Ten minutes later I was settled into Ranger’s Porsche 911 Turbo. I had a to-go cup of coffee and Ranger’s iPad. I was watching a rerun of a video feed from the Bogart plant.
“We have the cameras up and running,” Ranger said, “but we haven’t got all the doors alarmed, and we haven’t changed out all the locks. After today I expect Bogart will allow me to replace his security staff with my own people, at least temporarily. The locks are scheduled to get changed out tomorrow.” He stopped for a light on Hamilton. “Tell me what you’re seeing.”
“The Jolly Bogart clown comes into the plant through the back door to the storeroom. He grabs a gallon jug of something and a bag of something else. He walks through the storeroom and heads for the offices that are on the opposite side of the building from the manufacturing area. I’m watching him from a different camera now. He stops at one of the doors and knocks. No one answers the door, so the clown opens the door and goes in. He’s off camera.”
“Fast-forward.”
“Okay, here he is leaving the office. His hands are free. He hasn’t got the jug or the bag. He goes back to the storeroom and leaves through the back door.”
“What do you think?”
“I could see Ducker doing this. He went gonzo when he realized he was still stuck being the clown.”
“Anything else?”
“Have you already been to the plant?” I asked Ranger.
“Yes.”
“It was Bogart’s office, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s now covered with chocolate syrup and nuts?”
“Yes.”
This got a smile from me. “Fun.” I replayed the video. “So we know the Jolly Bogart clown trashed Bogart’s office. Does this relate to the other crimes?”
“It’s not clear. It’s also not clear who’s in the clown suit. The clown hair is covering a lot of the face, and the video is being shot in the dark by infrared cameras that only show color when the clown’s penlight sporadically goes on to help him find his way.”
“Jeez,” I said. “It could be me.”
“Only if you were wearing size ten running shoes. The clown stepped in some chocolate and left prints in the hall.”
I ran the video again. “If it’s not Ducker it’s someone with a similar build.”
“Do you know anyone at the plant with a similar build?”
“No. That’s not to say there isn’t someone.”
Ranger turned into the Bogart parking lot and parked by the loading dock. There were two Rangeman SUVs parked there as well. All lights were on in the plant and the office wing.
“There’s a second video I want you to see,” Ranger said.
He took the iPad from me, found the video, and handed it back. I saw the door to the loading dock swing open. Bogart appeared, and lights flashed on. He was wearing jeans and what looked like a pajama top, and he wasn’t happy. I watched him walk through the plant to his office and go inside. I fast-forwarded and caught him bursting out of his office and charging down the hall. The video was in full color, and Bogart’s face was practically purple. His fists were clenched. He left by the same door he entered.
“The clown break-in occurred at one in the morning,” Ranger said. “At two o’clock Bogart showed up, entered through the loading dock, and went straight to his office. He spent five minutes in his office, and left the building. Before he left he called Rangeman to report the break-in. My man at the desk asked Bogart if he’d also called the police, and Bogart said he didn’t want the police involved.”
“Why didn’t your monitoring station pick up the break-in?”
“Bogart didn’t want his cameras monitored in real time.”
“This still doesn’t seem like anything serious enough for you to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night.”
“We can’t find Bogart,” Ranger said. “He never returned home, and his car was found abandoned about a mile from here. We’ve notified the police, but there’s no indication of foul play or of a struggle, and Bogart has only been missing for a couple hours. Right now the damage to his office is considered vandalism.”
“But you think it’s more serious.”
“I think no matter how you spin it this isn’t going to look good for Rangeman.”
We entered the building through the loading dock door and walked straight through to Bogart’s office. The door was open. Bogart hadn’t bothered to close it when he stomped out. I peeked in and grimaced. The office was a mess. The chocolate and chopped nuts were everywhere. They were sprayed on walls, bookshelves, the desk, and the floor. Some of the chocolate had been smeared, and DIE had been written in it. Other messages were DEAD MAN, BURN BABY, and BE AFRAID.
