Chapter 29

Tuesday, July 15

The day after I returned to Trenton I received an angry call from Morelli.

"Manoso, I told Tank last week, I'm taking care of Steph. So call off your fucking guard dogs right now."

I kept my voice even. "So you would leave Stephanie unprotected when you go back to work?" I knew he was taking his second week of vacation time to stay home with her, and I also knew he didn't have unlimited leave.

"She doesn't need your goons hanging around watching every move she makes. As long as you stay away from her, she's perfectly safe."

"I'll make a deal with you. If you let RangeMan install a security system in your house I'll call off the guards. No charge for the system or the monitoring service."

"I don't need a fucking security system. And I don't want fucking cameras everywhere so you can watch every move we make."

"We'll just do sensors on the windows and doors with an alarm, and only install cameras outside."

"Fuck," he said, but I knew he was going to allow it. After a long moment of silence he said, "I don't want Steph to have to see your guys invading our privacy. What day can you do it? I'll take her away for the day."

"How about tomorrow?"

"Okay, we'll leave by ten a.m. and your guys can do the installation. I'll leave a key under the front doormat."

"No need," I said, mainly to piss him off, to remind him that my guys can get in anywhere they want, and so can the bad guys.

"Fuck," he said again and hung up.

oOo

The next day we went over to Morelli's house and installed the most advanced technology available. Hector and Vince did the job, and breaking normal procedure, I went along to oversee. I told them it was because the dog, Bob, would know me and be friendly. I didn't tell them that even if the dog didn't know me he would be friendly.

I wandered through the house, searching for traces of Stephanie. Shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom, a small bag of cosmetics that looked like they were donated by her sister or one of her friends, a very few clothes in one drawer, a couple of t-shirts, knit shorts and pajamas, basic cotton underwear. One flowered skirt and matching top in the closet, looking like a hand-me-down from someone, not something she'd choose for herself. One pair of sneakers on the floor, no FMPs.

She'd been here a whole week. The old Stephanie would have bought out Macy's by now, filled a dresser and packed the closet with new things. It gave me an uneasy feeling.

When I got back to my office I pulled up the two new feeds from the cameras mounted above the front and back doors of Morelli's house. They were state-of-the-art, with multiple lenses located to give overlapping wide-angle views of the entire front and back yards, as well as the steps and the outsides of the doors themselves.

I assured myself there was no way anyone could enter the house without being seen, not even by flattening themselves against the house and sliding along the wall. Then I sat and stared at the monitor, waiting for Stephanie to come home.

At about 2030, just as dusk was falling, Morelli's SUV pulled up to the curb. I could see the silhouette of Stephanie's curly head in the passenger seat.

I plugged in an earpiece and turned up the sound. Morelli would go ballistic if he knew the cameras were equipped with audio, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Or me.

Morelli got out of the car with a Pino's bag and I heard his voice drifting across the front yard. "Come on, Cupcake, I'm starving."

He walked up the front steps and opened the door for Bob the dog to come bounding out. Morelli went into the house and I watched Bob race out of the yard, disappearing from view.

Stephanie was still sitting in the car.

The green light in the corner of the screen began flashing red as soon as Morelli opened the door, and after a few seconds it turned solid red, showing that Morelli had shut off the alarm. We'd left the code taped to the control panel in the front hallway.

The dog came racing back into the frame and scratched at the door. It opened and Morelli stepped out, looking at the SUV.

"Fuck," he muttered and walked out to the car.

"Come on, Cupcake, time for dinner," he said as he opened the door for Stephanie. He took her arm and pulled gently until she got out of the car, standing there looking lost.

Morelli put an arm around her, speaking as if to a child. "Pino's meatball subs, Steph. Mmmm…"

Propelled by his arm around her, she walked robot-like alongside him up the walk to the front door and inside. He closed the screen but left the front door open and his voice trailed off as he got farther from the door. "Anthony gave us some extra sauce because he knows how much you like it…"

I heard the scrape of the back door opening and Morelli's voice came again. "And Eddie said she's a lot better now."

