The car I purchased for my mission was a complete piece of crap. Why didn't I buy something a little more reliable than an oil-wasting hunk of metal they passed off as a Nova? I swear I had to feed it two litres of oil every two hours. It backfired when I parked in the lot closest to Morelli's apartment. My husband would find it amusing. I could picture his lip curling as he considered laughing.
"Was that a gunshot or your car?" Al asked, laughing his ass off.
"Ha ha," I replied. "How's your bicycle, Kloughn?" I couldn't help throwing in his surname at birth. He changed it before joining the Army. His name is officially Albert Clinton. I couldn't imagine my sister going by the name Kloughn. Al was wise to change his name. Both of his parents died before he enlisted. They were only children, and so was Al. Despite having a Jewish surname, Al was Catholic like his mother.
"It beats walking and driving your car," he teased. Al's car was better than mine. I was supposed to pretend I was down on my luck and desperate for a job. "Do you need company?"
"Not at the moment. I'll tell you if I change my mind," I replied. Al would continue listening to the background noises and rescue me if needed. It shouldn't come to that. Besides, my husband would be upset with Al rescuing me since it was his job to save me. I had learned long ago that my husband was overly protective of me. His protectiveness extended to our children when they were born.
I sighed and checked the apartment number listed in Morelli's file. His unit was on the first floor, just through the breezeway. It seemed unlikely for Morelli to be in his home. He was probably finding a way to prove his innocence. Morelli wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't kill someone with so many witnesses.
A red Jeep Cherokee matching the description of Morelli's car was in the parking lot. I walked to the door and knocked. When nobody answered, I checked the windows. The blinds were drawn so that I couldn't see anything inside. Morelli wasn't home because he would have moved the curtains or blinds to see who was knocking on his door.
It was time to regroup and find out more about Detective Joseph Morelli. I decided to return to the shitty apartment Dad rented as Stephanie Plum. Dad managed to secure a fully furnished one-bedroom apartment. He swapped out the mattress, much to my pleasure. The apartment was far from secure. My husband would not want me to sleep there, especially when the fire escape was outside the bedroom window.
When I climbed into my car, I said, "This was a waste of time. I'm heading home," knowing Al was still listening.
Al replied, "Why didn't you break into the apartment?"
"Hang on," I announced when a sporty car pulled into the lot, swinging past my car and parking in one of the front spots. "I may have found a lead."
Chuckling, Al said, "You're always in the right place at the right time."
"Not always," I joked, watching Mooch, Joe's cousin, remove a key from his pocket and unlock Joe's apartment. He returned a few minutes later, carrying a duffle. Was Mooch moving drugs? I wouldn't put it past him to be involved in Joe's mess. Mooch and Joe were close as children and teens.
"What is he carrying?" Al asked. I looked around the parking area and found Al's car parked next to the dumpster. He had my back.
"It looks too light to be drugs," I reasoned. "Probably clothes for Morelli. I'm going to follow Mooch."
"I have to run home and call Valerie and the girls. They weren't home when I tried earlier," Al said.
"Did you call before 0900?" I asked.
"Yes," he answered.
I shook my head and said, "Valerie was probably getting the girls ready for school. She was too busy trying to convince Lisa to wear her uniform instead of running shoes." Al chuckled at my comment. He was the only one who could get Lisa to comply. She was stubborn like Mary Alice was at that age.
"I should get back to my job of chasing ambulances," Al joked. "I'm listening. Remember to say Bombshell when you need my help. I'll turn off my mic so you don't hear my conversation with Valerie."
"Thank you," I replied, laughing. Al only made that mistake once when we arrived in Trenton two weeks ago.
I followed Mooch's car from Joe's apartment complex to State Street. He pulled into a private drive. The neighbourhood used to be fashionable with huge stone houses with well-kept lawns. Most of the Caucasian residents left once a black family purchased a home on the street. Like so many areas close to Stark Street and Comstock, the houses are in disrepair, getting more desolate the further south you drove. It appeared people were trying to reclaim the neighbourhood. Maybe it would return to its former glory. Pfft. Not likely.
After staring at the house for a long time, hoping Morelli would wander outside, my stomach grumbled, demanding sustenance. I passed the golden arches while following Mooch. The temptation to leave Morelli in his hidey-hole was nearly overruled by the desire to sink my teeth into a cheeseburger and crispy fries, food I hadn't eaten in a long time. "I'm going in," I mumbled, deciding I needed to get Morelli first. Al never responded, so I assumed he was talking to Valerie.
When I stepped inside the house's main entrance, I found eight mailboxes for the residents, indicating the house had eight apartments. Most mailboxes had names affixed to the front and contained letters and bills, except one on the second floor, where I assumed Morelli was hiding. I ascended the stairs, noticing the apartments opened off the stairwell and knocked on the door for apartment 201.
"Don't apprehend Morelli. We need to know if he's involved," Al reminded me when I knocked on the door. I sensed movement on the other side and knew I had found Morelli when a shadow was cast over the security peephole. Catching this murderer would be easy because I had the skills, but Al was right. I had to uncover what Morelli knew about the drugs being moved up the coast. For all I know, Morelli never murdered Kulesza, and it was self-defence, as he claimed. Until I had tangible proof, I had to assume he had murdered the man. I doubted Morelli was the innocent party. Something told me he spoke the truth about that incident, which was self-defence, but Morelli was far from innocent. My spidey sense indicated he was involved with the movement of drugs.
