“Uh-huh. Funny thing about the body. Looked like whoever killed Brown had him tossed into the Dumpster. And then someone came along last night, dragged the body out of the Dumpster and pumped half a clip into him.”
“No!”
“Yes. It gets even funnier. Two of the RiverEdge residents came forward, saying they heard a bunch of women arguing in the lot, late at night, then they heard gunshots. When they looked out their windows what do you suppose they saw?”
“What?”
“Three cars leaving the lot. One of them was an old Buick. They thought it might be powder blue with a white top.”
“Did they get a plate? Did they see the women?”
“No.”
“Guess that's a tough break for you guys, huh?”
“I thought you might be able to shed some light on the incident.”
“Am I talking to you as a cop this morning?”
“Shit,” Morelli said. “I don't want to hear this.”
“So, is it against the law to shoot someone after he's already dead?”
“Yes, it's against the law.”
I made a small grimace. “I thought it would be. Just exactly what law is it against?”
“I don't know,” Morelli said. “But I'm sure there's something. I suppose there were extenuating circumstances.”
“A woman scorned . . .”
“Is this scorned woman going to come forward?”
“She's going into detox.”
“Your job description reads 'bounty hunter,' ” Morelli said. “Social worker is a whole different job.”
r /> “You want some coffee?”
He shook his head, no. “I've got paperwork. Then I've got an autopsy.”
I watched him walk down the hall and disappear into the elevator. Only an idiot would think they could talk to Morelli and not be talking to Morelli the cop. Cops never stopped being cops. It had to be the world's hardest job.
Trenton cops wore more hats than I could name. They were arbitrators, social workers, peacekeepers, baby-sitters and law enforcers. The job was boring, terrifying, disgusting, exhausting and often made no sense at all. The pay was abysmal, the hours were inhuman, the department budget was a joke, the uniforms were short in the crotch. And year after year after year, the Trenton cops held the city together.
Rex was in his soup can, butt side out, half buried under wood shavings, hunkered in for his morning nap. I cracked a walnut and dropped it into his cage. After a moment there was movement under the wood shavings. Rex backed himself out, snatched half of the walnut and carried it into his can. I watched a couple minutes longer, but the show was over.
I checked my pocketbook to make sure I had the essentials . . . beeper, tissues, hair spray, flashlight, cuffs, lipstick, gun with bullets, recharged cell phone, recharged stun gun, hairbrush, gum, pepper spray, nail file. Was I a kick-ass bounty hunter, or what?
I grabbed my keys and stuffed myself into my jacket. First thing on my agenda was a visit to the office. I wanted to make sure Jackie was holding up her part of the bargain.
The sky felt low and forbidding over the parking lot, and the air was as cold as a witch's fadiddy. The lock was frozen on the Buick, and the windshield was coated with ice. I hammered on the lock, but it wouldn't break loose, so I trekked back to my apartment and got some deicer and a plastic scraper. Ten minutes later, I had my door open, the heater going full blast, and I'd chipped a squint hole in the ice on my windshield.
I slid behind the wheel, tested the hole for vision and decided it would do if I didn't drive too fast. By the time I got to Vinnie's I was nice and toasty and could see my entire hood, not to mention the road. Jackie's Chrysler was parked in front of the office. I took the slot behind her and hustled inside.
Jackie was pacing in front of Connie's desk.
“Don't see why I need to do this,” Jackie was saying. “It isn't like I can't control myself. It isn't like I couldn't stop if I wanted. I just like to do some once in a while. Don't see what's so wrong about that. Everybody do some once in a while.”