Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(47)

“He’s dead,” Lula said. “I hate dead. And he brushed against me. And now I have dead cooties. I got the creepy-crawly dead cooties. I need something. I need a donut. Who’s got a donut?”

“I have a granola bar in my bag,” I said.

“That’s not the same as a donut,” Lula said. “It doesn’t have the same therapeutic value.”

I made another call to Morelli. “Where are you?” I asked. “I’m at my desk. I’m finishing something up, and then I’ll grab a uniform and come collect the shoe.”

“Okay, but there’s a d-d-dead guy here now, so could you hurry a little?”

“A dead guy?”

“I think it might be Leonard Skoogie, and he has a knife in his neck and a number two written on his forehead in black marker.”

“I’m on my way.”

The assistant had her eyes open and was coherent.

“What’s your name?” Luis asked her.

“Miriam,” she said.

“Stay down for a couple minutes more,” Luis said to Miriam. “It’s all okay.”

“It’s not okay,” she said. “Mr. Skoogie is . . . you know.”

“He’s dead!” Lula said. “God sakes, the man is dead. And all I got is a granola bar.”

Miriam looked over at Lula. “Did you know him?”

“Nope. Never met the man, but I feel for him just the same. I hate dead with a vengeance. Far as I’m concerned nothing good ever comes from being dead. And then there’s the cooties.” Lula gave a shiver. “Horrible.”

I was starting to get it together. The bagel was sitting lower in my chest, and my heart rate was normalizing. I didn’t know Skoogie, but seeing him crumpled and lifeless made me feel sad, and there was revulsion over the violence of his death.

“You’re a good man in a crisis situation,” I said to Luis.

“I’m from Chicago,” he said. “We have stabbings like this all the time in my neighborhood. Only difference is there’s usually lots of blood.”

I forced myself to look at Skoogie. Luis was right. There was no blood. None on the floor of the office and very little on Skoogie. He had a knife sticking out of his neck, but there wasn’t the bleeding I would expect to see. I was pretty sure I knew what this meant.

“He didn’t die from the knife wound,” I said.

Luis nodded. “That would be my guess. He’d already been dead long enough for his heart to stop pumping blood.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Not something you see every day,” Luis said.

Miriam was on her feet. “What should we do? Should we cover him, or something?”

“It’s a crime scene,” I said. “We should move into the other room and leave this room untouched.”

I got everyone into the outer office, and I checked my watch. The deli was open for lunch. I called Ranger and filled him in.

“Is Ella at the deli?” I asked him.

“Yes. I sent her over at eleven-thirty. I haven’t heard from her, so I assume everything is okay.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving here until the police arrive,” I said. “I’m probably going to miss lunch, but I’ll be there for dinner.”

“When you’re done with the police, you should come to Rangeman and look at the video to see if you recognize anyone passing through the lobby.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


MORELLI STOOD HANDS on hips, staring down at Skoogie. The medical examiner was on one knee, getting a closer look. The police photographer and two EMT guys were waiting behind Morelli. Someone said the CSI van and the local news satellite truck were on the street. Miriam was at her desk in a Valium stupor.

“It’s getting crowded in here,” I said to Morelli. “I’m going to round up my posse and head out.”

“Are you working again tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll wait up.”

We dropped Lula off at the deli, and Luis and I went on to Rangeman. I left Luis in the control room, and I walked down the short hall to Ranger’s office.

“I’ll run the video on a wall monitor,” Ranger said. “The Hamilton Building is a budget account. One surveillance camera in the lobby, and we do a drive-by four times a day. The surveillance camera isn’t monitored live. It’s set to record on a forty-eight-hour loop. The front desk is manned five days a week, from six in the morning until eight in the evening. The attendant unlocks the front door when he arrives and locks it when he leaves. The tenants have keys for all other access.”

I sat in one of the chairs in front of Ranger’s desk and swiveled toward the bank of flat screens.

“I have this programmed to run fast until the camera picks up motion in the lobby,” Ranger said. “Let me know if you want me to slow down or if you want to see something again. I’m going to run it forward from late Saturday morning. Not a lot of activity in the building over the weekend so this won’t take long.”

People began arriving shortly after the attendant opened the doors on Monday. I didn’t recognize anyone. They all looked legitimate, carrying to-go coffee containers and dressed for business.