A few people looked in my direction and whispered behind their memorial programs.
Spiro bowed out on his audience and signaled me to follow him into the kitchen. He grabbed the big silver cookie plate on his way, ignoring Roche, who was once again positioned at the tea table.
“Do you believe this bunch of losers?” Spiro said, emptying a bag of bulk-bought supermarket cookies onto the plate. “They're eating me out of house and home. I should be charging after-hours admission to see Loosey's Stump.”
“Anything new from Kenny?”
“Nothing. I think he's shot his wad. Which brings me to business at hand. I don't need you anymore.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Things have quieted down.”
“That's it?”
“Yeah. That's it.” He swung out the kitchen door with the cookies and slapped them down on the table. “How're you doing?” he asked Roche. “I see your brother's getting some overflow from Loosey. Probably a bunch of people going in there wondering about your brother's state of affairs, if you know what I mean. You notice I gave him a half-casket viewing tonight so no one could try copping a feel.”
Roche looked like he might choke. “Thanks,” he said. “Glad you're thinking ahead.”
I went back to Morelli and gave him the news.
Morelli was lost in the shadows of the dark van. “Sudden.”
“I think Kenny's got the guns. I think we gave Spiro a place to start looking, he passed it on to Kenny, and Kenny lucked out. And now the heat's off Spiro.”
“It's possible.”
I had my car keys in hand. “I'm going to check on Sandeman. See if he's come home yet.”
I parked half a block from Sandeman's rooming house, on the opposite side of the street. Morelli parked directly behind me. We stood for a moment on the sidewalk, taking in the bulky house, black against blue night sky. Harsh light poured from a shadeless downstairs window. Upstairs two orange rectangles gave muted testimony to li
fe within the front rooms.
“What kind of car does he drive?” I asked Morelli.
“He's got a hog and a Ford pickup.”
We didn't see either on the street. We followed the driveway to the back of the house and found the Harley. No windows were lit in any of the rear rooms. No light in Sandeman's upstairs window. No one sat on the stoop. The back door was unlocked. The hall leading from the back door was dim, lit by a bare 40-watt bulb hanging from an overhead fixture in the front foyer. Television sounds escaped from one of the upstairs rooms.
Morelli stopped in the foyer for a moment, listening to the house, before continuing on to the second floor and then the third floor. The third floor was dark and quiet. Morelli listened at Sandeman's door. He shook his head no. No noise coming from Sandeman's room.
He went to the window, opened it, and looked out. “It would be unethical for me to break into his apartment,” Morelli said.
As opposed to downright illegal for me.
Morelli glanced at the heavy-duty flashlight I held in my hand. “Of course a bounty hunter would have the authority to go in after her man.”
“Only if she was convinced her man was in there.”
Morelli looked at me expectantly.
I peeked out at the fire escape. “It's really rickety,” I told him.
“Yeah,” he said. “I noticed that. It might not hold me.” He put a finger under my chin and gazed into my eyes. “I bet it would hold a dainty little thing like you.”
I am many things. Dainty isn't one of them. I took a deep breath and angled myself out onto the fire escape. Iron joints groaned, and rusted metal shards flaked off underfoot and fell to the ground. I whispered an oath and inched toward Sandeman's window.
I cupped my hands to the glass and looked inside. The interior was blacker than black. I tried the window. It was unlocked. I gave the bottom window a shove, and it rose halfway and stuck.