“Yes, but you've never had a tape.”
“True. The tape might make a difference.”
“Won't make no difference,” Jackie said when Dorsey left. “Ramirez do what he want. Nobody cares about him beating on a whore.”
“We care,” I said to Jackie. “We can stop him. We can get Lula to testify against him.”
“Hunh,” Jackie said. “You don't know much.”
It was three before we were allowed to see Lula. She hadn't regained consciousness and was in ICU. Our visit was restricted to ten minutes each. I squeezed her hand and promised her she'd be okay. When my time was up, I told Jackie I had an appointment I needed to keep. She said she was staying until Lula opened her eyes.
I got to Sunny's a half hour before Gazarra. I paid my fee, bought a box of shells, and went back to the range. I shot a few with the hammer pulled back, and then settled in for serious practice. I envisioned Ramirez in front of the target. I aimed for his heart, his balls, his nose.
Gazarra came on the range at four-thirty. He dropped a new box of shells on my loading table and took the booth next to me. By the time I was done with both boxes I was pleasantly relaxed and feeling comfortable with my gun. I loaded five rounds and slid the gun back into my bag. I tapped Gazarra on the shoulder and motioned that I was done.
He holstered his Glock and followed me out. We waited until we were in the parking lot to talk.
“I heard the call come in,” he said. “Sorry I couldn't get to you. I was in the middle of something. I saw Dorsey at the station. He said you were cool. Said you switched on the recorder when Ramirez came on the line.”
“You should have seen me five minutes before. I couldn't remember 911.”
“I don't suppose you'd consider taking a vacation?”
“It's crossed my mind.”
“You got your gun in your pocketbook?”
“Hell no, that would be breaking the law.”
Gazarra sighed. “Just don't let anyone see it, okay? And call me if you get spooked. You're welcome to stay with Shirley and me for as long as you want.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I checked on the plate number you gave me. The plates belong to a vehicle seized for a parking violation, impounded, and never retrieved.”
“I saw Morelli driving said vehicle.”
“He probably borrowed it.”
We both smiled at the thought of Morelli driving a vehicle stolen from the impound yard.
“What about Carmen Sanchez? Does she have a car?”
Gazarra dug a piece of paper out of his pocket. "This is the make and her license number. It hasn't been impounded.
“You want me to follow you home? Make sure your apartment's safe?”
“Not necessary. Half the building's population is probably still camped out in my hall.”
What I really dreaded was facing the blood. I was going to have to walk into my apartment and face the grisly aftermath of Ramirez's handiwork. Lula's blood would still be on the phone, the walls, the countertops, and the floor. If the sight of that blood triggered a renewed rush of hysteria, I wanted to deal with it alone, in my own way.
I parked in the lot and slipped into the building unnoticed. Good timing, I thought. The halls were clear. Everyone was eating dinner. I had my defense spray in my hand and my gun wedged under my waistband. I turned the key in the lock and felt my stomach lurch. Just get it over with, I told myself. Barge right in, check under the bed for rapists, pull on some rubber gloves, and clean up the mess.
I took a tentative step into my foyer, and realized someone was in my apartment. Someone was cooking in the kitchen, making cozy cooking sounds, clanking pots and running water. Under the clanking I could hear food sizzling in a frying pan.
“Hello,” I called, gun now in hand, barely able to hear myself over the pounding of my heart. “Who's here?”
Morelli sauntered out of the kitchen. “Just me. Put the gun away. We need to talk.”