I needed more intel, and there were limited places to gather it. One was from the detective himself, another was to ask Connie if she had more information about Morelli's activities, and the last was to ask my husband for help. Al and I wanted to handle the mission together. It wouldn't be the first time I had to recruit Rangeman's assistance with research.
Morelli's file contained many newspaper articles that painted a biased picture of the incident. It painted Morelli as a respectable cop who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. Morelli was checking on his confidential informant and found Kulesza in her apartment. The most troubling part of the story was Carmen Sanchez went missing. Carmen's testimony was vital to prove Morelli's innocence. It seemed too coincidental that she disappeared. Was she hiding, or did Kulesza kill her? I thought it more likely that Morelli killed Carmen, and Kulesza was sent to the unit to hide the evidence. Alas, nobody was above the law, and I needed verifiable evidence to close this case.
I grinned and finger waved at the peephole, hoping to convey I wasn't a threat. The man behind the door slid the bolt back and yanked the door open. I was suddenly face to face with Morelli, whose stance was passive-aggressive despite the air of impatience. "What do you want?" Morelli snarled.
"Hi, I'm Stephanie Plum. I'm working for my cousin Vinnie. He sent me here to haul your ass back to jail because you broke your bond agreement," I politely replied.
Morelli gave me a look that should have killed me on the spot. I had the skills to detain him forcibly, but Al was right. We needed Morelli to walk free for a few more days. He leaned forward and asked, "Why are you here? Did you read about me in the papers and think it was a way to punish me for having rough sex with your sister?"
"Vinnie sent me here to haul your ass back to jail because you broke your bond agreement," I repeated, ignoring his comment about Valerie. Morelli deserved to pay for hurting my sister, but I had more important things to handle.
"My life is fucked up enough. I don't need you making things worse," he angrily replied.
"You're angry because my dad took me away before you could give me the same treatment as Valerie," I said. "You need to come with me."
"Stephanie, be careful," Al warned. I wanted to rip the earbud from my ear and dunk it in water, but my husband wouldn't appreciate me destroying an expensive device.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," Morelli snapped. "If the cops take me into custody, they'll lock me up and throw away the key. While I'm awaiting trial, someone will shank me because I'm a cop. You're delusional if you think I would ever let you, of all people, collect the bounty money."
"What about your mother?" I challenged, refusing to back down and playing on the familial guilt. "She could lose the house if you don't let me take you into custody."
"Do not bring my mother into this," Joe snarled. "I don't have time for your female logic."
"Female Logic? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Al hissed over the comm unit. He knew how much I hated when men assumed women were illogical.
Morelli threw his arms up into the air and rolled his eyes. "You're a lunatic," Morelli yelled. He put on his lightweight jacket and grabbed the black duffle Mooch delivered. He pushed past me. I could have thrown him to the ground and apprehended him, but I needed his ignorance of my intentions to find a break in my case. Morelli had disappeared by the time I chased him down the stairs and outside.
"Where did he go?" I asked.
Al replied, "Through the alley and disappeared inside the garage. I'm driving around to see if I can pick him up."
"Leave it," I said, sighing at my inability to catch up to Morelli while wearing heels.
"Next time, wear your running shoes," Al said. "And dress appropriately."
"Laugh it up, Kloughn," I snapped. "How's the clown car working out for you?"
Al leased a dark gray Miata for the job. He was slightly too big for the vehicle. It reminded me of a clown car you see in the circus - the one where five to ten clowns contort their bodies to fit into the cramped space. My partner changed his name for a reason. When he lived in Trenton, the kids often asked, "Where's your circus?" Or "Do you have your nose hiding in your pocket?" He changed his name after his parents' deaths. They were in New York to help with the rescue during 9/11, but like many first responders, they got trapped when the buildings collapsed. It was a tragedy. Al wanted to honour his parents by joining the military. He wasn't interested in becoming a fireman, police officer or a medical discipline. His forte was law. Al attended college while serving in the military. We attended the same elementary school, although he was a year ahead of me. I had seen him in passing, but we never formally met until basic training.
He passed the initial physical fitness test despite being overweight. Al reminded me of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We helped each other during training and worked hard to get into shape. I brought Al home, not as my boyfriend, during our first break in basic training. Dad and Mom Rosalyn laughed whenever I brought someone home. They knew I was dating someone, who I eventually married.
My husband decided to attend college for business management instead of enlisting in the military. He eventually had to serve his time but wanted to move up the ranks. Having some college education behind him helped in his endeavours. The only thing he wanted me to do was marry him before I started my training. It never worked out that way. I got married after my eighteenth birthday, which was a few weeks before my first deployment.
I never expected Valerie and Al to fall in love at first sight. He was awkward and bumbled whenever he tried talking to her. Thankfully, she found it endearing. Al's confidence grew in the military. He took courses in law and now works for Rangeman as the in-house lawyer, making more than enough money to support his family. My husband and I would have loaned him the money to buy a bigger house, but Al was too proud to accept the assistance and signed on for the mission. I planned to invest my earnings into opening branches in Trenton and Boston. Al's a great friend, father, and brother-in-law. I trust him nearly as much as I trust my husband.
Gaining weight for the mission made him more recognizable to the Trenton residents. They trusted him more than strangers moving into town to handle the skips and other felons. It was truly amazing how different he looked after gaining weight. Most of it settled on his face and gut. Mine hit my ass, which would please my husband because it gave him more to grab.
"Are you going home?" Al asked, intruding on my thoughts.
"I'm grabbing a burger first," I replied. "We'll reconvene in the morning."
"Sounds good," Al said.