I found the keys to Morelli's car and left my keys in their place. I drove to Jelly's house and idled across the street. It was a small two-story house that had been converted into two apartments. There was only one front door, so I assumed the owner had made a small foyer with two inner doors. I looked up to the second floor. Four windows going across. The shades had been raised on all four windows. It would be easier to snoop if Jelly lived on the ground floor.
I drove around the block. Sometimes older neighborhoods in Trenton have alleys intersecting the blocks. This block wasn't divided by an alley. I parked around the corner, walked to Jelly's house, and tried the front door.
Ordinarily, if you look like you belong somewhere, no one pays attention.
Unfortunately, I was blue, and I looked like I belonged in some distant galaxy.
The front door was unlocked, so I stepped inside. Just as I'd thought, there was a small foyer. The door to my left led to the ground-floor apartment. The door directly in front of me led upstairs. I rang the bell. No answer. I rang again. Nothing. I tried the doorknob. Locked. I looked under the mat. No key. I felt the top of the doorjamb. Eureka ... a key. I plugged the key into the lock, the door clicked open, and I stepped inside. I closed the door and stood listening, hearing nothing but quiet.
I crept up the stairs and cautiously peeked into the apartment. Living room with a galley kitchen at one end. A small hall leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. Dirty dishes in the sink. A cereal box on the counter. A pillow on the couch in front of the small television. An open half-empty bag of chips on the coffee table. I moved to the bathroom. Not clean. Two toothbrushes. Two razors. Towels on the floor. Toilet lid up. Ick. The door was open to the bedroom. Bed unmade. Sheets looked like they'd been on there since Christmas.
Socks and underwear on the floor. Top bureau drawer open. Big mess.
I thought there was a good chance Dom was crashing here. I was tempted to do a more thorough search, but I wasn't sure what it would produce. And the longer I lingered, the better my chance of getting caught in the act. I decided to sneak out and do a background search on Jelly and turn the whole mess over to Morelli.
I walked out of the bedroom into the short hallway, and I heard the door open and close at the foot of the stairs. Instant panic! I was trapped. I wasn't in a position where I felt I could successfully detain Dom, and I didn't want to blow his cover and have him run. I did a ten-second imitation of a cat on roller skates. I pulled myself together, scurried into the bedroom, and dove under the bed.
The reality of hiding under a bed is that it's uncomfortable, it's terrifying, and you feel like an idiot. I inched to the middle, so there was less chance I'd be seen, and I tried to breathe quietly.
There were two sets of footsteps on the stairs and then there was a moment of quiet, and I knew they were in the living room.
“Nobody home,” a male voice said. Not Dom's.
“Yeah, but I know he was here. I can smell him.”
The second voice was also male. And again, not Dom's.
“Look around. Maybe he left something laying out that would tell us something.”
“He wouldn't do that. He's living with Jelly. He's not going to let Jelly see anything.”
“Look around anyway. People are stupid. They do stupid things. And maybe if we stay here long enough, he'll come home, and we can persuade him to talk to us.”
“We've got his sister on ice. How much more persuading can we do? Personally, I don't think he knows where the money is.”
“For crissake, just look! Would it kill you to look?”
Holy crap. Dom's partners. And I was stuck under the bed. I went cold inside.
I could feel everything liquefying in my intestines. How does this happen to me? How do I get myself into these situations? I heard them rummaging through the living room and kitchen. They came into the bedroom, and my heart rate picked up.
“These guys are such slobs,” one of them said. “It's like two pigs living in their own slop.”
“You should talk. I've been in your apartment and it isn't that great.”
“Wait until I get my hands on the money, and you'll see great. I'll be out of that shit-hole apartment. I'll be cruising the islands in my boat. Did I ever show you a picture of my boat?”
“Only about a million times.”
They were walking around the bed, and I could see their shoes and the bottoms of their slacks. The one guy was wearing scuffed brown tie shoes, worn down at the heel, and tan slacks with cuffs. The other was in jeans and beat-up CAT boots with a gash in the toe. They went through the bureau drawers and rifled the single drawer in the bedside chest.
“There's nothing here,” the one guy said. “What do you want to do now?”
“I don't feel like waiting. I got stuff to do. My wife's on my ass.”
“I wouldn't know about that.”
“Yeah, no one would marry you.”