Twelve Sharp

by Janet Evanovich

  A middle-aged woman was at the register. I waited for her to check out a customer before introducing myself.

  'I'm looking for this man,' I said, showing her the photo. 'Do you know him?'

  'Yes, I know him,' the woman behind the counter said. 'This is Carlos Manoso.'

  'No,' I said to her. 'I know Carlos, and this isn't him.'

  I showed the picture to the butcher and to a woman waiting to have a pork roast boned and rolled. They both thought it was Carlos Manoso, the man the police were looking for. They said they'd seen his photo on television.

  It was close to noon when I returned to the green Explorer. My nose was sunburned, and I had sweat running in a river down my breastbone.

  'Nothing,' I said to Ranger. 'Everyone thinks it's you.'

  Ranger looked at the picture. 'I need to get back to the gym.'

  'It's not the body. It's the clothes and the face. He's spent some time studying you. He's got the clothes down. And he's had his hair cut like yours. Hard to tell from this picture if the skin tone is the same or if he's tanned himself to mimic your coloring.'

  'This is the third day, and I still haven't got anything,' Ranger said. 'We worked Miami really hard. Mostly talking to relatives and neighbors, going with the idea that he knew me, that he was close enough to someone in my circle to know about Julie.'

  'Is this the first you've started looking in Jersey?'

  'We went to relatives and friends right away. This is the first neighborhood search. And this is the only neighborhood where he'd pick up information on Julie. It would have to come from one of my relatives. No one in Trenton knew.'

  'Okay, so we seem to be at a dead end on the Ranger connection. Let's go in another direction. He married Carmen Cruz from Springfield, Virginia, and he set up an office in Arlington. Maybe that's where he originates. Not in Arlington but close enough to feel comfortable with the area. Maybe we should talk to Carmen's parents.'

  Ranger put the SUV in gear and called Tank. 'Run Carmen Cruz in Springfield, Virginia, and get Stephanie and me on a train out of Newark going to northern Virginia. I'll be traveling as Marc Pardo.'

  'Stolen identity?' I asked him.

  'No. It's all mine.'

  'Wouldn't it be faster to fly?'

  'I can't take a gun on a plane.'

  Ranger left the green SUV in the train station parking lot. Good luck with that one. One of his guys was supposed to pick it up, but I was giving it a half hour tops before it was on the way to a chop shop.

  I was sitting next to Ranger, I had a box of food in front of me from the café car, and the rocking of the train was hypnotic and soothing and exciting all at the same time. We were rolling through the country's backyards, seeing America with its pants down.

  Ranger was on the phone with Tank, taking down information on Carmen Cruz and arranging for a rental car.

  'About the cell phone,' I said, when Ranger disconnected. 'Why is it okay to talk to Tank when you couldn't call me?'

  'Tank has a secure phone.'

  'Like it's scrambled?'

  'No. They're just phones under different names. It's a way to make sure no one's listening. If someone's trying to get a line on me, they're not going to tap Larry Bakers phone.'

  'Spending time with you is always a learning experience.'

  'There are other things I could teach you,' Ranger said.

  It was four o'clock by the time we picked up the rental car and rolled out of Union Station. Ranger had the GPS gadget set to take us to the Cruz house in Springfield, and it was talking us through downtown Washington.

  'Turn left in twenty feet,' the mechanical voice told us. 'Move to the left lane. Take a right at the bottom of the off-ramp. Merge into traffic.'

  'This thing's giving me an eye twitch,' Ranger said. 'Can you get the sound off?'

  I started pressing buttons and the screen went blank.

  'How's that?' I asked.

  'Babe, you shut the system down.'

  'Yes, but the sound is off.'

  'Reprogram it.'

  'No need to get testy,' I told him.

  'I don't know where I'm going.'

  'I have a map. You just get on I-95 south and take the Springfield exit.'

  'And then what?'

  'Then you'll have to pull over and reprogram the GPS.'

  Ranger cut his eyes to me and there was the tiniest of smiles on his mouth. I was amusing him.

  'You're a very strange man,' I told him.

  'Yeah,' he said. 'That's what I hear.'

  I had my cell phone clipped to my waist, and I could feel it buzzing. I looked at the screen. Morelli.

  'Howdy,' I said to Morelli.

  'Can I buy you dinner and a movie and a room at Hotel Morelli?'

  'Sounds good but I'm working.'

  'After work.'

  'After work will be late,' I said.

  'How late?'

  'Monday or Tuesday.'

  'Where are you?' Morelli wanted to know.

  'I can't tell you that,' I said.

  'Goddamn it, you're with Ranger, aren't you? I should have known. He's up to his armpits in murder and kidnapping, and he's going to drag you into it with him.'

  Ranger reached over, grabbed my phone, and shut it down.

  'Hey!' I said. 'That was Morelli.'

  'If you stay on too long it can be traced down. I'm sure he understands.'

