“No, he was thrown clear.”
“Bummer,” Buster said.
“So?” I asked him.
“Not me. I don’t do rockets.”
“Who would do rockets?”
Buster shrugged. “Could be anyone.”
“Let’s take this from another direction. Who would want Briggs dead?”
“Just about everyone I know. He snooped where he shouldn’t be snooping. He messed around with other people’s wives. He was damn annoying. And he can’t drive. He’s a menace on the road. He kept smashing into my Mercedes with his stupid blue RAV4. I hated that car.”
“Omigod,” I said. “You’re the car bomber.”
“Right now I’m the spaghetti maker,” Buster said. “Do you ladies want to stay for supper?”
“I got a date,” Lula said, “but I’ll take a rain check. That spaghetti sauce smells good.”
I drove Lula back to the office and continued on to Morelli’s house. Morelli wasn’t home, so I took Bob for a walk, straightened up the kitchen, fed Bob, and made myself a grilled cheese sandwich.
Morelli rolled in at seven o’clock. He grabbed me and kissed me, and scratched Bob behind his ear. He got a beer out of the fridge, chugged it, and belched.
“Long day,” I said.
“No kidding. Do we have food?”
I assembled two more grilled cheese sandwiches and set them into the fry pan. I wasn’t any kind of a cook, but I could make grilled cheese.
“Ron Siglowski turned up today,” Morelli said. “He floated down the Delaware and washed up onto the shore by the Route 1 bridge embankment. A homeless guy found him at four o’clock. He was decomposed, but it was obvious he’d taken a bullet in the head.”
“That leaves just two poker players.”
Morelli looked around. “Where’s Briggs?”
“He’s staying in my apartment while it’s under construction. I thought it was better than having him here.”
“If I had to live with him another day, you could add me to the list of people trying to kill him.”
I slid a grilled cheese onto a plate and added pickles and some chips. “Do you have a lead on the shooter?”
“Nothing worth anything. Buster and Pepper are suspects only because they’re the last two men standing, but it could just as easily be someone on the outside. All these guys associated with bad people. They were all involved in human trafficking and who knows what else. They might not have been as deeply invested as Jimmy Poletti, but they all knew what was going on.”
“It sounds like Buster was boots on the ground in Mexico. And Silvio Pepper had his trucks going in and out of Mexico.”
“The feds are involved in that part of it. Not sure how much progress they’re making.”
“Speaking of feds, I drove past Rangeman today. They’ve removed the crime scene tape, but there were still a bunch of vans on the street.”
“My understanding is that the poison was pretty well contained in the one small room where Gardi was being held. If the polonium had been released directly into the ventilation system as planned, it might have done more damage, although even that’s doubtful. What I’m hearing is that because of the system Ranger uses, the poison would have had to be introduced at a more central point to actually circulate. I imagine they’ll let everyone back into the building tonight or tomorrow.”
“Ranger has a lot of sensitive technology in that building. There are probably agents at his console checking up on their girlfriends.”
Morelli finished his second sandwich and pushed back from the little kitchen table. “Not likely. Ranger’s had his guys in hazmat suits on all seven floors 24/7. And word is that he was able to lock down his system from offsite. I know he has a very elite clientele, and they’re willing to pay a premium for his services, but even at that, you have to wonder if there’s more going on in that building than local security.”
“Like what?”
Morelli shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that his building is more secure than it needs to be, and the technology he uses is expensive, complicated, and not readily available. I used to think he was a dangerous whackjob. Now I’m not sure what he is.”
No need to tell Morelli I was still helping Ranger track Vlatko, right? Why cause him additional stress?