Carmen leaned forward. “I thought the money burned up in the car.”
“That’s only what they said happened.”
A sudden look of comprehension came into her eyes. “They were hiding at the Wilcox house!”
“Exactly. And during their stay there, Kelly came into possession of the pocket watch. He kept it, and he had it with him on the night of the train wreck. When no one claimed the body, he was buried over at Willow Creek Cemetery. The name and date of birth on the headstone were derived from the inscription on the watch.”
“And that’s how Benjamin Simms came to be hiding in the barn. He was injured in the wreck, and was too badly hurt to get any farther.”
I nodded.
“But what about the real Clyde Wilcox?” Carmen asked.
I opened my desk drawer, and took out a copy of the death certificate I’d found an hour earlier, over at the county health department. “The real Clyde Wilcox died in 1933. As Melinda said, his body was sent back to Indiana for burial.”
Carmen looked puzzled. “But the money couldn’t possibly have been in the grave.”
“It wasn’t,” I said. “I think it’s hidden somewhere on the Wilcox property. It was the watch that the graverobbers were after. After forty years, Simms simply couldn’t recall where he and Kelly and Scarlotti had holed up after the robbery. He may have known the name of the town, but he couldn’t recall which house it had been. He couldn’t remember the names of the people there, either. Well, the name was on the watch. And he had a pretty good idea where that was.”
Carmen looked thoughtful. “So Melinda Wilcox knows a good deal more than she’s telling.”
“Let’s just say that she knew a good deal that she didn’t tell the police forty-eight years ago. I seriously doubt if she’s made a connection between what happened then and what’s going on now.”
“That still leaves a big unanswered question,” Carmen said. “Who killed Simms?”
I spread my hands, palms up. “Walts has been parked in front of Melinda Wilcox’s home for the last few nights, in case somebody decides to pay her another visit. He’s been keeping a pretty high profile. Maybe it’s time to make it look like we’ve pulled out, just to see who comes calling.”
“Who do you suppose it might be? Someone from around here?”
“It’s possible,” I said. “More likely it’s somebody Simms knew before he came back. Maybe someone he knew in prison.”
“Is there any way to check?”
“There might be. I’m going over to Kuypersville this afternoon, to talk to one of Simms’s old cellmates.” I smiled. “ ’Course, whether he’ll talk to me or not is another matter entirely.”
I parked the car outside the prison walls in the shadow of a guard tower and made my way to the warden’s office. Fifteen minutes later I was sitting in a day room, across a table from Bobby Jakes.
Jakes looked to be in his mid-fifties, with close-cropped gray hair and alert blue eyes. He had been Benjamin Simms’s roommate for the three years preceding his parole.
“So you’re Bigelow,” he stated. He took a deep drag on an unfiltered Camel, and spat away a bit of tobacco that stuck to his lip.
I nodded.
Jakes smiled wryly. “You’ve got a friend or two inside.”
“Funny how they never think to drop me a postcard.”
Jakes fiddled with the cigarette. His fingers were stained with nicotine. “We heard about Benny.”
“News travels fast, doesn’t it?”
Jakes looked at me frankly. “I liked old Benny, sheriff. A lot of the guys did. What do you want to know?”
“What I want to know is, who do you think killed him?”
“That’s easy. A guy by the name of Bill Salyers.”
I hadn’t expected cooperation, let alone such a direct answer. “Who’s Bill Salyers? Why do you think he killed Benny?”
“Salyers is a psycho punk who was here for a long time. Story was, he nearly killed some kids. Tried to set ’em on fire with gasoline.”
Christ.
“How’d he get out?”
Jakes shrugged. “He finished his sentence.”
“What was Salyers’ relationship to Benjamin Simms?” I asked.
“Benny was the only guy who’d have anything to do with him. Ol’ Benny was like that — you know, friendly with everybody. Salyers fastened onto him like a leech.”
“So why would he have wanted to kill him?” I asked.
“Because of the money,” Jakes responded. “Benny had this cock-and-bull story about eighty grand he and some guys had stashed away back in the thirties. He and his partner were going back to get it, but something happened. His pal got killed, and he wound up back in the slammer.”
“You didn’t believe him?”
“Hell, no. It was just an old con’s story.” Jakes ground out the cigarette. “But Salyers believed him. He asked about it again and again. And Benny never got tired of telling.”
“So you think they may have gotten together after Simms was released.”
Jakes nodded. “I’m sure of it. Find Salyers, and you’ve got your killer.”
He smiled.
“If you don’t, you’re gonna have some more bodies on your hands.”
Walts and I were sitting in an unmarked car, a block down the street from the Wilcox place.
“So that’s the story,” I concluded.
Walts turned the watch over in his huge hand, tilting it against the feeble shine of a streetlight to better read the inscription. “You think he’ll show tonight?”
“I’m almost sure of it.” I was checking my .38, hoping there would be no cause to use it. “I got the guy’s records from the warden, and they pretty much bear out what Jakes told me. The man is unstable. Highly volatile. According to the psychiatrist who examined him, he has clear homicidal tendencies.”
“I don’t much like it that Carmen is in the house,” Walts said.
“Neither do I.” I holstered my pistol. “But she was worried about Melinda’s being alone. Hell — I couldn’t order her to leave. She’s a strong-minded young lady, once she’s set on something.”
Walts thought that over. In what context, I couldn’t say.
“I don’t think she’ll be in any particular danger,” I said. “What Salyers is looking for is supposed to be in the basement.”
“Right.” Walts handed me the watch. “So what’s the plan?” he asked.
“I think our best bet is to take him by surprise — to get the drop on him before he has time to think or react.”
“How do you figure on doing that?”
“I’ll wait outside in the bushes,” I said. “You’ll wait in the basement, with your hand on the light switch. We’ll let him pry the padlock off and go in. I’ll follow right behind. When he comes through the doorway, you hit the lights. If he has a gun, he probably won’t have it out. With one of us on either side of him, he won’t try for it.”
“That sounds like it ought to work,” Walts said. “Except I don’t much like the idea of being locked up in a dark basement. Why should I be the one inside?”
“Because I’m the sheriff and you’re the deputy. Don’t worry,” I said. “It won’t be for more than a few hours.”
“A few hours!” Walts was clearly less than happy at the prospect. “What’ll I do down there?”
“Wait and listen.”
“Wonderful.”
We got out of the car, each with a walkie-talkie in hand.