  'Yeah, he understands. If he knew where we were you'd be seeing his Kojak light in your rearview mirror.'

  'Then I'm glad he doesn't know where we are because I wouldn't want to have to square off with Morelli. It wouldn't end well for either of us.'

  We moved onto I-95 south, and I tightened my seat belt. Driving out of DC into northern Virginia is like NASCAR on a flat straight track, racing bumper-to-bumper six wide, twenty miles deep. And attached to that is another identical race going six wide in the opposite direction. Two-story-high sound barriers rise out of the breakdown lanes, and form a cement canyon filled with wall-to-wall noise and insanity. We hurtled forward to the appropriate exit, catapulted ourselves down the chute, and peeled off toward Springfield.

  Ranger pulled onto the shoulder and reprogrammed the GPS system.

  'Lucky for you, you look good in a T-shirt,' Ranger said.

  'Lucky for you I don't have a gun on me.'

  Ranger turned to me. His voice was low and even, but there was a whisper of incredulous disbelief. 'You're not carrying a gun?'

  'Didn't seem necessary for us both to have one.'

  Stephanie Plum 12 - Twelve Sharp

  Nine

  It was a little after five o'clock when we drove past the Cruz house. We were in a development of middle-income homes, mostly little ranches sitting on small plots of land. Every third house was the same. From the maturity of trees and shrubs, I'd have guessed the houses were maybe ten years old.

  The Cruz house was pale yellow with white trim and a teal-green front door. The landscaping was economy grade but neat. There were several cars in the driveway and two at the curb. I imagined friends and relatives were sharing the Cruz's grief over their daughter.

  Ranger drove two blocks over and parked. We were in front of a small public access to a bike path that wound through a narrow greenbelt behind the houses.

  'I'm going to wait here,' he said. 'You take the car and go do your thing.'

  'Are you sure you want to give me the car after making sexist remarks about my mechanical skills? I might not come back for you.'

  'I'd find you,' Ranger said. He took my hand, kissed the palm, and got out of the car.

  I exchanged seats, put the car in gear, and drove back to the Cruzes'. I parked at the curb and blew out a sigh. I was going to feel like a real shit for intruding at a time like this. I set off for the house, and just as I got to the porch two young women came out to have a cigarette. They lit up, took a deep drag, and sat down on the step to enjoy the rest in comfort.

  I extended my hand. 'Stephanie Plum,' I s
aid. 'Were you friends with Carmen?'

  They both nodded.

  'I'm Sasha,' one said.

  'Lorraine.'

  'I'm part of the task force investigating the crime,' I told them. 'Would you mind if I asked some questions?'

  Lorraine looked down at my jeans.

  'You're going to have to excuse my dress,' I said. 'I was called in on my day off, and I didn't get a chance to change.'

  'What do you want to know?'

  'Do you know her husband?'

  'Carmen talked about him in the beginning. Ranger, Ranger, Ranger. I mean, how lame is that? Who calls himself Ranger?'

  'Did she ever mention his real name?'

  'Carlos.'

  'Would you recognize him if you saw a picture?'

  'No. None of us actually saw him. And then all of a sudden she was married and living in Arlington and she sort of fell off the earth.'

  'Is he from this area?'

  'I don't know where he's originally from,' Lorraine said. 'He was working as a security guard at Potomac Mills Mall when she met him. He told her it was only a temporary job until his business took off.'

  'What business was that?'

  'He was a bounty hunter. Carmen thought that was real cool. From what I hear, she cashed in an insurance policy so they could buy computers and shit.' A tear ran down Lorraine's cheek, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. 'The people on television are saying the bastard shot her.'

  'Thanks,' I said. 'This has been helpful.'

  I got directions to the mall, drove back to the bike path, and picked Ranger up.

  'When Carmen met this guy he was working as a security guard at Potomac Mills. It's a mall off I-95 a couple miles south of here,' I told Ranger.

  Ranger punched Potomac Mills into the GPS. 'Okay, sweetheart,' he said to the GPS. 'Talk to me.'

  If you entered Potomac Mills at one end and stared down the length of the mall you would be sure it ended in Kansas. We were standing in front of a mall map getting the lay of the land, looking for the security office and not finding it.

  'The mall closes at seven,' Ranger said. 'We've got a little over an hour to get someone to ID our man. I'm going to have Tank see if he can do something by phone. Meanwhile, you try to find security people to talk to. I'll be fifty paces behind you.'

  I looked down the mall and saw two uniformed guards standing back on their heels watching the shoppers. Man and woman. In their twenties. The woman looked like she'd gained some weight since they'd issued her uniform. Her partner was tall and gangly. Bad complexion. I was guessing they ate a lot of meals at the food court.

  I came up to them with a smile. Friendly. Needing assistance.

  'Excuse me,' I said. I'm looking for a guy who used to work as a security guard here. I can't remember his name but he was medium build, dark brown hair, kind of nice-looking. Caucasian, I think, but with dark skin. Probably hasn't been here for maybe six months.'