“This is beyond vandalism,” I said to Ranger. “This is ugly.”
“Yeah,” Ranger said. “We’ve got a bad clown.”
“Have the police seen this?”
“We had a uniform here, but no plainclothes. You might want to mention to Morelli that this might be more than a prank. It’s not his problem, but he can pass it along.”
“Is that my purpose here?”
“Partly. Mostly I wanted you to walk through the two videos and see if anything was off. I’ve got a problem with the clown. I can’t see Ducker getting into his clown suit and doing this.”
“I can. He’s totally postal. Too many years of listening to the Jolly jingle.”
“Someone blew up his truck.”
“He hated the truck. He could have blown it up. He was in the men’s room when it went boom!”
“So he’s your prime candidate?”
“He’s in a tie with Butchy. And I guess I can’t rule out Kenny Morris.”
“Could either of those men have been in the clown suit tonight?”
Good question. I reran the video in my mind. “I don’t think it’s Butchy. Butchy is built like a scarecrow, and he sort of hunches forward when he walks.”
“What about Kenny Morris?”
“I don’t know. I only saw him on a barstool. He’s average height and build. Closer to the clown than Butchy.”
We exited through the loading dock and walked around the building until we came to the back door to the storeroom. It was locked.
“Can you open it?” I asked. I already knew the answer. Ranger could open anything.
“The real question is can you open it?”
The door had a numerical keypad like the keypad to the freezer. I punched in 0000 and opened the door.
“Either Bogart is very trusting or very stupid,” I said.
“So far in my dealings with him I haven’t seen evidence that he’s either of those.”
We stepped into the storeroom and followed the clown’s path through the rows of shelves. We left the storeroom and walked the hall to Bogart’s office. We turned and retraced our steps to the storeroom’s back door.
“Do you have any words of wisdom for me?” Ranger asked.
“No, but I have some questions. Why did Bogart come to check on his office in his pajamas?”
“He didn’t say. His phone message to the control room was terse. And after that initial message we couldn’t reach him. I assume whoever trashed his office called him. It was late at night, and the call rattled him enough that he rushed over half dressed.”
“Question number two. Actually it’s an observation. The storeroom is a maze of shelves, but the clown had no trouble finding the chocolate and nuts in the dark. He walked right to them. And then there’s number three. It’s a retraction of what I said a couple minutes earlier. I don’t think Ducker would dress up in his clown suit to do this…especially if he killed Arnold Zigler.”
• • •
It was six o’clock when I fell into bed fully clothed and pulled the pillow over my head. I woke up a little after ten and shuffled into the kitchen. I opened the fridge door and let the cold air wash over me, hoping it would jump-start my brain. I didn’t feel a surge of intelligence so I gave up on the frid
ge and pulled a box of Froot Loops out of the cupboard. I made coffee and ate a couple handfuls of cereal. The fog started to lift after the coffee.
I wasn’t sure what to do following my bizarre night. Ranger hadn’t said anything about returning to the ice cream factory. No more phone calls about my honey bunny grandmother. The one bright spot of the day so far was remembering Briggs hurling past me on the bungee cord and bouncing back up. More entertaining the morning after than it had been at the time.
I had just one open file to clear for Vinnie, and it was a low-bond shoplifter. Hardly worth the effort. Probably I should go to the office and see if anything else came in. I brushed my teeth and put concealer on my nose. I thought about taking a shower, but it seemed like it would take energy I didn’t have.
I grabbed my messenger bag and opened my door to leave my apartment. DIE was written on the outside of the door in chocolate. At least I hoped it was chocolate, because it was brown and the alternative wasn’t nice. A note card was taped to the door below the chocolate.
The note card message was written in block letters. STICK TO YOUR DAY JOB OR ELSE.
Terrific. I dropped the note into my bag, scrubbed the message off the door, and sprayed the door with Lysol, just in case.
