“Anyway,” she said, “he wants to see you this evening. Because of everything that’s gone on and now that we’re one person short, he won’t get off work ‘til around eight tonight. I know that’s late, but he really has to talk to you, and he’d rather do it at the cemetery.”
The clerk stood.
Jonelle did the same. She grabbed the back of the bench to steady herself until her knees stopped shaking.
Marcia raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”
“Must be getting old. Knees don’t work like they used to,” Jonelle said.
Marcia nodded. “I understand.”
Both women moved as if the ground under their feet contained thick sand and began the walk back toward Jonelle’s building.
“I think Jorge is probably going to quit pretty soon,” Marcia said. “And I’ve already given Reverend Clarkson my notice. I’m not going to leave until he’s found another clerk, but I’m getting too old for this much drama.”
Never mind the fact that it’s illegal. “Did Reverend Clarkson know what Manross was doing?”
Marcia fiddled with the clasp on her purse. “I doubt it. He didn’t want to know what was happening with the bodies. He just wanted things to keep going the way they were. And like I said, nobody ever complained.”
“I see. So you guys just kept accepting the homeless bodies and disposing—yes—disposing of them however you saw fit? Lovely, just lovely.” Jonelle crossed her arms. “Where exactly does Jorge want me to meet him?”
Marcia described the place on the cemetery grounds.
“There’s still some light out at that time. In case you’re, you know.” Marcia shrugged. “Some people get a little freaked out in cemeteries after dark.”
They continued along in silence until they reached Marcia’s car.
Before getting in, she turned and faced Jonelle.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you. You’re such a nice lady. What we had to do to keep the place going really was all very innocent.”
Jonelle couldn’t stand it any longer. She pointed a shaking finger at the clerk. “Innocent for whom? You tell me.”
Marcia stepped back at the force of Jonelle’s words as if she’d been physically struck.
“Even street people might have someone who cares for them. Did you ever think of that?”
Marcia’s voice trembled. “You’re right. We really didn’t mean any harm. This was never supposed to happen. I think in your case, Cornelius and Jorge must’ve made a horrible mistake.” She gave Jonelle a pained look. “Things just got out of hand. I’m so very sorry.” Tears welled up in Marcia’s eyes.
In spite of everything, Jonelle found herself feeling sorry for the woman.
She lowered her voice. “Tell Jorge I’ll be there at eight sharp. You can also let him know that I expect him to tell me exactly what happened to my husband. No bullshitting any more. I’ve run out of patience.”
CHAPTER 25
Jonelle removed the pistol from the locked glove compartment. After checking to make sure the clip was full and the safety on, she tucked the pistol into the black leather holster slung over her left shoulder.
She wanted to keep her hands free so she shoved her purse under the driver’s seat and placed the car keys in the pocket of her jeans. A quick pull freed the navy blue windbreaker from the passenger seat. She shrugged into the lightweight jacket in an attempt to hide the gun from view. A quick look in the vehicle’s window still showed the firearm.
Afraid the presence of a pistol would alarm Jorge, she zipped the jacket enough to hide the holster. Next, Jonelle set her cellphone to vibrate and slid the phone into the windbreaker’s pocket.
The sun, so brilliant in the sky earlier that day, now rested low on the horizon. The air had cooled little from the heavy heat of the day, and she wondered briefly if the jacket would arouse Jorge’s suspicions.
“No way I’m meeting him alone without backup,” she mumbled to herself. She touched the holster for reassurance.
The digital readout on her watch indicated only ten minutes remained before the planned eight o’clock meeting time. Jonelle looked around and tried to orient herself to finding the landmarks in Marcia’s directions. As the light faded, four overhead lights came on and illuminated the lot. She saw clearly where the grass that ringed the parking lot opened up, revealing a narrow gravel walkway.
Jonelle stepped onto the path. Tiny stones crunched under foot as she walked to the right of carved grave markers, several leaning haphazardly on the uneven terrain. Or were those headstones removed and replaced? The fading light cast odd shadows around the stones—shadows that seemed to move and dance, the more she stared at them. Jonelle shuddered. In a flash, Marcia’s words came back to her… “some people get freaked out in cemeteries after dark.” Jonelle touched the shoulder holster again.
