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“It’s like you’re the president or something,” Lula said. “It’s a wonder they don’t follow you into the bathroom and check behind the shower curtain.”
Connie was standing at her desk with her purse in her hand.
“You got here just in time,” she said. “I was going to lock up. Vinnie is at physical therapy, and I have to go downtown
to bond someone out.”
Physical therapy was code for a nooner. Or in this case an afternooner.
“Is it okay if I use your computer?” I asked.
“Sure,” Connie said. “I should be about an hour. I’ll be back to close up.”
Lula settled onto the couch with her iPad, and I went to Connie’s desk. I ran Skoogie through a couple programs but didn’t turn up anything new.
“Here’s something weird,” Lula said. “I’ve been surfing around, checking up on my fame as a celebrity sandwich maker. There’s a unflattering video of me waiting tables. And there’s a couple newspaper articles and some local television pieces on how people have been disappearing and leaving their shoe behind at the deli. I asked for more on the subject, and I got a video someone made about the deli kidnapping. It’s like an amateur reality-show thing. There’s five of them. And one of them looks like Hal.”
I looked over at her. “How much like Hal?”
“A lot like Hal.”
Lula brought her iPad over and passed it to me.
I was dumbstruck. “This is Hal,” I said.
I scrolled back, looked at all five, and also recognized Wayne Kulicki. The videos had been uploaded by someone named Hotshot. They were grainy night shots showing a man walking out of the deli’s back door, carrying a garbage bag. There was a blinding flash of light and the next scene was a single shoe on the asphalt parking lot. This was followed by a visual of crime scene tape and police doing their job investigating.
I called Morelli.
“Lula stumbled across some YouTube videos that seem to be recording the deli kidnappings,” I said.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I recognized Hal and Wayne Kulicki. You’ll want to look at this.”
“I’m just getting into my car to leave for the day. Are you at the office? I’ll head over.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
I called Ranger and told him about the videos.
“I got them,” Ranger said, moments later. “That’s Hal.”
“What do you make of this? Can you trace down Hotshot?”
“Doubtful if I can trace Hotshot through YouTube, but the feds might be able, and I can hack into the feds.”
“Why is this up on YouTube?” I asked.
“Someone wanted it seen.”
“They wanted to get caught? They were proud of their photography? What?”
“Tell Lula to keep surfing. Maybe she’ll stumble on something else.”
“Morelli is on his way over to the office, and then I’ll go home with him. Your guy can clock out. Tell him thank you from me.”
“Babe,” Ranger said. And he hung up.
