”
“So, you’re concentrating on the coin.”
“Unfortunately, Sparks isn’t cooperating. I could have Lula sit on him or have you throw him out a window, hoping to get him to change his mind, but that feels wrong. It isn’t as if he’s a bad guy. I mean he’s not dealing drugs or mugging old ladies.”
“Does he know the circumstances?”
“No.”
“That might make a difference,” Ranger said.
“He might also blab it all over town. I can’t risk it. That’s why I need to get into Sparks’s apartment.”
“You’re going to steal the coin,” Ranger said.
“Yes. There’s only one door to his apartment and it’s a metal fire door. There are double-hung windows but he’s on the fifth floor of an eight-story building. It’s a corner building. Very visible. I need help getting in.”
“No problem,” Ranger said. “When do you want to do this?”
“Tonight. He stocks merchandise at Scoopers on the night shift. Night shift starts at nine o’clock.”
“I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock,” Ranger said.
“Where?”
“Wherever you are.” And he was gone.
Ranger and I have a complicated relationship. There’s a lot of attraction between us that has on occasion been satisfied. Currently there’s no satisfaction. At least not sexual. He was my mentor when I started working at the bail bonds office and his role in my life has expanded since then. Early on he decided if he wanted to continue to enjoy my company, he needed to help keep me alive, so he started placing tracking devices on my cars. I found them annoying at first, but I’ve gotten used to them, and the truth is they’ve come in handy multiple times.
“I’m available if you need help with the B & E,” Grandma said. “I’m good at sneaking around in the dark.”
“Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but this should be a simple operation. Ranger will get me in, we’ll find the coin and lock up after ourselves.”
My phone buzzed with a text.
“What’s it say?” Grandma asked.
“It says, We’re done with him. He’s all yours. I imagine this is referring to Brad Winter.”
“The cute blackmailer,” Grandma said. “What with everything else going on, I’d completely forgotten about him.”
I checked my watch. It was almost one o’clock. “Does Mom know you’re here?” I asked Grandma.
“Yep. I called and told her that after church I had to fill in for Vinnie. She’s bringing sandwiches.”
Ten minutes later, Lula and I were on our way to Winter’s house on Oak Street. I had one hand on the wheel and the other hand wrapped around a ham and cheese sandwich.
“It was real nice of your mom to bring these sandwiches,” Lula said. “You’ve got a helpful family. Everybody pitches in. That’s the way it should be. And this is an excellent sandwich. Not that I would expect any less from your mom. She has everything in just the right order. Mustard on one side, then ham, then cheese, then there’s a second deli meat. I think it might be turkey. And she ends with mayo. And she doesn’t ruin it with healthy bread. This is fresh white bread. I bet it’s from the bakery. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t notice any of those things.”
“That’s your problem,” she said. “You don’t notice these things because you aren’t mindful. I do mindful eating. I got mindfulness up my ass. I could coach you to be mindful, if you want. You just let me know when.”
“I’m not sure I have time to be mindful.”
“I hear you. I mostly do the speed version. I’m mindful in a hurry. Like noticing the mustard on the sandwich didn’t slow me down from eating it.”
“Smart,” I said. “Fuckin’ A.”
Chapter Six
Oak Street was quiet at this time of the day. No people or cars in sight. I parked in front of Winter’s well-kept townhouse and sat there for a couple minutes, making sure no one was lurking in the bushes or rushing down the street in a Mercedes.
“I must be missing something about Brad Winter,” Lula said. “I got his file information here, but I don’t understand about somebody being done with him.”
“Grandma and I had Winter in cuffs. We were walking him to my car and a Mercedes with four women inside roared up and snatched him away from us.”
“And now they’re giving him back to you?”
“Looks that way.”
“You gotta love this job. There’s always crazy shit happening.”
“And you like that.”
“Damn skippy. Who doesn’t like crazy shit?”
“I don’t. I like when things are safe and sane.”
“Yeah, but you got a job that’s almost never safe or sane. That’s ironic. You’re messed up.”
“I don’t feel messed up.”
“Then maybe it’s that you’re full of doody when you say you like safe and sane. Maybe you really like crazy shit but don’t want to admit it. You could be in denial about the crazy-shit side of you. Not that denial is always a bad thing. It’s one of them mental health tools. Like procrasterbation. I’m not necessarily a big procrasterbator myself, but I could see where it serves a purpose.”
“Procrastination.”
“Yeah. I mean, everybody does it at one time or another.”
I nodded. “True.”
We left my CR-V and walked to the front door. I rang the bell. No answer. The door was unlocked so we let ourselves in and found Winter in the middle of the living room. He was on the floor, naked, gagged, and hog-tied, completely hairless, head to toe. And newly tattooed. His sheet had been laundered, neatly folded, and placed beside him.
“Damn,” Lula said. “Was he like this when you saw him last?”
“He was naked, but he wasn’t tattooed. And he had hair.”
“Mmmmf!” Winter said. “Grrrrrr.”
Pervert and Blackmailer had been tattooed across his forehead in fancy script. The words were surrounded by swirls that eventually ended in Devil’s tails. I thought it probably cost the ladies a fortune.
“I like that they inked him in a lot of bright colors,” Lula said. “Makes it more interesting. And it makes the black ink stand out more. Like you can really see the message saying he’s a pervert and blackmailer.”
I took the gag out of his mouth.