  'Doesn't ring a bell,' the woman said. 'Did he work weekends? We only work weekends.'

  'I'm not sure.'

  'You should talk to Dan,' she said. 'He's been here forever. He knows everyone. He's sort of heavyset and balding, and he's probably down toward the other end. He might be around Linens-N-Things, unless he got a call.'

  I wasn't sure where Linens-N-Things was located, but with the way this mall was looking it could be a couple miles. I took off at a fast walk, trying not to be distracted by the stores. I made it past Banana Republic and the Gap but instinctively stopped in front of Victoria's Secret.

  I felt Ranger at my back, his hand warm on my waist. 'If you buy something you have to model it,' he said.

  I got a rush at the thought, panic followed… and then guilt. 'Just looking,' I said.

  'I hate to ruin this moment, but there's a guard at three o'clock.'

  'Is he overweight and balding?'

  'Hard to tell if he's balding from here, but he's overweight. He's standing by the kiosk, four or five stores down.'

  'I see him.'

  I read his name tag as I approached him. Dan Whitten. 'Excuse me,' I said. 'I'm looking for a guy who used to be a security guard here. I can't remember his name. Medium build. Caucasian but sort of dark skin. Dark brown hair.'

  'That's a pretty broad description. What do you want with him?'

  'I met him in a bar a couple days ago, and he walked away with my iPod. We were comparing MP3 players, and he got a phone call and had to leave. I didn't realize until too late that he'd walked off with my iPod and left me with his piece of junk. Anyway, all I remembered was that he said he used to work here. And he said now he was working as a bounty hunter.'

  'Edward Scrog. You should kiss that iPod good-bye. The guy is a nutcase. He got fired for harassment.'

  'You mean sexual harassment?'

  'All kinds of harassment. Some guys go power-goofy when they get a badge and a uniform. This guy thinks he's Wyatt Earp or something. Walked around with his hand on his flashlight like it was a gun.' He broke into a smile. 'Scrog used to pat women down. He'd claim they looked suspicious. That was ultimately his undoing. Tried to do a pat-down on a fed. She pulled a move on him and had him on the floor with her foot on his neck. Then she filed charges.'

  'I don't suppose you know where I can find him?'

  'No. It wasn't like we were friends.'

  'Well, thanks,' I said. 'This has been helpful.'

  'Let me give you some advice you didn't ask for. Stay away from Scrog. He's got a screw loose. When they fired him, they walked him to his locker, made him clean it out and leave the premises. I was there to make sure he left, and I saw what was in the locker. He had it filled with guns and ammo. And he had pictures pasted on the door like a kid does with baseball stars and then later on with girls with big hooters. Only this guy had pictures of SWAT guys taking people down. It's like he's seen too many cop movies. When he first came on the job he was applying to all the local police academies, only no one would give him a call back.

  'After he was here a couple months he started talking about the bounty hunter thing. Watched all the shows on television. Apparently he was hooked on some bounty hunter in Jersey who was supposed to be a real hotshot, and he said he was studying him. Used to take off weekends so he could “observe” this guy. So maybe he's in Jersey now. Good for Virginia, that's my opinion.

  'You look like a nice girl,' he said. 'Take my advice and buy yourself a new iPod.'

  I walked back to Ranger and gave him the whole story. 'I imagine the hotshot Jersey bounty hunter would be you,' I said to Ranger.

  Ranger called Tank and gave him the name. 'Run an address history for me,' Ranger said. 'I want to know what's open.'

  We found the food court and sat at a table while we ate pizza and waited for Tank to call back. The call came in at five minutes to seven. Ranger took two addresses down and disconnected.

  'We have Scrog's parents' house in Fairfax and an apartment in Dale City.'

  'Did you ever search his office or the apartment he shared with Carmen?'

  'We went through the office in Arlington on the first pass. He didn't leave anything. Same with the apartment. He didn't leave on an impulse. He'd removed everything that could identify him. There were some clothes hanging in the closet and some things in the dresser. Everything else belonged to Carmen.'

  Scrog's Dale City apartment building was a two-story cinderblock bunker with a parking lot and a close-up view of the interstate. Scrog was on the second floor. Unit 209. Ten units to a floor. Stained carpet. Strong burrito aroma coming out of 206.

  Ranger knocked on the door of 209. No answer. He tried the knob. Locked. 'I don't suppose you have anything helpful in your bag?' he asked me.

  'Like a set of burglary tools? No.'

  Ranger put his foot to the door, kicked it open, and stepped inside. I followed behind him and tried to get the door to stay closed.

  'Don't worry about it,' Ranger said, flipping the light on. 'We won't be in here long. T
here's not a lot to see.'

  It was a one-bath studio apartment with a small kitchenette along one wall. The blinds were drawn on the single window. There was a sofa bed open and unmade, a small table with two wooden ladder-back chairs, a two-drawer metal file cabinet, and two laundry baskets holding a computer and accessories.