Shempsky swerved in front of me, jumping out of his lane. He passed two cars, then swerved back. He was approaching the terminal, and he was panicking, determined to lose me. He changed lanes again and sideswiped a blue van. He overcorrected and crashed into the back of an SUV. Everyone stopped behind the accident. I was four cars back, and I couldn't get closer. No one was moving.
Shempsky was boxed in with his right front fender smashed into his right front wheel. I saw his door open. He was going to bolt. I hurled myself out of the car and hit the pavement running. Ahmed was behind me. And behind him was Grandma.
Shempsky pushed through the curbside check-?in, dodging people with kids and bags. I lost him for a moment in the crowded terminal, then picked him out just ahead of me. I ran as fast as I could, not caring who I knocked over. I lunged when I was almost on Shempsky's heels, and I snagged his jacket. Ahmed grabbed Shempsky hal
f a second after me, and the three of us went down. We rolled around a little, but Shempsky didn't put up much of a fight.
Ahmed and I had Shempsky pinned to the ground when Grandma came clattering up on her patent pumps. She had her gun in her hand and both our handbags tucked into the crook of her arm. “You should never leave your purse in the car,” she said. “Do you need a gun?”
“No,” I told her. “Put the gun away and give me my cuffs.”
She searched through my bag, found the cuffs, handed them to me, and I clapped them on Shempsky.
Ahmed and I got to our feet, and we all did a high five with each other. And then we did a down low. And then Ahmed and Grandma did some complicated hand thing that I couldn't get the hang of.
CONSTANTINE STIVA STOOD at the entrance to the viewing room, keeping a close watch on the casket at the far end. Grandma Mazur and Mabel stood at the head of the casket, accepting condolences and making apologies.
“We're real sorry,” Grandma Mazur said to Mrs. Patucci. “We had to have a closed casket on account of Fred was in the ground two weeks before we found him and the worms had eaten a lot of his face.”
“That's such a shame,” Mrs. Patucci said. “It takes something away when you can't see the deceased.”
“I feel just like that, too,” Grandma said. “But Stiva couldn't do nothing with him, and he wouldn't let us leave the lid up.”
Mrs. Patucci turned and looked at Stiva. Stiva gave a small sympathetic nod and smiled.
“That Stiva,” Mrs. Patucci said.
“Yeah, and he's watching us like a hawk,” Grandma told her.
Allen Shempsky had buried Fred in a shallow grave in a little patch of woods across from the pet cemetery on Klockner Road. He'd claimed he'd shot Fred by accident, but that was hard to believe since the fatal bullet had gone dead center between Fred's eyes.
Fred had been exhumed early Friday morning, the autopsy had been done on Monday, and now it was Wednesday and Fred was having an evening viewing. Mabel seemed to be enjoying herself, and Fred would have been pleased by the crowd he got, so I guess everything turned out okay.
I was at the back of the room, to one side of the door, counting the minutes until I could leave. I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, staring down at the carpet, not especially anxious to engage in conversation about Fred or Shempsky.
A pair of motorcycle boots entered my field of vision. They were attached to Levi's-?clad legs I knew all too well.
“Hey, Hotstuff,” Morelli said. “Having fun?”
“Yeah. I love viewings. The Rangers are playing Pittsburgh, but that can't compare to a viewing. Long time, no see.”
“Not since you went into a coma fully dressed in my bedroom.”
“I didn't wake up fully dressed.”
“You noticed.”
I felt my face flush. “I guess you've been busy.”
“I had to wrap up the case with Treasury. They wanted Vito in Washington, and Vito wanted me to go with him. I just got back this afternoon.”
“I caught Shempsky.”
This brought a smile. “I heard. Congratulations.”
“I still don't understand why he felt it necessary to kill people. Wasn't he just doing his banker thing by opening accounts for clients?”
“He was supposed to pass the money through to a bank in the Caymans and establish tax-?free accounts. The trouble was Shempsky was skimming the skimmers. When Lipinski and Curly panicked and wanted their money, the money wasn't there.”