“His kitchen looks clean from here,” Lula said, peering through the window next to the door. “I don’t see dirty dishes or anything on the table. Since he probably can’t walk on his own yet, much less make breakfast, I’m betting he’s not here.”
I called Connie. “I’m at a dead end on Duncan Dugan. He’s not home but his car is here. Can you check hospitals and walk-in medical clinics for me? He’s going to need serious medical care.”
“No problem,” Connie said. “I’ll get right on it.”
I disconnected from Connie in time to see Lula bump the lock on Dugan’s back door.
“Look here,” Lula said. “The door just flew open.”
We stepped inside and I shouted, “Bond enforcement,” to make it legal.
“Crickets,” Lula said. “Only sound I hear is the refrigerator running.”
“I’m going to search the house,” I said to Lula. “Stay in the car with Bob, and don’t let him escape. I won’t be long.”
Ten minutes later I was back behind the wheel.
“Well?” Lula asked. “Did you find anything?”
“He’s very neat. Everything in the refrigerator is perfectly lined up with the labels facing out. No mold on anything. The handle on the refrigerator door wasn’t even sticky. Everything is color coordinated in his closet and all the hangers face the same way. His bed was made with the corners tucked in. No wrinkles anywhere.”
“I bet he presses his linens,” Lula said. “A man like that is hard to find. It’s a shame he had to go break all his bones. It’s gonna be a while before he can hold a steam iron.”
I drove down the alley to the cross street. “He seems to be living alone. One electric toothbrush in the bathroom. The second bedroom is furnished as an office. The desk had a dock with plug-ins for a laptop, a tablet, and a phone. The plug-ins are all labeled.”
“You’d expect that from a man who keeps an orderly refrigerator. A man like that would have a label maker. And I’ll tell you another thing, you wouldn’t expect a man like that to attempt a half-assed robbery of a jewelry store. He’d plan ahead. He’d make a risk assessment. And now that I know this individual, I can’t see him involved in a badly orchestrated suicide. At the time of maximum desperation, he must not have been thinking clearly. I didn’t see signs of any drugs, so he had to be severely organically and without-substance-abuse depressed.”
“That’s your official opinion, Doctor?”
“I studied this shit for a semester at the community college,” Lula said. “I didn’t actually finish the semester, but I read the chapter on the psychology of the criminal, and I watch CSI all the time. Did you find anything good on his laptop?”
“I didn’t see any electronics. No laptop. No tablet. No phone.”
“Did you look in his drawers?”
“I looked everywhere.”
“I’m thinking someone came in and scooped those devices up,” Lula said.
“Yeah. Someone with a key or someone who has better B & E skills than we possess. There was no sign that the lock had been forced open until you jammed a screwdriver in it and whacked it with a hammer.”
“On the other hand, if Duncan Dugan had plans to off himself, he might have removed his laptop from the premises,” Lula said. “He might have given it to a friend or hidden it in a dumpster. Did he leave any clues regarding friends or activities?”
“No. Nothing. No framed photos. No bowling league trophies. The bookcase in his office was empty. No notes-to-self on his desktop. Just a blank pad. There was a Jeopardy! Brain Games book and a crossword puzzle book on an end table in the living room.”
“Most likely he’s too busy organizing his refrigerator to have much of a social life,” Lula said. “There’s only so many hours in the day. You can’t do it all.”
“Dugan didn’t have a lot of pots and pans. His kitchen looked a little like mine, except no hamster. There were two takeout containers in the trash. They were both from Mortin’s Deli. I’m guessing he eats takeout a lot.”
“I know Mortin’s Deli,” Lula said. “It’s excellent. It’s only two blocks from here. When you live two blocks from Mortin’s Deli there’s no reason to cook for yourself. I think we should investigate it to see if anyone knows Dugan. And while we’re there I could get some potato salad and a pastrami sandwich. They make a killer pastrami sandwich.”
Minutes later I parked in the small lot that was attached to the deli.
“We’re going into the deli,” I said to Bob. “You have to stay here. If you’re a good boy, I’ll bring you a treat.”
Bob gave me a steady stare.
“I wouldn’t take that as a definitively positive answer,” Lula said. “I don’t think he understands English.”
“He understands,” I said. “Don’t let that dumb look fool you.” I pointed my finger at Bob. “Listen, mister. I’m serious. If you so much as lick a piece of upholstery there’s no treat.”
I cracked a window, and Lula and I exited the car.
“Boy, you’re tough,” Lula said. “You even had me convinced for a minute.”
“Only a minute?”
“Yeah. I know you’ll cave. He could eat his way through the entire back seat, and you’ll still give him the treat if he gives you that I’m sorry look with his big brown eyes. You’re a sucker for brown eyes. I bet you never slept with a man with blue eyes.”
“My ex-husband had blue eyes.”
“Well, I guess that explains a lot.”
Mortin’s Deli had a few booths, but the bulk of their business was takeout. Cold cuts, cheeses, hot and cold entrées, salads, sides, sandwiches, soups. Carrot cake, cheesecake, decadent chocolate cake, and lemon meringue pie were displayed under glass domes on the counter. Two women were drinking coffee in a booth. An elderly man was checking out at the register. Lula and I went to the back of the deli, where the offerings of the day were written on a chalkboard attached to the wall.
“I want a tub of the egg potato salad,” Lula told the woman behind the counter. “Give me some with the little bacon sprinkles on top. And then I want a pastrami sandwich and a piece of the chocolate cake.”
The woman looked at me. “Would you like something as well?”
“Nothing for me,” I said, “but I was wondering about a friend. I know he got takeout here. Duncan Dugan. I went to his house just now and he wasn’t at home.”
“He’s a regular here,” she said. “Kale salad with grilled chicken. I haven’t seen him in a couple days.”
“Does he ever come in with anybody?”
“Sometimes he was with a woman. I think she might be his sister. At least, he calls her Sissy. She gets chicken salad on a croissant.”
“Dark brown hair cut short, medium build, and medium height?” I asked. “Kind of reminds you of Lucy from the Peanuts cartoon?”
“Yeah. They pay separate. Duncan pays with a credit card and the woman pays cash.”