Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
Connie was getting ready to close up shop when Lula and I rolled in.
“Just in time,” Connie said, handing me a folder. “I printed the background reports for you. The laundromat is owned by Zoran’s uncle. Sergei Djordjevic. He owns seven other laundromats in Central Jersey and four car washes. I gave you his address. He lives in North Trenton. Ludlow Street. There’s also some information on Zoran’s deceased wife. And just for giggles I ran a search for missing women in Zoran’s neighborhood and came up with three in the past six years.”
“Any of them named Rosa or Julie?”
Connie froze for a beat. “Rosa Sanchez and Julie Werly. The third is Marianne Markoni. I included the police report that was filed for missing persons. Sanchez and Markoni were hookers working Stark Street. Rented rooms in a tenement on Freemont. One block from the laundromat. Werly was a schoolteacher. Second grade. Lived with her parents two houses down from Zoran.”
“I’m not liking this,” Lula said. “This is freaking me out. We got a serial vampire on the loose.”
“I need to close the office,” Connie said. “Mom needs a ride home from mahjong at the senior center and then we’re going to House of Chen for dinner. Vinnie came by while you were out, and he’s making noise about bringing Bruno Jug in. Apparently, he’s getting pressure from Harry. Turns out Vinnie shouldn’t have bonded Jug out in the first place. From what I could piece together, Harry made a remark about Jug’s dog and as a result didn’t get invited to Jug’s Christmas party. The result is that Harry and Jug make the Hatfields and McCoys look like best buds. It also seems that they’re now stepping on each other’s toes crime-wise.”
The bail bonds office was a legitimate business, but Harry had his finger in other pies that were questionable and some that were not even close to legitimate.
“I’m waiting for Jug to call me,” I said. “We have an arrangement.”
“If Jug doesn’t call in the next two hours, that arrangement is going to have to be reorganized,” Connie said.
I tucked the folder into my messenger bag. “Got it.”
“It’s my quitting time too,” Lula said. “I got a dinner date tonight with my honey.”
“Are you still seeing the guy who renovated your apartment?” I asked her.
“You bet I am,” Lula said. “He might even be the one .”
“What about the guy who lives next door to you in your apartment house?” Connie asked. “The one who looks like Sasquatch.”
“He’s the other one ,” Lula said.
So far, I didn’t have a dinner date and that was the way I wanted it. I was on a countdown to Friday, when I could take a pregnancy test. We all left the office, got into our cars, and drove off in different directions. I took Hamilton to South Olden and crossed Route 1. I was on my way to Zoran’s uncle’s house in North Trenton. Zoran couldn’t go home. Where would he go? To a relative? To a friend? He needed to change out of his bloody clothes. He needed to eat and to find a place to hide out and sleep. Transportation was limited. He didn’t have use of his truck. He’d have to walk or steal a car or use public transportation. Public transportation would be awkward being that he was soaked in blood.
I turned onto Ludlow Street and parked in front of Sergei Djordjevic’s house. It was a two-story house that was most likely built in the thirties or forties by someone with a young family and a modest income. It was slightly larger than my parents’ house, but I was guessing the interior layout was similar. The house next door was an exact structural replica, but the owner had fancied up the front of his house by adding a fake brick exterior.
Lights were on in all the houses. The occupants were in pre-dinner mode. Kids doing homework. Televisions spewing news. Dinner was in the microwave.
I knocked on Djordjevic’s door and a man answered. He was wearing a dress shirt with the top button open. No tie. Drink in his hand. Some kind of whiskey on the rocks. Fangs showing.
“Sergei?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“If I could have a moment, I’d like to talk to you about your nephew Zoran.”
“Are you police? Newspaper? I’ve already talked to the police. I have nothing more to say.”
I gave him my card. “I know this is a bad time, but Zoran missed his court date. If he doesn’t reschedule, he’ll be considered a felon.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s reason to arrest him.”
“The police told me that Zoran is a person of interest in the laundromat tragedy,” Sergei said. “I’m sure you already know this.”
“I knew there was a murder. You’re his uncle, and he works for you. I thought he might have come here to get away from everything.”
“Not on a Wednesday,” Sergei said. “Everybody knows we have pot roast on Wednesday.” He cut his eyes in the direction of the kitchen. “My wife burns it black. She says it makes dark gravy that way.” He sipped his whiskey. “She’s a terrible cook.”
