I thanked the officer when he pulled up at my door.
I scrambled out of the car, ran into the building and took the stairs. The second-floor hall was empty of people but filled with dinner smells. Fried fish from Mrs. Karwatt. Stew from Mr. Walesky.
My teeth had stopped chattering, but my hands were still shaking, and I had to two-fist the key to get it into the keyhole. I pushed the door open, switched the light on, closed and bolted my door and did a fast security check.
Rex backed out of his soup can and gave me the onceover. He looked startled at my appearance, so I explained my day. When I got to the part about driving Elliot around in Lula's trunk, I burst out laughing. My God, what had I been thinking! It was an absurd thing to do. I laughed until I cried, and then I realized I was no longer laughing. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I was sobbing. After a while my nose was running, and my mouth was open but the sobs were soundless.
“Shit,” I said to Rex. “This is exhausting.”
I blew my nose, dragged myself into the bathroom, stripped and stood under the shower until my skin was scorched and my mind was empty. I got dressed in sweats and cotton socks and cooked my hair into ten inches of red frizz with the hair dryer. I looked like I'd taken a bath with the toaster, but I was way beyond caring. I collapsed onto the bed and instantly fell asleep.
I came awake slowly, my eyes swollen from crying, my mind gauzy and stupid. The clock at bedside said nine-thirty. Someone was knocking. I shuffled into the hall and opened the door without ceremony.
It was Morelli, holding a pizza box and a six-pack.
“You should always look before you open the door,” he said.
“I did look.”
“You're lying again.”
He was right. I hadn't looked. And he was right about being careful.
My eyes locked on the pizza box. “You sure know how to get a person's attention.”
Morelli smiled. “Hungry?”
“Are you coming in, or what?”
Morelli dumped the pizza and beer on the coffee table and shrugged out of his jacket. “I'd like to go over the day's events.”
I brought plates and a roll of paper towels to the coffee table and sat beside Morelli on the couch. I wolfed down a piece of pizza and told him everything.
By the time I was done, Morelli was on his second beer. “You have any additional thoughts?”
“Only that Gail probably lied to us, so she wouldn't get in trouble with her landlady. Elliot had full rigor when we found him, so he'd been dead awhile. My guess is either Gail told Mo where to find Elliot, or else Elliot was in Gail's room when Mo showed up.”
Morelli nodded affirmation. “You're watching the right TV shows,” he said. “We ran the plates on the tan car. The car belonged to Elliot Harp.”
“Did you find Mo's connection to Montgomery Street?”
“Not yet, but we have men in the neighborhood. The garage was used by a lot of people. It's possible to buy a key card on a monthly basis. No ID necessary. Freedom Church members use the garage. Local merchants use it.”
I ate another slice of pizza. I wanted to bring up the topic of Mickey Maglio, but I didn't feel secure about the accusation. Besides, I'd mentioned it once. Morelli was too good a cop to let it slide by and be forgotten.
“So now what?” I asked. “You want to watch some TV?”
Morelli looked at his watch. “Think I'll pass. I should be getting home.” He stood and stretched. “Been a long day.”
I followed him to the door. “Thanks for helping me dispose of Elliot.”
“Hey,” Morelli said, punching me lightly on the arm. “What are friends for?”
I blinked. Friends? Morelli and me? “Okay, what's going on?”
“Nothing's going on.”
Boy, was that ever the truth. No flirting. No grabbing. Sexist remarks held to a minimum. I narrowed my eyes as I watched him walk to the elevator. There was only one possible explanation. Morelli had a girlfriend. Morelli was enamored with someone else, and I was off the hook.