I called Morelli on my way to the office. I told him about Bogart’s vandalized office, the Bogart disappearance, and the note card.
“Don’t you have CSI people who analyze things like the note card?” I asked Morelli. “Can’t they look for fingerprints? DNA? Personalized cooties?”
“It’s expensive,” Morelli said. “It takes time.”
“Sherlock would have figured it out right away.”
“Yeah, but I hear he was a dud in the sack. Get the card to me, and I’ll see what I can do. We can at least fingerprint it.”
“Are you playing poker tonight?”
“Yeah. The game’s at my house. You can come if you want.”
“Not even for a moment.”
I parked in front of the bail bonds office and called Ranger. “Anything new?” I asked. “Did Bogart turn up?”
“He’s still missing. No one has heard from him.”
“Is this normal behavior?”
“No. He’s a man of routine. Never misses work. And he wouldn’t just walk away from his car.”
“Where was it found?”
“About a mile from the plant, in a convenience store lot.”
“Was the store open?”
“No. Shut its doors at midnight. No one in the area saw anything.”
“Did you check the trunk?”
“No body in the trunk.”
I told him about the message on my door and the note card.
“Have you talked to any of your neighbors? Are there security cameras in place?”
“No and maybe.”
“I’ll have someone ask around.”
I said adios to Ranger and went into the office. Lula was asleep on the couch, and Connie was on the phone. She waved a file at me.
I took the file and flipped through it. Benjamin Kwan. Arrested for human trafficking. High bond. No-show for court date.
Connie had a second FTA file. Dottie Loosey, fifty-eight years old. Arrested for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. The only photo in the file was her mug shot. Gray hair cut short. Uncombed. Fierce black eyebrows. Mean, squinty eyes. Lips pressed tight together. The woman looked like she ate nails for breakfast.
“She looks scary,” I said to Connie.
“I hate giving these to you, but I haven’t got anyone else,” Connie said. “I’ve never been able to find a replacement for Ranger. When he stopped doing fugitive apprehension no one else with his skill level came forward for the job.”
“Have you done any phone work on either of these FTAs?”
“The usual. It looks like they’re both in the area, living at the addresses I gave you. Loosey has a history of alcoholism and of being a nasty drunk. You want to be careful with her. She’s also got a PCP history. If she’s popped a couple of those she’ll be fearless.”
“I’ll see if I can get Ranger to help me with Loosey.”
Lula opened her eyes. “Ranger? Where?”
“Nowhere,” I said. “You know Benjamin Kwan, right?”
Lula sat up and adjusted the girls. She stood and tugged her skirt into place. “Benjamin Kwan? Yeah, I know him. He’s a real scumbag, but he got a excellent wardrobe. He traffics in street kids. Helps them get dope and then rents them out. And he brings some in from Honduras. And that’s just the beginning. He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies.”
“He didn’t show up for court yesterday,” Connie said. “I just got the papers.”
“This here’s going to be fun,” Lula said. “I don’t like this man. Let’s go get him.”
I knew Kwan too, and I didn’t expect a lot of trouble from him if we could catch him alone. He was a businessman, not a street thug. Problem was, he frequently surrounded himself with an entourage of spiffy street thugs. He lived in a fancy high-rise condo overlooking the river, and he used the second and third floor of a three-story row house on the third block of Stark for offices. The Kwan Travel Agency occupied the ground floor. I knew all this because I’d apprehended Kwan twice before. He’d had several arrests but no convictions. Witnesses disappeared or recanted. Evidence got tainted. Charges were dropped.
“He probably skipped his court date because he didn’t have the fix in place for his trial,” Lula said. “He probably still has to kill a couple witnesses.”
I drove to Stark Street and found a parking place in front of Kwan’s building.
“How are we going to do this?” Lula asked. “Are we going in like gangbusters?”
“No. We’re going in like sane, polite fugitive-apprehension agents. I’m not looking for a firefight. If Kwan is ready to go to court with us we’ll be happy to escort him. If he isn’t ready and he’s surrounded by his entourage of gun-crazy idiots, I’ll give him my card and he can call me when he wants a ride.”
