“I have a low bond FTA that I’d like to clear off the books this morning and then I’m spending the afternoon with Morelli. What about you?”
“There’s a car show downtown that I thought I’d check out. It sounds like something Oswald would like.”
“When’s the car show?”
“From one o’clock to four o’clock.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said.
“What about Morelli?”
“I’ll catch up with him for dinner.”
Diesel grinned. “Can’t resist spending the afternoon with me?”
“You got it. It would be a missed opportunity.”
The missed opportunity would be capturing Oswald. Diesel was a good guy, but he had his own set of rules and code of conduct. His interests weren’t so much about justice as about protecting the interests of his employer. This was a problem because this was no longer about an FTA who was charged with breaking and entering and assaulting a police officer. The stakes were higher now. It was possible that Oswald killed Clark Stupin. If Diesel immediately whisked Oswald off to Who-Knows-Where, Oswald’s unexplained disappearance could leave Morelli with an open case and no closure for Stupin’s family. Not to mention, I would be cheated out of my capture fee.
“I’ll meet you at the bonds office at one o’clock,” Diesel said. “Are you going to finish this cake?”
I pushed the plate over to him. “I’m done. It’s all yours.”
* * *
Connie was unlocking the office door when I arrived. She had a bakery box in one hand and the keys in the other.
“Looks like the bakery is open,” I said.
“It’s open but there are no cannoli until the new refrigeration case arrives.” Connie crossed the room and set the bakery box on her desk. “I heard about Clark Stupin. My cousin Johnny was one of the EMTs that got called out. He said he saw you there.”
“Johnny Ragucci? I didn’t know he was your cousin.”
Connie opened the box and took a doughnut. “Almost everyone is my cousin.”
Lula shuffled in and went straight to the doughnuts. “Thank God,” she said. “I need a doughnut real bad. I’m trashed. I had the worst night. Melvin doesn’t sleep. Every now and then he naps and then he jumps up wide awake and goes on a rant. Sometimes he shouts ‘eureka!’ and then he rushes over to his computer. What the heck’s with that? And he talks all the time. He talks in his sleep. He mumbles when he’s working. He paces and talks to himself. I got a small apartment. It’s one room and a closet. It’s not like I could get away from him. I tried locking him in the bathroom, but I could still hear him talking and tapping on his computer keys. Click, click, click, click all night long. And then he cracks his fingers. He’s a nightmare. Look at me. I got bags under my eyes. It’s not attractive.”
Bags were the least of it. Lula had hair that was straight out of a horror movie. It was like her head had exploded but her hair was still attached to her skull. She was wearing an orange tank top, camouflage sweatpants, and two different-colored spike-heeled pumps.
“Your heels don’t match,” I said.
“Say what?”
“You’re wearing two different shoes. One of them is neutral and the other is black.”
Lula looked down at her feet. “Damn.”
“Where’s Melvin now?” I asked.
“He’s in my car. You gotta take him back. He isn’t even a good time, if you know what I mean. He takes geek to a whole new level.”
I looked over at Connie.
“Don’t even think about it,” Connie said. “Bad enough I have to live with my mother.”
“What are we doing today besides eating doughnuts?” Lula asked.
“I thought we would track down the duck roaster,” I said. I pulled his file out of my messenger bag. “Andy Smutter. Age fifty-six. Homeless. Hangs out at Victory Park.”
“That’s by the college,” Lula said. “It’s a nice park. They got a jogging trail that goes through some woods. I tried it once.”
“Only once?” Connie asked.
“I couldn’t get into the whole pointless running thing,” Lula said. “There should be something at the end of the run… like a deli or a shoe sale, you see what I’m saying? I bet if someone put up a running route that led to barbecue ribs it would be a big hit.”
I put the file back in my bag. “Your car or mine?” I asked Lula.