because he was scaring me to death. My heart was pounding in my chest, echoing in my ears.
'What will you do now?' I asked him.
'You mean after I kill you? I guess I'll go home. Or maybe I'll just get in my car and drive somewhere. I have lots of money. I don't need to go back to the bank if I don't want to.'
Shempsky was sweating, and under the flush on his cheeks his face was pale. 'Christ,' he said. 'I really feel sick.' He stood up and pointed the gun at me. 'You got any cold medicine?'
'Just aspirin.'
'I need more than aspirin. I'd like to sit and talk some more, but I gotta get some cold medicine. I bet I have a fever.'
'You don't look good.'
'I bet my face is all flushed.'
'Yeah, and your eyes are glassy.'
There was a scraping sound on the fire escape outside my window, and we both swiveled our heads to look. We saw only darkness beyond the broken pane.
Shempsky turned back to me and cocked the hammer on his revolver. 'Now hold still so I kill you with the first bullet. It's better that way. There's a lot less mess. And if I shoot you in the heart, you can have an open casket. I know everybody likes that.'
We both took a deep breath—me to die, and Shempsky to aim. And in that instant the air was pierced with a bloodcurdling roar of rage and lunacy. And Ramirez filled the window, his face contorted, his eyes small and evil.
Shempsky instinctively whirled and fired, emptying his gun in Ramirez.
I wasted no time running. I
'Goodness,' Mrs. Keene said, 'you certainly are having a full night. What now?'
'Your gun! Give me your gun!'
I called the police and went back upstairs with the gun in my hand. My apartment door was wide open. Shempsky was gone. And Briggs was still alive in my closet.
I ripped the tape off. 'Are you okay?'
'Shit,' he said. 'I messed my pants.'
* * * * *
THE UNIFORMS CAME first, then the paramedics and finally the homicide detectives and the medical examiner. They had an easy time finding my apartment. Most of them had been there before. Morelli had arrived with the uniforms.
It was now three hours later, and the party was winding down. I'd given my statement, and the only thing left was to get Ramirez into a body bag and haul him off my fire escape. Rex and I had set up camp in the kitchen while the professionals did their thing. Randy Briggs gave his statement and left, deciding his apartment without a door was safer than living with me.
Rex still looked perky, but I was exhausted. I was all out of adrenaline, and I felt like my blood level was a pint low.
Morelli wandered in, and for the first time all night we had a moment alone together. 'You should be relieved,' he said. 'You don't have to worry about Ramirez anymore.'
I nodded. 'It's a terrible thing to say, but I'm glad he's dead. Any word on Shempsky?'
'Nobody's seen him or his car. He didn't go home.'
'I think he's flipped out. And he has the flu. He looked really bad.'
'You'd look bad too if you were wanted for multiple murders. We're leaving a uniform here tonight to make sure no one comes in through your window, but it's going to be cold in your bedroom. Probably you want to stay someplace else. My vote's for my house.'
'I'd feel safe at your house,' I said. 'Thanks.'
The gurney with the body clattered over the hall floor and rolled out my door. My stomach lurched, and I reached for Morelli. He pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me. 'You'll feel better tomorrow,' he said. 'You just need some sleep.'
'Before I forget. You left a message on my machine that you needed to talk to me.'
'We brought Harvey Tipp in for questioning, and he squealed like a pig. I wanted to warn you about Shempsky.'
* * * * *
I WOKE UP to the sun streaming in through Morelli's bedroom window, but no Morelli next to me. I had a dim recollection of falling asleep on the ride to his house. And falling asleep again, next to Morelli. I had no recollection of any kind of sexual encounter. I was wearing a T-shirt and underpants. Since the underpants were on me and not on the floor that probably told me something.
I got out of bed and padded barefoot into the bathroom. There was a damp bath towel hanging on the hook on the door. A set of clean towels had been set out for me, neatly stacked on the tub. A note was taped to the mirror over the sink. 'Had to leave for work early,' the note said. 'Make yourself at home.' He also confirmed what I'd suspected—that I'd zonked out the minute my head hit the pillow. And since Morelli appreciated response to his lovemaking, he'd passed on last night's opportunity to collect on his debt.