“Do you know where I might find Zoran?”
“No. He’s a loner. Doesn’t share a lot, but he’s a good man and an excellent employee. Keeps the laundromat clean and the machines in order. He’s been my manager for almost six years. I’m sure he had nothing to do with what happened to that woman.”
I knew he had everything to do with what happened to that woman , but I wasn’t going to argue with a man who had fangs. “If you happen to talk to Zoran, let him know that I’m available to help him reschedule. It would be in his own best interest.”
I left Sergei to deal with his charred pot roast, and I headed home. I had a brief moment when I considered stopping at Bruno’s house, but I decided against it. Better to deal with Bruno’s office henchmen than his trigger-happy wife.
I walked into my apartment and found Herbert in my kitchen.
“Hi,” he said. “I bet you’re surprised to see me here. I didn’t call you ahead or anything because I wanted to surprise you. You’re surprised, right? Wait until you see what I did!”
“Oh jeez. Don’t tell me you did something.”
“Not all by myself. I could have done it by myself, but it would have taken longer, and I thought you would want to have it done right away. If it was me, that’s what I’d want. I’m not good at waiting to get things done. It’s not like I’m impatient or anything, it’s just that I’m not a procrastinator. I only allow myself to have good qualities. Nicky and Walter helped me. They just left. If you’d gotten home fifteen minutes sooner, you could have met them.”
“What did you do?”
“I painted your apartment. You can tell, right? There aren’t any more black fire smudge marks. They were hard to cover but we did it. Your bedroom is Sea Salt. It’s the most calming bedroom color. The rest of the apartment is a cream with a hint of yellow. It’s a neutral but it’s sunny during the day and cozy at night. That’s what it said in the advertisement in the paint store.”
I walked into the living room. It was transformed. “Wow,” I said. “I can’t believe you did this. It’s beautiful.”
“We didn’t get paint on any of your furniture either. And the new-paint smell masks the campfire smell. I hope you weren’t attached to the campfire smell. We used water-based paint, but it still has a little new-paint smell to it. I like the new-paint smell, but I understand that it’s not everyone’s favorite.”
I walked into the bedroom. Herbert was right about the calming effect. It was a very peaceful, restful color.
“Now that we’re in your bedroom maybe you’ll have sex with me,” Herbert said. “I’m very good at it. I’ve read a lot of books and watched a lot of videos and I’ve had some hands-on experience, if you’ll excuse the pun. I’m especially popular with older women.”
“It was nice of you to paint my apartment, but I’m not having sex with you. Ever.”
“Ever is a long time. I won’t hold you to ever. And you’ll feel different when the carpet arrives.”
“Carpet?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be here to accept delivery tomorrow and check it all out. You can be here too, if you want, but I know you have work to do. My work hours are flexible. Sometimes I work in the morning and sometimes I work in the afternoon and sometimes I work at night. You’ll like the carpet. It’s a nice dense-weave poly in a neutral color. I got a good deal on a bulk roll. There’s enough for your whole apartment. I even walked on a sample with my bare feet to make sure it felt good. Some carpets can be scratchy. I don’t like those carpets.”
“How are you getting into my apartment?”
“You left your door open.”
“My door was locked when I left.”
“Are you sure? Because I was able to walk right in.”
“It was locked.”
“Maybe the building super let me in, now that I think about it. He was happy to hear we were painting. And I might have bribed him a little.”
“You have to leave now.”
“Without sex first?”
“Get out.”
“Okay, how about dinner if you don’t want to have sex? I have connections to get fast service at many restaurants.”
“OUT!”
He looked at his watch. “I have things to do anyway. I guess I’ll go now, but you should eat something. You’ll feel better after you eat something. I always feel better after I eat. I’m not one of those people who likes to feel hungry.”
I maneuvered him to the door, shoved him out, and closed and locked the door.
“I can have something delivered,” he yelled through the door. “How about Chinese? Or maybe sushi or a burger. You can’t go wrong with a burger and fries. I like Swiss on my burger but some people like cheddar.”
“I don’t want something delivered,” I yelled back. “Do not have something delivered. I have dinner plans.”
“Me too, now that I think about it,” he said. “People are always wanting to have dinner with me.”