They must have been sitting at the kitchen table eating their meatball subs, because I could hear Morelli's voice from time to time, urging Stephanie to eat, talking about his family and people they knew, giving Bob pieces of a sandwich. But not a word from Stephanie.

Finally the rustling of paper sandwich wrappers being crumpled up told me they were finished. "Cupcake, you really need to eat something. How are you going to get your figure back if you don't eat?"

No response.

"Are you tired, Steph? It was pretty hot at the beach today, even though all you did was sit. It's nine o'clock. You must be just about ready for bed… Come on, I'll help you get undressed … Come on, Cupcake, you can do it. Just walk up the stairs…"

After a minute I heard a scrape and a soft beep as the alarm circuit for the bedroom window was broken.

"There, that's better. There's a little bit of a breeze tonight." Morelli's voice came through loud and clear. The front camera and microphone were on the wall right outside the bedroom, and with the window open it was almost as if I were right in the room with them.

"Put your arms up, Cupcake, so I can get that shirt off you… There, now sit down so I can get your shorts off… Good… Doesn't that feel better?"

I heard the creak of the mattress and imagined Stephanie lying down on the bed, Morelli climbing in beside her.

Morelli groaned, and his voice was husky. "Oh, yes, Cupcake, lick underneath… Just like that… It feels so good…. Now suck a little harder… Oh, yes…"

For several minutes there was no sound but his occasional "mmm," and then he spoke again. "Now turn over. I want to do you from behind."

I felt like crying, like screaming, like running over there and beating the shit out of him. There still hadn't been a sound from Stephanie, but now there was a rhythmic creaking of the bed, punctuated by his moans and exclamations of "Oh, yes!" After an agonizing eternity a series of grunts in rhythm with the creaks told me he was climaxing.

Quiet for a few minutes, and then the creak of the mattress again. "That was great, Cupcake. You sleep now. I'm going down to watch the Phillies game. I'll be back in a bit."

I heard the faint sound of the television coming on downstairs and after a time Morelli's voice talking on the phone.

Not another sound came from the bedroom.

oOo

Chapter 30

Six days later—Monday, July 21

I was spending almost all my time in the office, watching the monitor, anxious to see Stephanie, to reassure myself that she was going to be all right. When I was in my apartment I carried my laptop from room to room with me, constantly watching the screen. But she never came out of the house, not even to the door.

Morelli took the dog for walks, went out and returned with bags of groceries, answered the door when his mother and grandmother stopped by with a casserole. But no sign of Stephanie, not even when her own parents and grandmother came over, arms full of packages and containers of food. They were there about an hour and then left, shaking their heads and tsk-tsking over Stephanie's condition.

The weather had gotten hot, and Morelli turned on a newly installed air conditioner, closing all the windows and doors, so I'd been spared the torment of listening to him fuck her again.

Tank had been doing the bonds office run, and I asked him if Lula had seen Stephanie.

"No. She called, but Morelli won't even let her talk to Steph on the phone. As far as we know, Steph doesn't have a cell phone yet, just the house phone, and only Morelli answers it. Lula even tried dropping by the first week Steph was home, but Morelli wouldn't let her in."

I was livid, and suffering from a feeling of helplessness almost as bad as when Stephanie was missing. Since I moved to Trenton and started RangeMan I'd always had the power and the money to make sure things happened to my satisfaction. Being denied the ability to influence Stephanie's care created a turmoil within me that was rare in my life. She needed professional help, and Morelli was keeping her locked away from it.

And today he was going back to work.

I was awake early, as usual, still unable to sleep more than a couple hours a night. I began watching my computer at 0500.

At 0600 the back door opened and the dog came barreling out followed by Morelli wearing sweats and carrying a leash. They both disappeared from view, returning twenty minutes later, the kitchen door closing behind them.

