'He was driving a two-tone Suburban. He saw Grandma and me parked on Hamilton. He made a U-turn and rammed us from behind. Twice. Then Grandma jumped out of the car and shot at him, and he drove away.'
'That's the lamest story I've ever heard.'
'It's true!'
Grandma stuck her head out the door. 'What's going on out here?'
'He thinks I made up the story about Kenny hitting us with the Suburban.' Grandma snagged the tote bag from the hal table. She rummaged through it, came up with the .45-long barrel, and aimed it at Morelli.
'Jesus!' Morelli said, ducking out of the way, taking the gun from Grandma. 'Where the hell did you get this cannon?'
'Borrowed it,' Grandma said. 'And I used it on your no-good cousin, but he got away.' Morelli studied his shoes for a beat before speaking. 'I don't suppose this gun is registered?'
'What do you mean?' Grandma asked. 'Registered where?'
'Get rid of it,' Morelli said to me. 'Get it out of my sight.' I shoved Grandma back inside with the gun and closed the door. 'I'll take care of it,' I said to Morelli. 'I'l make sure it's returned to its owner.'
'So this ridiculous story is true?'
'Where were you? Why didn't you see any of this?'
'I was relieving Roche. I was watching the funeral home. I wasn't watching my car.' He glanced over at the Buick. 'No damage?'
'Scratched the rear bumper.'
'Does the army know about this car?'
I thought it was time to remind Morelli of my usefulness. 'Did you run a check on Spiro's guns?'
'They all checked out. Registered nice and legal.'
So much for usefulness.
'Stephanie,' my mother called from inside. 'Are you out there without a coat? You're going to catch your death.'
'Speaking of death,' Morelli said. 'They found a body to go with your foot. It floated into one of the bridge supports this morning.'
'Sandeman?'
'Yeah.'
'You think Kenny is self-destructing, looking to get caught?'
'I think it's not that complicated. He's a squirrel. This started out as a clever way to make a lot of money. Something went wrong, the operation got fucked up, and Kenny couldn't handle it. Now he's wound up so tight his eyes are crossed, and he's looking for people to blame . . . Moogey, Spiro, you.'
'He's lost it, hasn't he?'
'Big time.'
'You think Spiro is as crazy as Kenny?'
'Spiro isn't crazy. Spiro is small.'
It was true. Spiro was a pimple on the burg's butt. I glanced over at Morelli's car. It didn't look drivable. 'You need a ride somewhere?'
'I can manage.'