I leaned against the door and looked at my apartment. It was shockingly better. Herbert and his friends did a really good job. Probably I should have been more grateful. I mean, would it have killed me to have dinner with him? The answer was maybe . Maybe a bullet in the brain would have been less horrible than dinner with Herbert. I went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. Stale bread, peanut butter, and olives. Perfect.
I had dinner on my dining room table while I read the information Connie had printed out for me. Rosa Sanchez disappeared a year ago. She was working the night shift on Stark Street and never returned to her two-room apartment. It was as if she vanished into thin air. No sign of violence on the street or at her rooming house. Marianne disappeared three years ago. Same deal. Just vanished. No clues left behind. Julie Werly was a different story. Six months ago, her parents came home from dinner out with friends and found a trail of blood from the couch in the living room to the back door and out into the backyard. Forensics came back positive that the blood belonged to Julie, but her body was never found. No murder weapon was found. The case was still open but inactive. I needed to talk to Morelli about Julie Werly. I checked the time. It was almost seven o’clock. Morelli would be at the poker game. Not a good time to call him. It would have to wait until the morning.
Zoran’s deceased wife was next up. Elena Stockard Djordjevic. She lived in Seattle all her life. Graduated from Cal Tech. Worked at Boeing. She was married to Zoran for fourteen months and didn’t come home from work one day. Her car was found parked at a scenic overlook rest stop. It was locked. No sign of violence. The missing persons report was filed two days later. A massive manhunt had combed the area around the rest stop, but nothing was found. Three weeks later, the remains of a leg washed up on a beach and DNA identified it as belonging to Elena.
Gross! Yuck! I was going to have nightmares. I took my MacBook Air to my couch and searched for a movie. I settled on Coneheads . One of my all-time favorites. After Coneheads I watched some Bridgerton episodes. I crawled into my new bed a little after eleven. I turned my bedside light off and lay perfectly still in the dark room. I’d hoped to bring Bridgerton into bed with me, but my mind was stuck on bloody women and severed limbs.
The message app flashed on my phone. I grabbed the phone off the nightstand and read the text. I’m coming in. Crap! It was Ranger, thoughtfully assuring me that I wasn’t having a home invasion by a random molester. Instead, I was having a home invasion by Ranger. The news produced a rush of panic in me that was equal to what the random-molester panic would have been. Bad enough that Ranger was at my door, but it was even worse that I was in bed wearing nothing more than a silky camisole and panties because I hadn’t gotten around to replacing my cremated pajamas. Not a problem, I told myself. Just stick to the script. It had worked with Morelli, right? Sort of.
I didn’t have to get up to let Ranger in, and I couldn’t keep him out. The man of mystery was a security expert. He was able to open two dead bolts, a slide chain, and a bump-proof lock without breaking a sweat. I switched my light on and sat up in bed. I heard my front door open and close, and I heard all the locks click back into the locked position. Moments later, Ranger walked in. He was wearing Rangeman black fatigues, a Kevlar vest, and a gun belt.
“Long day?” I asked him.
“There was an incident at one of my accounts.”
“And?”
“It’s been resolved. I was in the area, so I thought this was a chance to get together. I wasn’t going to stay long. I have paperwork backed up on my desk, but now that I’m here I’m thinking the paperwork can wait one more day.” He tossed his vest into a corner of the room and dropped his gun belt on top of it. “I’m assuming we’re still engaged.”
“Sure,” I said. “Do you still want to be engaged?”
“At this exact moment I’m a hundred percent in.”
Ranger removed his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. He was of Hispanic descent and had skin the color of a deep tan. His body was perfect. Hard muscle in all the right places. Six-pack abs. Nice butt. Exquisite privates. He took the shirt off and unzipped his cargo pants, and I felt my nipples tingle. I looked down and saw that they were standing at attention, poking into the silky camisole. Jeez Louise! I grabbed the quilt and pulled it up over my tinglers.
“Hold on,” I said. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Ranger’s phone buzzed and he checked the screen. “It’s going to have to wait. The incident I just resolved has turned into an explosion and raging inferno. I need to get back there.”
I was saved by the inferno. Huge relief. I didn’t have to tell another fib. I watched him get dressed and had a twinge of regret that he hadn’t gotten past the cargo pants.