At 0645 the front door opened and Morelli and the dog came out. He hooked the dog to a chain wrapped around a metal stake in the postage-stamp-sized front lawn and held the front door open, calling, "Cupcake, I'm leaving Bob out front for a while. Don't forget to bring him back in. I'll see you around five."

Closing the screen but leaving the front door open, Morelli climbed into his vehicle. I heard the starter and the crunch of his tires on the asphalt as he drove away down the street. The dog spent a few minutes snooping around and then went up onto the stoop, scratching at the door to be let in. After five minutes of scratching and whining he turned around three times and curled up in the sun on the doormat, tucking his nose down between his paws.

I took a quick shower and went down to my office, pulling up the camera feed before I began work. The dog was still sleeping by the door.

A half hour later the dog started having fits. I had an earpiece in, hoping to catch the sound of Stephanie's voice when she came to let the dog in. Instead my work was interrupted by barking and growling, whining and scraping. I looked at the screen.

The dog was on his hind legs, frantically scratching at the door, barking and snarling. He backed off and then flung himself at the screen, desperate to get through it.

I flew down the steps in threes and fours and was in my car in less than thirty seconds, careening toward Slater Street. I speed-dialed Tank while I was driving and asked him to send the nearest men to see what was wrong, but I beat them there.

I burst through the door, calling Stephanie's name. No response.

I looked in the living room… dining room… kitchen… tiny powder room… No sign of her.

Taking the stairs two at a time I kicked open the locked bathroom door without hesitation and almost screamed at what I found there.

Stephanie, in a bathtub filled with water stained bright red by blood.

"Babe," I cried out, but there was no response from her.

I bent and lifted her from the tub, sinking to the floor with her on my lap. Her whole body was pink from the water, but her left wrist was producing weak spurts of blood.

Oh my dear God, I thought, she hit the artery.

I clamped a towel over the wrist and grasped it in one hand, applying pressure while cradling her with my other arm.

My every sense was concentrated on Stephanie, and relief poured through me at the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest. She was still breathing.

Before I could shift her enough to get my phone from my pocket I heard a voice calling my name.

"Upstairs," I answered. In a few seconds Vince and Ram were staring in, aghast.

"Vince, find a blanket or something to wrap her in. Ram, get the car. I don't want to wait for an ambulance. We're taking her to St. Francis right now."

In ten minutes we were in the emergency room and a doctor was clamping off the artery and forcing units of blood into Stephanie. I flatly refused to leave her side until they wheeled her off to the operating room to repair the damage.

oOo

Four hours later I was sitting at her bedside in a private hospital in Princeton. It was the best psychiatric center in the state, and among the top half dozen in the whole country.

It had taken about an hour to suture the artery and the tissue over it, and then they'd taken me into the recovery room as Stephanie regained consciousness. I had the control room fax over the medical power of attorney Stephanie signed when she came to work for RangeMan so that I could act as her next of kin and make medical decisions.

I'd made good use of the time Stephanie was in surgery to make some phone calls. Morelli first. Voicemail. I tried the police dispatcher, but he didn't answer his page. I left a message that he should call me immediately, that it was urgent, and then called his cell again and left the same message.

Next I called Barbara Foster, explaining the situation and asking for advice. She made some calls and got back to me with arrangements to admit Stephanie to the Princeton Clinic. I'd told them in the ER that it was an accident, but if they found out it was a suicide attempt there was no doubt that the doctors at St. Francis would order a 72-hour hold. I didn't want that to happen in the Burg.

Stephanie only woke up for a moment in the recovery room, just long enough to give me a quizzical stare and say, "Ranger?"

"I'm here, Babe, and I'm going to make sure everything is okay."

I kept a firm hold on her uninjured hand and she just closed her eyes and went back to sleep. I checked her out against medical advice, carried her to the SUV and held her in my lap in the backseat as Vince and Ram drove us to Princeton. She slept through the whole process.

She was still sleeping at 1700 when Morelli returned my call.

TBC