Three To Get Deadly

Morelli’s pager beeped.

“Christ,” Morelli said. “I hope this is something horrible. A decapitation or maybe a bullet-riddled body found in a Dumpster. Homicide in Trenton is like watching grass grow. We just don’t have enough good ones to go around.”

I opened the door to my car and slid behind the wheel. “Let me know if it turns out to be Mo.”

Morelli had his own keys in hand. His black Toyota 4x4 was parked directly behind me. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

I drove off wondering what to do next. I’d covered all of the information given on Mo’s bond agreement. I’d canvassed the neighborhood, searched his apartment, spoken to his only sister.

After ten minutes of cruising I found myself in the parking lot of my apartment building. The building and the lot were sterile in January. Brick and macadam unsoftened by summer shrubbery. Leaden Jersey sky, dark enough for the streetlights to blink on.

I got out of the car and walked head down to the building’s back entrance, pushed through the double glass doors and was grateful for the sudden warmth.

I stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the second floor, wondering what I’d missed in my search for Bedemier. Usually something popped up in the initial investigation…a girlfriend, a hobby, a favorite bakery or liquor store. Nothing had popped up today.

The elevator doors opened, and I walked the short distance down the hall, planning out phone calls. I could check on Mo’s bank account to see if there were any recent withdrawals. I could check his credit rating. Sometimes a credit check turned up hidden problems. I could run down utilities accounts on a possible second home. I could call Sue Ann Grebek, who knew everything about everyone.

I unlocked my apartment door, stepped into the quiet foyer and took stock of my apartment. My hamster, Rex, was sleeping in the soup can in his glass cage. There were no lights blinking on my answering machine. There were no sounds of big, hairy, snaggle-toothed guys scrambling to hide under my bed.

I dumped my pocketbook on the kitchen counter and draped my jacket over a chair. I poured some milk into a mug, nuked it for two minutes and dumped a couple spoons of instant hot chocolate mix into the hot milk. I added two marshmallows, and while they were getting gooey I made myself a peanut butter sandwich on mushy, worthless white bread.

I took all this, plus my cordless phone, to the dining room table and dialed Sue Ann.

“Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie,” Sue Ann said. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook. Everybody’s talking about how you’re out to get Uncle Mo.”

“I’m not out to get Uncle Mo. He needs to reschedule a court date. It’s no big deal.”

“So why is everybody in such a snit?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Sue Ann said. “Not much to tell. Everybody likes him. He minds his own business. He’s nice to the kids.”

“There must be something. Haven’t you ever heard any rumors?”

“Do you care if they’re true?”

“Not at all.”

“So, in other words, you’re looking for unsubstantiated dirt.”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

“Well?” I asked.

“My niece says sometimes Mo’s store smells like dookey.”

“Yuk.”

“That’s about it,” Sue Ann said.

“That’s not much.”

“He’s a saint. What can I say?”

“Saints don’t smell like dookey,” I told her.

“Maybe old ones do.”

After I talked to Sue Ann I ate my sandwich and drank my cocoa and thought about Moses Bedemier. His apartment had been neat, and his furniture had been worn but comfortable. Sort of like mine. The television set was the focal point of the living room. The TV Guide on the coffee table had been a week old. The food in the fridge had been simple. Lunch meat, bread, juice, milk.

Mo had been living alone for a lot of years, and I suspected his life relied heavily on routine. No real surprises in his apartment. The one note of whimsy had been the movie magazines. A stack of them in the bedroom. Moses Bedemier must have read himself to sleep with soap opera gossip.

I put in a call to my cousin Bunnie at the credit bureau, and drew another blank. There’d been nothing derogatory or recent under either personal or business files.

I tipped back in my chair and stared aimlessly across the room. The window glass was black and reflective. Occasionally headlights flashed into the parking lot below. Car doors slammed. My neighbors were returning from a hard day at whatever.

Mo was missing, and I hadn’t a clue and I didn’t know how to go about getting one. I’d run all the usual drills.