“Now, if we could just deliver Kiki,” I said.
“Yeah, that would help.”
I dashed across the street and looked in the KRAZ box, then quickly returned to Louie’s car.
“There’s a lot more mail crammed in there than yesterday, thing looks to be just about over flowing.” I said.
“Well, there you go, figure each envelope holds a cash donation, even if it’s just ten bucks…”
“Gotta be a couple of grand sitting in there right now, just waiting for her to pick it up.”
The interior doors were locked promptly at five, and the lights turned off. At seven the same guy as last night locked the lobby door and then hit the lights.
“Dinner plans?” Louie said.
***
I had the recliner fully extended eating sausage pizza with extra cheese. Louie had just started working on a new case of Summit.
“You’re not having a beer?” he asked from the couch.
“No, I’m going back out in a bit.”
“Not back to that post office?”
“No, I’m gonna swing past Kiki’s place and…”
“Thought you said she wasn’t there?”
“I’m pretty sure she isn’t. But, I just want to make sure.”
“Suit yourself,” Louie said, then shrugged and drained his beer.
Chapter Sixty-Three
A little after ten that night I parked down around the corner, about four doors from Kiki’s. I sat for a long time, it was just as boring as the day I’d wasted watching the post office, only darker.
I walked past the front of her house and then down the alley, nothing. After I lost count of how many times I’d made that pass I walked up onto the front porch and rang her doorbell. I could hear the thing go off inside the house, a Big Ben chime. No one came to the door. I tried the knob and it was locked. I walked though her back gate across the yard and up the steps onto her back porch. Her back door was locked, so was the garage door. I peered inside her garage with the help of an alley light, no car, the place was empty.
She could have gone to a late movie, just been out on a date or she could be shacked up somewhere with a pair of twin brothers, but she was probably already out of the state.
I went back to Louie’s and slept fitfully in the recliner. The following morning I found myself seated behind the wheel of the Fiesta in Bob Ross’s parking lot as people arrived for work.
Bob brought me coffee a few minutes after he arrived.
“See you switched vehicles,” he said, indicating the Fiesta.
“Trying to keep a low profile.”
“Well, this thing certainly does that,” he laughed. “Offer still stands, feel free to use the bathroom or anything else you need.”
“Thanks Mister Ross.”
I dialed in KRAZ a little before the ten-o-clock broadcast. It was ten-ten when I realized I hadn’t heard Farrell’s voice. I crossed the street to check the KRAZ box, it was still stuffed with envelopes. As the day slowly passed the clock seemed to come to a complete stop. After sitting there for what felt like a month a guy drifted out and locked the inner lobby door, then turned out the lights. Another month later, at seven, he returned and locked the front door and turned off those lights.
Apparently Kiki wasn’t in desperate need of the funds in the post office box. I drove past her house on the way back to Louie’s, the lights were off and the place looked dark and quiet. Louie’s house was dark, too. Fortunately it never dawned on him to lock a door so I let myself in.
I fell asleep a-half-dozen beers later. I’d been watching a baseball game, theoretically, when I nodded off. There was an exercise show on the television when Louie shook me awake.
“You want a beer?” He held two open bottles, I took one, stretched and yawned.
“What time is it?”
“Little after one. Here’s to you, man,” he said, raising his bottle.
I nodded, sipped.
“You want the good news or the not so good news?” he said.
“Give me the not so good news first.”
“They can’t find your girlfriend.”
“Kiki?”
“Yeah,” he chugged down a good portion of his Summit.
“What happened?” I asked, watching him almost empty the bottle.
“That autopsy on Thompson Barkwell, the finger tip checks out as your buddy Farrell’s. Manning’s guessing Farrell was drugged when he was run over, but we won’t have confirmation from the Medical Examiner for a couple more days.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah. You were right about the bandage, it’s his, the tip of his right index finger.”
“He told you this, Manning?”
“No, I was down at the morgue, looked at the guy on a slab, saw it for myself. They took a print of the tip. It’s a match, man.”
“How’d he look?”
“Farrell?”
“No the medical examiner, yeah Farrell.”
“Dead.” He drained his beer, “need another?”
I’d barely taken a sip and shook my head no.
“He was pretty banged up. The car either nailed him doing about sixty or ran over him a half-dozen times. They’ll figure it out, they’re pretty good at that shit,” he said, then walked into the kitchen. I heard him open the refrigerator door, heard the bottle clink as he pulled it out and closed the door.
“Anyway,” he said, strolling back into the living room and dropping onto the couch. “Manning’s waiting on an autopsy report from Hennipen County, your Doctor Death guy.”
“Carroll Kevork, from the U.”
“Yeah, that’s him, autopsy should be coming across in the next couple of days.”
“How’d they find him?”
“Outstanding warrant, possession with intent, Sherriff was out there to serve the warrant and picked up the scent, literally, if that translates.”
“No, I’m not…”
“The sheriff could smell the body, they got a search warrant, found him inside, just like you described it. Guessing he’d been there about a week, not pretty.”
“They think I…”
“I didn’t say anything, just acted surprised. Far as I know they got no idea you were ever there, I sure as hell didn’t offer to tell ‘em.”
“Where’s all this leave me?” I asked.
“Probably in that recliner tonight, the good news is, I’m kicking you out tomorrow.”
“What about the charges against me?”
“Dropped, or will be. They’re hot to trot on you’re girlfriend. Manning calls her the Black Widow. Get it? Two of her husbands and a lover are…”
“I get it, Louie.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
I slept in and left Louie’s around ten. I didn’t want to go home until I heard for certain everything was okay. He finally returned my calls late in the afternoon.
“Yeah, Dev, what can I do for you?”
“Louie, I’m ready to blow what’s left of my brains out, here. I’ve been wandering aimlessly around the damn Mall of America for hours waiting for you to call.”
“Then you should feel exactly like every other idiot out there. Are you in one of those bars?”
I was sitting on a wooden bench in some brick sort of courtyard area next to a bunch of potted ferns. A player piano was automatically playing a version of ‘Stardust’, again, the keys moving up and down, the piano sound bouncing and echoing off three stories worth of shops and fast food joints I had no interest in. It was giving me a hell of a headache.
“Did they drop the charges? Can I go home?”
“Pretty much.”
“Pretty much? What does that mean?”
“You’re free and clear on the hit and run with Farrell J Early. You’re free and clear on the murder of Thompson Barkwell. On the kidnapping, sexual assault and rape charges they’re still out there, but only because they can’t locate the always charming Kiki. Give those another forty eight hours and they’ll disappear.”
“Even with those photos?”
“They’re viewing them as a creative effort. Apparently they found about a hundred similar shots of her when they went through Farrell’s place. He and your gal had some sort of ongoing kink thing happening. If you put him at the scene the night you were drugged, it all makes sense.”