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We got back to the truck and Ranger shielded his eyes from the low-angled sun and studied the road we'd just walked.
“There was just barely enough room back there for five cars,” Ranger said.
“We know two of them were SUVs. Probably they could at least partially be seen from the main road. And that probably ensured their privacy. We know when three of the men left work and got into their cars. If they came directly here they'd arrive around six-thirty, which meant there was still daylight.”
“You'd think someone would have heard gunshots. This guy didn't just pop off a couple rounds.”
“It's an isolated area. And if you were a passing motorist it might be hard to tell where the shots originated. Most likely you'd just get the hell out of here.”
We climbed into the truck and buckled ourselves in.
“Who's Celia?” I asked Ranger.
“My sister. Marty Sanchez, the guy by the van, went to school with Celia. They dated for a while.”
“Is she your only sister?”
“I have four sisters.”
“Any brothers?”
“One.”
“And you have a daughter,” I said.
Ranger swung the truck onto the paved road. "Not many people know about my
daughter."
“Understood. Do I get to ask more questions?”
“One.”
“How old are you?”
“I'm two months older than you,” Ranger said.
“You know my birthday?”
“I know lots of things about you. And that was two questions.”
It was five o'clock when we pulled into the garage.
“How's Morelli doing?” Ranger asked.
“Good. He's going back to work tomorrow. The cast won't come off for a while, so he's limited. He's on crutches, and he can't drive, and he can't walk Bob. I'm going to stay until he's more self-sufficient. Then I'll go back to my apartment.”
Ranger walked me to the bike. “I don't want you going back to your apartment until we get this guy.”
“You don't have to worry about me,” I said. “I've got a gun.”
“Would you feel comfortable using it?”
“No, but I could hit someone over the head with it.”
The bike was a black Ducati Monster. I'd driven Morelli's Due, so I was on familiar ground. I took the black full-face helmet off the grip and handed it to Ranger. I took the key out of my pocket, and I swung my leg over the bike.
Ranger was watching me, smiling. “I like the way you straddle that,” he said. “Someday . . .”
