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“No. I missed that one.”
“Had to be a big helicopter to take him away.”
“Yes,” Wulf said. “Something that could airlift a tank.”
* * *
¦ ¦ ¦
Ranger called just as I was getting ready to leave for laundry drop-off and office check-in.
“The fire marshal has cleared us to get into the deli building,” Ranger said. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”
“Do you think it’s necessary for me to walk through?”
“Yes. You’re still the manager.”
I made a quick detour to my parents’ house. I grabbed a cheese Danish from the bakery box on the counter in my mom’s kitchen, filled my travel mug with fresh coffee, and headed for the deli. Ranger was already there.
The sidewalk in front of the deli was still cordoned off with crime scene tape. The debris from the fire hadn’t yet been cleared away. The brick front was stained with black soot, and the windows were boarded up. The front door was o
pen.
I parked and walked over to Ranger. He was wearing black rubber boots and a Rangeman ball cap. He had boots and a hat for me.
“Tell me about Wulf while you change your shoes,” he said.
“The Rangeman guy in the car saw him?”
“No. He got picked up by the camera over your door in the hall.”
“What, no sound?”
“It only picks up sound in the hall.”
I swapped out my shoes for the boots, and put the hat on. “Wulf is after his friend’s kid, Ryan Meier. He was the third manager to get kidnapped. Wulf said the trail goes from Sitz to Skoogie to Victor Waggle. When the deli burned down the trail went cold for him, so he wants me to hang myself out there and go after Waggle. He said he saw the Kulicki kidnapping. Three men in hoodies loaded Kulicki into a stolen van, drove to the top of a parking garage, loaded Kulicki into a helicopter, and took off with him.”
“That sounds overly dramatic. And expensive.”
“It may or may not be true,” I said.
“Anything else from Wulf?”
“Nope. That was it . . . other than mentioning that you’re a bungler.”
“It’s nice to be acknowledged,” Ranger said. “Let’s go inside.”
There was light from the open front and back doors, but the kitchen area was in total darkness. Ranger switched on a wide-beam flashlight and swept the beam across the area. I’ve investigated fire scenes before, so I knew what to expect. That didn’t lessen the impact any. The destruction was frightening and depressing. The interior was charred black. Soot-stained water puddled on the floor and streaked across the stainless-steel appliances. A knife survived. Number seventeen on the dinner menu didn’t.
We’d been told to follow the crime scene tape that ran front to back and not to stray. Parts of the floor had been marked as unsafe.
We walked the hall to the back door, looking in at the pantry and the walk-in fridge. We stepped out into the sunshine and sucked in fresh air.
“Did any of your cameras survive the fire?” I asked.
“I have one across the alley, attached to the building on the next street. The rest were destroyed.”
“Did any of them catch a drone?”
