“Not in me. Howie wasn’t so lucky.”

Morelli looked down at Howie. “You didn’t shoot him, did you? Tell me you didn’t shoot him.”

“I didn’t shoot him. I never even carry a gun!”

Morelli dropped his eyes to my waist. “Looks to me like you’re carrying one now.”

Shit. I’d forgotten about the gun.

“Well, I almost never carry a gun,” I said, doing my best to smooth out the bulge in my T-shirt. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed. “Maybe I should lose the gun,” I said to Morelli. “There might be a problem.”

“Besides carrying concealed without a permit?”

“It might not be registered.”

“Let me guess. Ranger gave you the gun.” Morelli stared down at his feet and shook his head. He muttered something indiscernible, possibly in Italian. I opened my mouth to speak and he held a hand up. “Don’t say anything,” he said. “I’m working hard here. Notice I’m not ranting over the fact that not only are you partners with Ranger, but you were stupid enough to take a gun from him.”

I waited patiently. When Morelli mutters in Italian it’s a good idea to give him some room.

“Okay,” he said, “this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to walk over to my car. You’re going to get in, take the gun out of your goddamn pants, and slide the gun under the front seat. Then you’re going to tell me what happened.”

An hour later, I was still sitting in the car, waiting for Morelli to leave the scene, when my cell phone rang.

It was my mother. “I heard you shot someone,” she said. “You’ve got to stop shooting people. Elaine Minardi’s daughter never shoots anyone. Lucille Rice’s daughter never shoots anyone. Why do I have to be the one to have a daughter who shoots people?”

“I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“Then you can come to dinner.”

“Sure.”

“That was too easy,” my mother said. “Something’s wrong. Omigod, you really did shoot someone, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t shoot anyone,” I yelled at her. And I disconnected.

Morelli opened the driver’s side door and angled himself behind the wheel. “Your mother?”

I sagged in the seat. “This is turning into a really long day. I told my mother I’d show up for dinner.”

“Let’s go over this one more time,” Morelli said.

“One of Singh’s coworkers told me Singh tried to make a phone call to Howie the day before he disappeared. I questioned Howie just now and he denied knowing Singh. I’m pretty sure he was lying. And when I told him Singh was missing I could swear he looked relieved. He ended the interview by telling me Americans are crazy. He stood to go inside and pop pop . . . he was dead.”

“Only two shots.”

“That’s all I heard.”

“Anything else?”

“Off the record?”

“Oh boy,” Joe said. “I hate when a conversation with you starts like that.”

“I happened to accidentally wander into Howie’s apartment this morning.”