A few minutes passed with nothing but the sound of her own breathing and footfalls, and the buzzing, whirring, and chirping of insects. She hadn’t yet come upon the first landmark Marcia had given her—a three-sided storage shed filled with equipment—and Jonelle wondered if she had misunderstood the directions. With eyes now accustomed to the dim light, Jonelle shivered and explored the surroundings. There were no other gravel paths, and Marcia specifically said to get on the path and “follow it above and to the right of the guest parking lot.”
Jonelle hurried on. Her breathing became labored as she rushed along the path. As the tightness in her chest threatened to stop her forward progress, the landmark shed, filled with tractors came into view. Jorge and the meeting place were nearby.
“Thank goodness,” she muttered, now confident she was headed in the right direction.
Jonelle dashed past the building. She’d told Marcia that Jorge better be there at eight sharp, and she didn’t want to risk missing him by not being on time.
The footpath widened into another gravel road big enough to handle the cemetery’s large vehicles. Deep ruts straddled both sides of a narrow strip of grass. Afraid of tripping on the uneven earth, Jonelle stepped on the grassy median down the middle of the road.
The clerk had said the road led up to the northeast corner of the cemetery and then veered sharply to the left. A little ways beyond that spot was where Jorge wanted to meet.
Jonelle fast-walked along the path and soon came upon the turn in the road. A few minutes later Jorge came into view.
With his head bowed and back hunched, the groundskeeper paced furiously back and forth in front of a two-story metal-sided building. Even in the dim light, Jonelle saw Jorge’s hands shoved deep in his pockets. She stepped off the road, and made a direct line to him, crossing over the lawn and up a slight incline.
Except for the building in front of her, the entire area lay open. No other shadows, no other movements appeared in this part of the cemetery. Finally, he sensed her presence and looked up. He stopped in his tracks and stared at her.
She called out to him. “It’s Jonelle Sweet. Marcia said you wanted to see me.” She closed the distance between them. “Fact is, I’m a little surprised.” Jonelle stopped about fifteen feet away from him. “I hope that by asking me to come out here, you and I can have a nice conversation with none of the BS that I’ve been getting since I met you people. And that you’ll tell me what I need to know.”
Jorge gestured toward the shed. “We can talk in there.”
Jonelle shook her head. “Oh, no. We talk out here. You alone?”
“Yeah.”
Not sure whether or not to believe him, Jonelle felt for the comforting weight of the gun under her jacket.
“So? What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Instead of answering, Jorge pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Jonelle stared at his hand. A tattoo of a snake started with the head at his index finger and ended with the tail on his pinky. His palm covered the brand as he tapped out a cigarette. Her heart beat faster.
After taking a few quick breaths to keep her voice steady, she asked, “
What brand are you smoking?”
He held out the pack. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.” Jonelle relaxed a little, relieved the cigarette in his hand was not the same brand as the butts she’d already found.
The gravedigger’s hand shook as he lit the cigarette. “Look, it’s gittin’ dark out here. Why doan you wanna go inside? There’s lights in there.”
“I got a better idea. Why don’t you turn the lights on and leave the door open. We’d be able to see each other just fine. Besides, I’m not planning on staying too long because you’re gonna tell me what I need to know, and then I’m outta here.”
Jorge shrugged. “Suit yourself, lady.”
He shuffled over to the door, opened it, and flicked a switch on the right side of the wall. A soft yellow glow poured out from the entrance. Jonelle walked close to the door, keeping several feet between her and the gravedigger.
Though the pacing had stopped, Jorge’s free hand was crammed into his pants pocket. Jonelle heard the tinkle of coins as he fiddled with his change.
“Are you gonna talk to me, or do you just want me standing here listening to the change music coming out of your pants?”
Jorge’s hand stopped. He shook his head over and over.
The man needed another little push. “Do you know why my husband’s body is missing?” Jonelle asked.
“First, you gotta promise, no policia.”
Jonelle grinned. “I don’t have to promise anything. I already know enough so that if I walked away from here and went straight to the cops, you’d be on the next flight to Mexico or cooling your heels in jail. Start talking.”
