“Yeah,” Nutsy said. “And you handed the bag of jewelry off to me after Plover shot your friend.”
“That was you? It was dark and I was freaked out. After Stump got shot it was all a blur. I just wanted to get out of there. I figured Plover was going to shoot me too.” He looked down at his hands. “Why am I in handcuffs? Are you taking me to Plover?”
“No,” I said. “We aren’t working for Plover. We’re trying to put a bunch of pieces together about the robbery.”
“The jewelry is all fake,” Marcus said.
“I was in the alley when you and Stump were talking to Plover,” Nutsy said. “It sounded like you were trying to blackmail him.”
“That was Stump’s idea. It turned out we couldn’t get much money for the jewelry, but Stump thought Plover would pay to get it back. He figured Plover was passing the junk off as the real thing. Like scamming customers and then his insurance company.”
“How did you get the bag of jewelry?” I asked Marcus.
“We saw the guy who robbed the store run out and drop the bag. We were standing right there. And there was all this commotion with police and people on the street, and no one was paying any attention to the bag. So, we took it. We just walked away with it. We didn’t know it was filled with jewelry. We would have been happy if it was filled with halfway-decent garbage.”
“I want to know about Stump,” I said to Marcus. “What was he wearing when he was shot?”
“Same thing he always wore. Pants and a shirt and a hooded sweatshirt.”
“Did he have a belt?”
“No.”
“A watch?”
“No.”
“A ring?”
“No.”
“A phone?”
“No.”
“Any jewelry?”
“Yeah,” Marcus said. “He always wore a cross that he got in Mexico years ago. It was big with stuff engraved on it.”
“Did he have anything else on him that was metal?”
“He always carried a knife and fork and spoon. And he had a Swiss Army knife. Why do you want to know? Did someone find him? Is he okay?”
“He hasn’t been found, but we’re looking,” I said.
“This is weird,” Marcus said. “Who are you? Are you cops?”
“More or less,” Lula said.
“Not me,” Nutsy said. “I’m an unemployed doorman.”
I was in my parking lot, and I had no further use for Marcus. He’d told me everything I needed to know. He’d backed up Nutsy’s story, and he’d given me the information I wanted for Diggery. Eventually, the police would want a statement from him, but it seemed premature to turn him over to the police at this instant. Especially since he was wearing my handcuffs for no legitimate reason.
“Where are we?” Marcus asked.
“We’re in the parking lot to my apartment building,” I said. “Would you like to come upstairs and have something to eat? You didn’t get a chance to finish your sandwich.”
Marcus looked out at the building and looked down at his cuffs. “I’d rather just be free to go.”
“Of course,” I said.
Lula unlocked the cuffs.
“How are you going to get back to the church? It’ll take you all night if you walk.”
“I’ll find a way,” he said.
“I can drive you back,” I said.
He had the car door halfway open. “No! I mean, thanks, but I don’t need a ride.”
I gave him a twenty. “Is there a way to get in touch with you if we need more information? Do you have a phone?”
“I don’t have a phone,” he said, jumping out, backing away. “I don’t have anything.”
“If you’re going to steal a car, don’t take this one,” I told him.
And he was gone, disappearing behind an SUV, blending into dark shadows.
“Boy, he was in an awful rush,” Lula said.
“Maybe because he was just stun-gunned, dragged out of his nice comfy crack house, cuffed, kidnapped, and interrogated,” Nutsy said.
I got a call from Diggery.
“I’ve got someone for you to look at,” Diggery said. “I happened to know about a shallow grave and thought I’d go investigate. I got him dug up, but I couldn’t see the spider tattoo on account of the worms got to his hands, but I figure he’s about the right size.”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look,” I said.
“It’s the road before mine. It doesn’t look like much of a road but there’s a couple homes on it. I’m standing at the end of the road. I’m the one with the shovel. Snacker is here with me too.”
“Does the road have a name?”
“Not that I know, but there’s a couple mailboxes and a refrigerator at the start of the road. The refrigerator doesn’t look all that bad to me, but no one seems to want it. I’d take it but I don’t have room for another refrigerator.”
“I’m about a half hour away,” I said.
“Snacker and me will be waiting on you.”
* * *
Lula was in the front seat next to me, scanning the road for refrigerators.
“It’s dark as a witch’s you-know-what here,” Lula said. “I can’t hardly see anything.”
“We’re coming up to Diggery’s street,” I said. “It’s about a quarter mile away.”
“There it is,” Lula said. “There’s the mailboxes and the refrigerator. It looks like a pretty good refrigerator. Now that your lights are shining on it, I can see it’s got some rust. And there’s a couple raccoons eyeing it up.”
I turned down the street and crept along. The road was dirt and there were no lights. We passed a couple small bungalows that had trucks in the front yard. Diggery and Snacker were standing at the end of the road, leaning on their shovels. I pulled to the side and parked.
We all got out and said hello to Diggery and Snacker.
“This guy looks good,” Diggery said. “He’s about six feet and there’s some gray hair left on his head.”
“I don’t like this,” Lula said. “You know how I feel about dead people. Especially ones that had their hands eaten by worms.”
“I like dead people,” Snacker said. “They aren’t judging. And they aren’t always talking.”
“I never looked at it that way,” Lula said.
There was a mound of freshly dug dirt about twenty feet in front of us. I had Bob on a short leash and a Maglite in my other hand. We approached the mound of dirt and peered into the hole. I flashed the light on what was left of the body and gagged. Lula looked into the grave and gave up her meatball hoagie.
“It’s not Stump,” Nutsy said. “Stump had more hair. And Stump wore sneakers. This guy’s wearing motorcycle boots.”
“You didn’t tell me about the sneakers,” Diggery said.
“I told you when we first dug him up that I thought it was Papa Billy Wiget,” Snacker said. “I’m just surprised they buried him with the boots on. The Wigets don’t have any money. I guess the boots didn’t fit any of them.”
“It was worth a try,” Diggery said.
Everyone backed away from the grave.
“The man I’m looking for was wearing a large engraved cross and he was carrying a knife and fork and spoon. And he had a Swiss Army knife,” I said to Diggery.
“Okay, that could be helpful,” Diggery said. “I don’t suppose you want this person for any of your purposes.”
“No, sorry,” I said. “But keep looking.”