Roberta hustled out of her office with keys in hand and the portable phone stuffed into her pocket.
“The great coffin search,” Morelli said, watching her disappear around the end of the first row of lockers. He slouched in his seat. “Doesn't compute to me. Why would someone choose to steal caskets? They're big and heavy, and the resale market is limited to nonexistent. People probably have all kinds of things stored here that would be easier to fence. Why steal caskets?”
“Maybe that's what they needed. Maybe some down-on-his-luck undertaker took them. Like Mosel. Ever since Stiva opened up his new addition, Mosel has been on a downslide. Maybe Mosel knew Spiro had caskets stashed here, and he tippy-toed in one dark night and swiped them.”
Morelli looked at me like I was from Mars.
“Hey, it's possible,” I said. “Stranger things have happened. I think we should go around to a bunch of viewings and see if anyone's laid out in one of Spiro's caskets.”
“Oh, boy.”
I shifted my bag higher onto my shoulder. “There was a guy at the viewing last night named Sandeman. Do you know him?”
“I busted him for possession about two years ago. He got caught in a sweep.”
“Ranger tells me Sandeman worked with Moogey at the garage. Said he heard Sandeman was there the day Moogey got shot in the knee. I was wondering if you'd talked to him.”
“No. Not yet. Scully was the investigating officer that day. Sandeman gave him a statement, but it didn't say much. The shooting took place in the office, and Sandeman was in the garage working on a car at the time. Had an air wrench going and didn't hear the shot.”
“Thought maybe I'd see if he had any ideas on Kenny.”
“Don't get too close. Sandeman's a real jerk. Bad temper. Bad attitude.” Morelli pulled car keys out of his pocket. “Terrific mechanic.”
“I'll be careful.”
Morelli gave me a look of total no-confidence. “You sure you don't want me to go with?” he asked. “I'm good at thumbscrews.”
“I'm not really into thumbscrews, but thanks for the offer.”
His Fairlane was parked next to my Jeep.
“I like the hula girl in the back window,” I said. “Nice touch.”
“It was Costanza's idea. It covers an antenna.”
I looked at the top of her head and, sure enough, there was the tip of an antenna poking through. I squinted at Morelli. “You're not going to follow me, are you?”
“Only if you say please.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
Morelli looked like he knew better.
I cut across town and left turned onto Hamilton. Seven blocks later I nosed into a parking slot to the side of the garage. Early morning and evening the pumps were in constant use. At this hou
r they didn't see much action. The office door was open, but the office was empty. Beyond the office the doors to the bays were up. The third bay had a car on a rack.
Sandeman worked nearby, balancing a tire. He was wearing a faded black Harley tank top that stopped two inches short of low-rider, grease-stained jeans. His arms and shoulders were covered with tattoos of snakes, fangs bared, forked tongues sticking out. Stuck between snakes was a red heart with the inscription I LOVE JEAN. Lucky girl. I decided Sandeman could only be enhanced by a mouthful of rotting teeth and possibly a few festering facial sores.
He straightened when he saw me and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Yeah?”
“You're Perry Sandeman?”
“You got it.”
“Stephanie Plum,” I said, forgoing the usual formality of an introductory handshake. “I work for Kenny Mancuso's bondsman. I'm trying to locate Kenny.”
“Haven't seen him,” Sandeman said.