“I’m going to kill them,” he said. “All of them.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” Lula said. “They’ll throw you in prison forever and you might not be happy there.” She turned to me. “Now, this is what I’m talking about. Crazy shit. Not everybody gets to see stuff like this. The tattoo artist showed some talent and a real steady hand.”
I was caught between bursting out laughing and losing my lunch. I would be happy to live the rest of my life without seeing anything like this ever again. Still, I had to give the women credit for a job well done. And from the condition of the house, it was clear that they’d done a search.
“Did they get everything?” I asked Winter. “They got enough,” he said.
“How are we going to get him out to the car?” Lula asked. “You want me to cut the ropes?”
“Yes. He’s already wearing my cuffs.”
We got him standing, wrapped him in the sheet, and helped him hobble to the car.
“So, I’m thinking you knew the women who snatched you,” I said to Winter. “And I’m curious because they all looked alike. They were all blond. In fact, they looked like they had their hair done at the same salon. They all had diamond studs, and they were wearing Lululemon.”
“I’ve got a type,” Winter said. “I like blond trophy wives.”
“These wives must have got the memo about how to dress for a revenge party,” Lula said.
“They’re trophy wives,” Winter said. “They all dress like that.”
“You’re an idiot,” I said to Winter, and I shoved him into the backseat.
+++
My grandmother was alone in the office when Lula and I returned.
“Your mother had to go to the market and then home to get dinner started,” Grandma said. “We’re having chicken parm tonight in case you want some.”
“Count me in,” Lula said. “I’d just as leave not be alone, thinking about Connie. This is when you want to be with friends and family, and I think about you as being both.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be there, too. Were there any calls while we were gone?”
“None,” Grandma said. “I didn’t check the email. It’s got a password on it.”
“No problem,” I said. “Lula can check it, and I’ll give you a ride home. There’s nothing else I can do until Ranger and I get the coin back tonight.”
“Perfect,” Grandma said. “I’ll get home in time to help your mother with dinner. Sometimes she has too much hooch and pounds the bejeezus out of the chicken.”
I dropped Grandma off and drove to Pino’s. Connie’s car was still there. It had a red-and-black police sticker on it. I called Morelli.
“I’m sitting in Pino’s lot, looking at Connie’s car,” I said. “It has a police sticker on it.”
“I had the crime lab go over it, but they didn’t find anything unusual. You might want to move the car, so it doesn’t get vandalized. There’s nothing about Connie on my end. Do you know anything?”
“I have some ideas.”
“You had ideas earlier,” Morelli said.
“I still have the same ideas. I thought I would try to talk to Bella today. I don’t suppose you want to come with me?”
“I can’t. I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork and I’m the only one here if a call comes in. Two guys are out with the flu.”
“Is this the blue flu?”
“No, this is flu like the plague.”
I drove to Connie’s house and got an extra set of car keys from her mother.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked her. “Do you need help with anything?”
“No, but it’ll be good to get the car back. Have you seen it? Were there bloodstains? Did it look like it had been in the river?”
“The car looks like Connie just parked it at Pino’s. It’s not damaged at all. I’m sure Connie is fine and will turn up any day now.”
Mrs. Rosolli nodded and wiped a tear away. I gave her a hug and left.
I’d wanted to give Mrs. Rosolli some comfort, some reassurance that Connie was okay. I didn’t entirely believe what I’d said to her. It was more that I hoped it was true. I was feeling a lot of pain over Connie. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for her mom.
I drove deeper into the Burg and idled in front of Morelli’s mother’s house. It was slightly larger than my parents’ house. Four bedrooms upstairs. Living room, dining room, kitchen downstairs. Single-car detached garage sitting in the back corner of the small backyard. I’d been in the house on several occasions and was always terrified of Joe’s mother and grandmother. They were stern matriarchs who protected their family no matter the circumstances. And they put up with no nonsense from outsiders. Joe’s father had been an abusive drunk. No one was sorry when he passed. On the surface the grandmother looked flat-out crazy, but I suspected she was actually very crafty and enjoyed playing the role. I honestly didn’t know what to think about her ability to give someone the eye. It was a little like my position as a Catholic. I was lacking true faith, but the fear of God was strong.
So now what? I thought. Are you going in or are you going to procrasterbate? I took my foot off the brake. I was going to procrasterbate. I didn’t want to confront Grandma Bella. It was going to be unpleasant at best and hideous at worst. Even if I managed to get her to go with me, without Connie or Vinnie, I couldn’t legitimately bond her out. I’d have to do another emergency bond, or even worse, leave her in jail overnight. The thought sent a shiver of horror down my spine. If I left Bella in jail overnight, she wouldn’t just give me the eye . . . she’d come after me with a hatchet.
+++
I drove to the office, picked Lula up, and dropped her at Pino’s. Lula drove Connie’s car to Connie’s house, parked it in her driveway, gave the keys to Connie’s mother, and jumped into my car.
“It was creepy being in Connie’s car without her,” Lula said when she buckled herself in next to me. “I don’t think Connie drove her car to Pino’s. The seat was pushed way back like a man with longer legs was driving it.” Lula put my air-conditioning on full blast. “I need air. I’m having a moment, here.”
I felt myself choking up and I pushed the emotion away. Don’t get overwhelmed, I told myself. It’s unproductive. Keep making an effort to remain normal so you can think. It’s important to stay sharp.
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