“What?” Morelli said.
I told him about Grandma Mazur and waited while the silence stretched taut between us. Finally there was an oath and a disgusted sigh. It had to be hard for him. Mancuso was family.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You can help me catch Mancuso.”
“We'll catch him.”
What was left unsaid was the mutual fear that we wouldn't catch him soon enough.
“You okay to follow the game plan?” Morelli asked.
“Until six. I'm going home for dinner tonight. I want to see Grandma Mazur.”
There was no further activity until one o'clock, when the funeral home opened for afternoon viewings. I trained my binoculars on the front-room windows and caught a glimpse of Spiro in suit and tie. Obviously he kept a change of clothes on the premises. Cars were constantly coming and going in the parking lot, and I realized how easily Kenny could get lost in the traffic. He could paste on a beard or a mustache, wear a hat or a wig, and no one would notice one more pedestrian coming into the front door, side door, or back door.
I strolled across the street at two o'clock.
Spiro sucked in some air when he saw me, and instinctively brought his injured arm closer to his body. His movements were unnaturally abrupt, his expression dark, and I had a sense of a disorganized mind. He was the rat dropped into a maze, scrabbling over obstacles, scurrying down dead-end corridors, looking for the way out.
A man stood alone at the tea table. Fortyish, medium height, medium weight, upper body on the beefy side. He was wearing a sport coat and slacks. I'd seen him before. It took me a moment to figure it out. He'd been at the garage when they'd hauled Moogey out in a body bag. I'd assumed he was homicide, but maybe he was vice, or maybe he was a fed.
I approached the tea table and introduced myself.
He extended his hand. “Andy Roche.”
“You work with Morelli.”
He went immobile for a heartbeat while his regrouping reflex jerked into fast forward. “Sometimes.”
I took a winger. “Fed.”
“Treasury.”
“You going to stay inside?”
“As much as possible. We brought in a bogus body today. I'm the long-lost grieving brother.”
“Very clever.”
“This guy, Spiro, always piss in short jerks?”
“He had a bad day yesterday. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night.”
Stephanie Plum 2 - Two For The Dough
12
All right, so Morelli didn't tell me about Andy Roche. What's new. Morelli played his cards close to his vest. That was his style. He didn't show his whole hand to anyone. Not to his boss, not to his partners, and certainly not to me. Nothing personal. After all, the goal was to catch Kenny. I no longer cared how it was accomplished.
I backed off from Roche and had a few words with Spiro. Yes, Spiro wanted me to tuck him in. And no, he hadn't heard from Kenny.
I used the ladies' room and returned to the Buick. At five o'clock I packed it in, not able to shake the visions of Grandma Mazur getting stuck with an ice pick. I drove back to my apartment, threw some clothes in a laundry basket, added makeup, hair gel, and hair dryer, and dragged the basket out to the car. I went back and fetched Rex, set the answering machine, left the kitchen light burning, and locked the door behind me. The only way I knew to protect Grandma Mazur was to move back home.
“What's this?” my mother said when she saw the glass hamster cage.
“I'm moving in for a few days.”