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And next thing, Dickie was on the floor, my hands around his neck. He was yelling as best he could, considering I was choking him, and Lula and Connie were in the mix. By the time Lula and Connie wrestled me off him, the room was filled with clerical staff.
Dickie dragged himself up and looked at me wild-eyed. “You're all witnesses,” he said to the roomful of people. “She tried to kill me. She's insane. She should be locked up in a looney bin. Call the police. Call animal control. Call my lawyer. I want a restraining order.”
“You deserve Joyce,” I said to Dickie. “What you don't deserve is this desk clock. It was a wedding present from my Aunt Tootsie.” And I took the clock, turned on my heel, tipped my nose up ever so slightly, and flounced out of his office, Connie and Lula right behind me.
Dickie scrambled after us. “Give me that clock! That's my clock!”
Lula whipped out her Glock and pointed it at Dickie s nose. “Were you paying attention? Her Aunt Tootsie gave her that clock. Now get your little runt ass back in your office and close the door before I put a big hole in your head.”
We took the stairs for fear the elevator might be too slow, barreled out the front door, and speed-walked down the block before the police could show up and haul me off to the clink. I saw the shiny black SUV parked across the street. Tinted windows. Motor running. I paused and gave the car a thumbs-up, and the lights flashed at me. Ranger was listening to the bugs I'd just left in Dickie's pockets.
We rammed ourselves into Lula's Firebird, and Lula rocketed the car away from the curb.
“I swear, I thought you were gonna burst into flames when you saw that picture of Dickhead and Joyce,” Lula said. “It was like you had those glowing demon eyes you see in horror movies. I thought your head was gonna rotate.”
“Yeah, but then a calm came over me,” I said. “And I saw I had a chance to plant the bugs in Dickie s pockets.”
“The calm must have come while you were squeezing his neck and banging his head against the floor,” Connie said.
I blew out a sigh. “Yep. That was about the time.”
We had food spread all over Connie’s desk. Meatball subs in wax paper wrappers, a big tub of coleslaw, potato chips, pickles, and diet sodas.
“This was a good idea,” I said to Lula. “I was starved.”
“Guess going apeshit makes you hungry,” Lula said. “What s up next?”
“I thought I'd do some phone work on Simon Diggery. Maybe I can get a lead on him that'll take me someplace other than a graveyard.”
Diggery was a wiry little guy in his early fifties. His brown hair was shot with gray and tied back in a ponytail. His skin looked like old leather. And he had arms like Pop-eye from years of hauling dirt. Most often, he worked alone, but on occasion he could be seen walking the streets at two in the morning with his brother Melvin, shovels on their shoulders like Army rifles.
“You're not going to get anywhere with phone calls,” Lula said. “Those Diggerys are wily.”
I pulled a previous file on Diggery and copied phone numbers and places of employment. In the past, Diggery had delivered pizzas, bagged groceries, pumped gas, and cleaned kennel cages.
“It's a place to start,” I said to Lula. “Better than knocking on their doors.”
The Diggery's all lived together in a raggedy double-wide in Bordentown. Simon, Melvin, Melvin's wife, Melvin's six kids, Melvin's pet python, and Uncle Bill Diggery. If you knocked on the door to the double-wide, you'd only find the python. The Diggery’s were like feral cats. They scattered into the woods behind their home the minute a car stopped in the driveway.
When the weather was especially bad and the ground was frozen, grave robbing was slow work and Simon would sometimes take odd jobs. I was hoping to catch him at one of those jobs. Since the jobs were random, the only way to learn of them was to trick a family member or neighbor into giving Simon up.
“What's the charge this time?” Lula asked.
I paged through the file. “Drunk and disorderly, destruction of private property, attempted assault.”
Everyone knew Diggery was Trenton's premier grave robber, but his arrests were seldom associated with desecration of the dead. He was most often arrested for disorderly conduct and assault. When Simon Diggery got drunk, he swung a mean shovel.
I gathered my information together and stuffed it into my bag along with the clock. “I'm working at home for the rest of the day.”
“I feel like working at home until July,” Lula said. “I'm fed up with this weather.”
I'd just gotten into my car when my mom called on my cell.
“Where are you?” she wanted to know. “Are you at the bail bonds office?”
“I was just leaving.”
“I was wondering if you would stop at Giovichinni's for me on your way home. Your father is out in the taxi all day, and my car won't start. I think I need a new battery. I want a halfpound of liverwurst, a half-pound of ham, a half-pound of olive loaf, and a half-pound of turkey. Then you can get me some Swiss cheese and some good rye. And a rump roast. And get an Entenmanns. Your grandmother likes the raspberry coffee cake.”