“You could have just got him a cab with that attitude. And what am I supposed to do? I got a reputation to uphold. People think I’m a hard-ass.”
“I was hoping you would stay with my new car so no one steals it.”
“Good thinking. If you need help just yell.”
A woman in a tiny, skin-tight silver dress with a plunging neckline was at the desk in the travel office. She was wearing red patent leather five-inch spike heels, a massive faux diamond ring, and a small diamond-like stud in her right nostril.
“I’m a travel specialist,” she said. “Would you like to go somewhere?”
“I’m an apprehension specialist,” I said. “I’d like to go upstairs to talk to Mr. Kwan.”
“Of course.” She put her headset to her ear and tapped a speed-dial button. “I have an apprehension specialist here to see Mr. Kwan.” She nodded, replaced the headset, and smiled at me. “He’s expecting you. The stairs are to the right.”
I took the stairs to the second floor and thought this had to be how Briggs felt when he was going up in the crane cage. Not completely sure what sort of shape you were going to be in on the trip down.
The second floor was Spartan. A large oak desk that had seen better days. Some folding chairs around a collapsible card table. A brown leather couch. A dorm fridge against one wall. A large shrink-wrapped pack of Bogart Kidz Kups also against the wall by the little fridge.
Kwan was at the desk. He was wearing a shiny bright blue suit with a black dress shirt. He was about my height, slim, black hair slicked back, forty-two years old according to the file Connie gave me. Not married. Three men lounged to the side of the room. They were all slim, wearing black suits with tight trousers and obvious bulges. Some of the bulges were due to large guns. A massive man stood behind Kwan. At least six foot five. Barrel-chested. Couldn’t see any bulges for the excess of flesh. I figured the skinny cubs were for amusement and the mountain man was security.
; “So nice to see you again,” Kwan said to me. “I would have been disappointed if Connie sent someone else out.”
“Connie doesn’t have anyone else.”
Kwan smiled at me, flashing a gold tooth in the front of his mouth. “Lucky me.”
“Would you like to come with me to get re-upped into the legal system?”
“Actually, it’s inconvenient for me right now.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll leave my card. You can call or text when you’re ready.”
“Thank you so much,” Kwan said. “Is there anything I can get you? Would you like my travel associate to arrange a trip to the Bahamas?”
“No,” I said. “I’m good, but thank you.”
He nodded. “Chewy will see you to your car. I hope you took precautions. The neighborhood is aggressively entrepreneurial.”
“Lula is waiting downstairs,” I said. “I haven’t heard any gunshots so I assume there wasn’t an issue.” I glanced over at the Kidz Kups. “Your Kidz Kups are going to melt if you don’t get them into a freezer.”
“A very good observation,” Kwan said. “I’ll have them moved immediately.”
The three-hundred-pound gorilla behind Kwan stepped forward and motioned me to the stairs.
“Chewy?” I asked him.
“Short for ‘Chewbacca.’ ”
That made sense. I could see the hair curling out of the top of his shirt collar. We made our way to the first floor and walked past the travel associate, all of us smiling pleasantly. I reached the sidewalk and saw that Lula was out of the car and standing guard.
She looked Chewbacca up and down. “Who’s this?”
“Chewy,” I told her.
Chewy swept his hand under his suit jacket to his pocket and Lula went bug-eyed.
“Gun! Gun!” she said. “He’s got a gun!”
She jumped forward and head butted him in the midsection. They went off-balance and down to the ground. Chewy gave a grunt and flipped Lula off him. He got to his feet and brushed at his suit.
“I wasn’t going for my gun,” he said. “I was going for my banana.” He pulled a banana out of his pocket. “It’s all smushed,” he said to Lula. “You ruined my banana.”
Lula was on her feet. “Banana? Are you shitting me? Who packs a banana?”