“You couldn’t stop him?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I tried.” I narrowed my eyes and smiled at him to let him know I didn’t believe him.
“Come on, Mr. Kelly,” I said. “You’re a pretty big guy; you look like you can handle yourself. You’ve got what, thirty, forty pounds on Chesterfield?”
“He had a gun,” he said.
“He had a gun?” I asked, almost laughing. “Where’d he get a gun?”
“I keep one in the truck,” he said.
“Why do you have a gun in your truck?”
“I’ve had a lot of stuff stolen over the years,” he said. “You drive around all day in a truck with thousands of dollars of equipment in it, year after year. People tend to steal it sometimes.”
“Okay,” I said. “He had a gun. He had a gun that he went outside and got from your truck after he found the money. And then he held you up and took it.”
“Yes,” he said, not showing any signs of being aware of just how lame his story sounded. “He’s got a duffel bag that he carries some of his gear in, and he dumped it out on the floor and filled it with money. He could barely zip it, and then it was almost too heavy to carry.”
“Did he tie you up, then take your truck?”
“Yes,” he said.
I laughed, but he acted like he didn’t notice.
“He used zip ties and got my hands behind my back, and then he used them to tie me to a support post under the deck just outside the basement. He put duct tape over my mouth.” Now I knew he was lying.
“So,” I said, “you want me to believe that you watched thousands of dollars tumble out of a wall, and then you watched your buddy go outside to your truck and get a gun. And then you stood there while he fastened all those zip ties together to get them long enough to go around both your wrists, and then you waited for him to make another set to go around the post? And then he put duct tape over your mouth?”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s what happened.”
“Did Tommy Broughton believe your story?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You better hope so,” I said.
“He found me down there after Wade left,” he said. “He cut me loose and I told him what happened.”
“Did he call the police?”
“No,” he said. “He never even mentioned the police. It was like somebody’d found his stash of kiddy porn and he didn’t know what to say. He just freaked out, started acting all nervous, asking me all about Wade: what kind of guy he is, where he lives, that kind of thing.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I told him everything he wanted to know. I mean, I felt bad and I didn’t want to, but Wade dragged me into this. I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared because the guy was so freaked out.”
“Did you ask Broughton where the money came from?”
“Hell no,” he said. “He said something about his wife’s inheritance, about a will being contested. Said that’s why he was storing the cash.”
“Did you ask if the other walls had money in them?”
“Hell no,” he said again. “I know better than that. I acted like I believed him, and I called somebody to pick me up, and then I got the hell out of there. I mean, there was money everywhere; probably hundreds of thousands of dollars inside that one wall.” He raised his eyes to mine, and we just looked at each other.
“Did you call the police?” I asked.
“No way,” he said. “That’s the last thing I’m going to do. A cop called my phone this morning, but there’s no way in hell I’m calling him back.”
“You should call him back,” I said. “I know him; he’s a good guy.”
“No way,” Kelly said again. “The police show up over at Broughton’s and ask about that money, who do you think he’s going to suspect of ratting him out? Who’s he going to come looking for?” He closed his eyes and sighed, and then he opened them slowly and looked at me. “Somebody broke into our house a couple days ago-kicked in the back door. We’ve been staying at my mother-in-law’s because I knew we couldn’t stay at home.”
“You think the break-in was related to this?” He looked around and then leaned toward me.
“Yes,” he said, “because they didn’t take anything-nothing except a picture of me and my wife.” He leaned back like he was out of breath; his face had turned white.
“Did you call the police?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I already told you: no police.”
“Okay,” I said. “No police. Why are you willing to talk to me?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe because you’re not a cop. I don’t know. I just wanted to tell somebody that I had nothing to do with this. Nothing. You can tell it to whoever you want, but I’m not getting mixed up in this with the police and all that.”
“I think you’re already pretty mixed up in it,” I said.
“Whatever,” he said. “The police are going to have to drag me in kicking and screaming. People who testify about stuff like this end up dead in the movies. That ain’t going to be me.”
We sat looking at each other for a second, and then I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table. “I don’t believe your story, Mr. Kelly. At least not all of it.”
“You can believe whatever you want,” he said, “but that’s what happened.”
“I can tell you it didn’t,” I said. “Go in the bathroom and look at your beard. If Wade had put duct tape on your face tight enough to keep you from screaming you would’ve had to cut it out of your beard. Also, how’d you get your truck back so quick? Did Wade leave you an anonymous message about where to find it?” Kelly closed his eyes, and then he opened them slowly.
“It’s not my fault Wade took the money,” he said.
“I agree,” I said. “It’s not your fault. I’m not the one blaming you.”
“Wade’s a good guy,” he said. “He’s got a good heart. He just gets carried away and does stupid shit sometimes.” I looked at him for a second until the irony of what he’d just said had time to sink in. He sighed. “I know,” he said.
My heart was racing, but I tried to keep my cool. I knew I was sitting at a booth in Tony’s Ice Cream with one of three people who knew where the stolen armored car money was or at least where it had been on Friday afternoon. Kelly must’ve sensed the tension.
“Broughton’s going to have somebody looking for Wade, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And it’s going to be bad when they find him, isn’t it?”
“Probably worse than you can imagine,” I said.
“Jesus,” he said. He put his hands over his eyes, and then he dropped them to the table. “What should I do?”
I took the last bite of my cheeseburger. “Well,” I said. I swallowed and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “If I was you, I’d do one of two things. One, I’d get those letters back on my truck as soon as possible. Then I’d go back to work and act like nothing happened. The minute you start acting weird is the minute more weird stuff happens.” I balled up all my trash in the cheeseburger wrapper and picked up my drink. “Or, two: I’d pack up as much as I can, pick up the mother-in-law, and leave town until all this blows over.”
“How will we know it’s ‘blown over’?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess the day the cops stop calling and people stop kicking in your back door.”
“Great,” he said. “Thanks.”
I stood up from the table and tossed the balled wrapper and my soda in the trash can beside the booth. Kelly just sat there, his untouched burger on the table before him. I looked down at him. “Do you own a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Make sure it’s loaded and that you know how to use it. And if you’re not going to eat that cheeseburger then take it out to your wife.”
What was Mrs. Kelly thinking when she saw me jump in my car, start the engine, and tear out of the lot onto Franklin and head for my office? What was her husband thinking as he sat there in that booth, a cold cheeseburger in front of him, the biggest confession of his life over and done with, a wife waiting in the car with more questions than he’d have answers for?