He laughed so hard tears appeared in the corners of his eyes, glistening in the streetlights that shone through the windows. “I’m sorry,” Jerry said, gasping. He threw up a hand, struggling to control his laughter. Then he started all over again. “You should see the look on your face. ‘Take me out’? Jesus Christ, that was funny.”
Morris didn’t see the humor. “You finished, asshole? I meant what I said.”
“I could take you.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
Jerry shook his head as his laughter subsided. “You’re worse than a five-year-old.”
“Okay, let’s go,” Morris said, pushing down the door handle again.
Jerry placed a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.” His voice was gentle. “Just wait. Give me five minutes. Let me call Torrance. At least let him know we’re here, in case something goes wrong. Hell, it’s a long shot, but maybe I can convince him to reopen the case based on the tape. Sheila was with a strange man the night she was last seen, possibly drugged, as you said. Who knows, it could be grounds for a search.” He looked dubious, but he flipped open his cell phone anyway. “Just calm down and give me five stinking minutes.”
Morris sat back in his seat and made a show of checking his watch. “Four minutes fifty-five seconds,” he said, but only because it made him feel better.
Ethan watched the black Honda Accord from a window at the front of the house, peering between two curtains. He knew they couldn’t see him; all his lights were off and the house was dark. The car door had opened for a second, illuminating two faces in heated discussion. Then it had closed again.
His instincts told him they weren’t coming inside. Not tonight, anyway. The PI was an ex-cop, and no doubt he was explaining to Morris right now that they had no cause, no justification.
Ethan turned away from the window and walked back toward the basement door. It bolted automatically behind him.
If they wanted to come after him, they’d have to shoot their way in.
CHAPTER 35
J erry spoke in serious tones before finally hanging up the phone. Morris had been listening to one side of the conversation and needed no explanation.
“This is bullshit and you know it,” Morris fumed, his hand back on the passenger door. “You both have your heads up your asses. I knew Torrance wasn’t gonna help.” He was out of the car before Jerry could stop him.
Morris dashed across the street, crossing Wolfe’s front yard in five long strides, and rang the doorbell without hesitating.
Nobody answered. He rang the bell again, holding his ear to the door. Unable to make out any sounds or movements from inside the house, he rang the bell once again and listened to the echo of the chime within. Frustrated, he pounded on the thick door with his fist.
A light went on in the house next door.
Jerry had been hovering on the sidewalk, seemingly unwilling to set foot on Wolfe’s property. But when Morris shouted at full volume, Jerry was on the porch in three seconds.
“Sheila!” Morris bellowed, banging on Wolfe’s door several more times. His deep baritone rang out in the sleeping neighborhood.
“All right, all right.” Jerry grabbed Morris’s arm. “Enough!”
“Go to hell.” Morris wrangled his arm away while continuing to bang on the door with his other fist. “Sheila!”
Jerry made a move to grab Morris’s other arm. Before Morris could stop himself, his clenched fist socked the private investigator right in the eye.
Jerry fell backward over the steps and onto the wet grass. He landed on his ass, legs splaying out awkwardly in front of him, pants hiking up to expose white athletic socks stuck into black running shoes.
“Aw fuck,” Jerry said, his hand at his face. “You ass. I can’t believe you hit me.”
Morris stared at Jerry in horror, the knuckles on his right hand aching from where he’d struck hard orbital bone. He staggered down the porch steps and reached out a hand. “Jesus Christ, man. I’m sorry.”
Jerry touched his eye gingerly with one finger and ignored him. Even in the dim light, Morris could see the man’s face scrunched up in pain. Morris felt a wave of shame roll over him.
The sound of a door opening caught the attention of both men.
An elderly lady stepped out onto the front porch of the house next door. She was dressed in a long flannel nightgown, her hair in rollers and tucked under some kind of net cap. Bony arms crossed defiantly over her chest, and her eyes darted back and forth between Jerry and Morris. “What’s going on out here?” Her voice was shrill. “I’ve called security!”
As if on cue, a small, white car with a familiar green logo pulled up. Henry the security guard stepped out. He shone his flashlight at Wolfe’s house.
“What’s going on, guys?” Henry kept his voice low, but another light flickered on from a house across the street. “I’ve received a noise complaint.”
Jerry got to his feet. His jeans were dark where the wet grass had soaked them. “Everything’s fine, Henry.”
The security guard stared at the PI’s swelling face. “Everything doesn’t look fine.”
Jerry waved a hand. “Just a misunderstanding.”
Henry looked at the two men. “Did something happen with Mr. Wolfe?” he stage-whispered.
“Nothing to be concerned about.” Jerry used his best cop’s voice. “We’re leaving. Sorry for the disturbance, ma’am,” he called to the elderly lady, still watching them with birdlike intensity. “Please go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
The woman ignored his apologies. “Everything okay, Henry?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine, Mrs. Hoffer.” The guard tried to smile, but it was clear he was as rattled as she was. “It’s under control, ma’am.”
“I told my son and his floozy wife not to move to this ghetto neighborhood. If it weren’t for my grandchildren, I wouldn’t step foot here.” Grumbling, the old woman started back inside. “But no, he says, the East Side’s too expensive. Too uppity, too crowded…” Her voice trailed off as she went back into the house. The door slammed behind her.
Henry looked uncomfortable. “Did you guys get what you needed? Because you should get going now. If you’re not visiting anyone here…” He nodded toward Wolfe’s house.
“We’re done,” Jerry said, more to Morris than the security guard.
It was a long ride back to Seattle. Morris tried to apologize several more times, but each attempt was met with icy silence. When Jerry pulled into the empty parking lot where Morris had left his car earlier, he gave it one more shot.
“I’m really sorry.”
Jerry’s eye had swollen considerably since they’d left Lake Stevens. Morris knew his words were probably meaningless, but he forged ahead anyway. “I went a little nuts. You didn’t deserve it, God knows.”
Jerry cut the engine. “I’d say it’s okay, but you know what, man? It’s not. I was trying to help you back there, trying to stop you from doing something that might get you arrested, not to mention embarrass you and push Sheila away, but-”
“I was too pigheaded to listen. I know. I can be a total ass.”
Jerry shook his head. “I can’t stop you from going back there if that’s what you’re gonna do. You’re as stubborn as a bull, Morris.” Jerry touched his face and winced. “But I hope you don’t. You hired me to find Sheila and I finally have a solid lead. But she’s not found yet. Do you want me to keep doing my job or not?”
“I do.” Morris felt terrible about hitting Jerry. The goddamned alcohol was making him crazy and paranoid and stupid.
“From now on you stay out of it. I’ll call you if I learn anything, but I work by myself. As I always have.”
Morris tried to think of a polite way to say what he needed to say. He chose his words carefully. “I understand