Jorge stared at Jonelle through slitted eyes. For several seconds, neither one spoke. Somewhere in the distance a car horn sounded. Then silence.
Jonelle turned to go.
“Hey! Wait! Okay, okay.”
She turned back and faced him and noticed for the first time that his slick black hair had tiny flecks of gray. And there were fine lines around his eyes and mouth. Even allowing for the fact the groundsman worked in the sun all day, Jorge appeared older than she first thought. The muscles protruding from under the uniform on his stocky frame indicated he’d be a tough opponent in a fight.
Jonelle walked back to the open door and sat down on an overturned plastic barrel, just to the left of the opening. Jorge went inside the building and returned with a wooden chair. He sat opposite her.
“Start from the beginning. What the hell happened to my husband?”
Jorge took a long drag from the cigarette.
“Firs’, we din’ know anythin’ about your husband. That day, when you came to the cemetery and said your husband was missin’, Manny and I went back to see. We was suppose to, uh, remove some other guy. The one that was homeless. See, the names were similar and… ”
“I don’t care about that. Where is my husband’s body?”
“I doan know.”
Jonelle opened her mouth to speak.
Jorge held up his hand. “Lemme finish.” He crushed the cigarette under the heel of well-worn boots.
“See, Manny was suppose to keep track of when we git bodies sent to us by the county. These are—”
“Yeah, I heard all about that from Marcia. Go on. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Jorge sighed.
Jonelle noticed his hand wasn’t shaking anymore.
“So when the county bodies came in, we knew we gotta bury ’em. Manny made up a list of the names, if there was one, or he wrote John Doe down on this piece a’ paper. We din’ bury the John Does deep, ’cause when we got a, uh, order, we knew we hadda dig some of ’em up again. Once the Rev and Marcia left for the day, we’d go an’ git what we needed.”
He stopped and stared at the crushed cigarette butt.
“I gotta tell ya. I thought it was weird that a homeless guy would have such a nice casket, and we had a helluva time gittin’ the damn thin’ open. Anyway, we did the usual. We wrapped the body in a tarp, and Manny waited for Calvin to come an’ git it.”
Nausea spread through Jonelle’s stomach and seeped up toward her throat. She tasted bile.
“You okay, lady? You doan look so good.”
Jonelle shook her head. She managed a weak, “You got any water around here?”
Jorge stood. “We got a small refrig in the back. There might be some water. Hold on a sec.”
While he was gone, Jonelle wondered what the gravediggers did with the empty caskets but decided she didn’t need to know about that now.
Jorge returned a few moments later carrying a bottle of water. He handed it to her and leaned against the side of the building.
Jonelle unscrewed the top, took a few sips, and instantly felt better as the cool water flowed down her throat. “Calvin, huh? That creep I’ve seen around? So, he’s the one behind all this. Where did he take them?”
“I doan know where he took the bodies,” Jorge said, shaking his head. “And he wasn’t the main man. Calvin was jus’, uh, like me and Manny, only he was the one who was suppose to bring the bodies to… him.”
Jonelle’s face grew warm. “Look, I mean it. Don’t bullshit me. How could you not know what Calvin did with the bodies?”
“’Cause I din’ wanna know. Okay?”
Jonelle crossed her arms and studied the gravedigger for a moment. In spite of everything, she believed him. “Go on. What’s Calvin’s last name?”
“I doan know. I do know he works at the… ” Jorge screwed his face in concentration. “Uh, it’s in DC. Saint somethin’. Saint August Cemetery? Somethin’ like that. I forgit exactly.”
She stared at the groundskeeper in amazement. “You mean to tell me you guys went around digging up bodies and all you know about your partner in crime is that he works ‘someplace’ in Washington, DC? You don’t even know his last name? Great, just great.” Jonelle felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She ignored it.
“I doan hafta know his name,” Jorge said, his voice rising. “Or where he works. Jus’ that he pays me my share.”
“Which is what?”
The groundskeeper didn’t answer right away. Once again, Jonelle noticed the eerie silence in the cemetery.
Jorge shifted from one foot to the other. He lowered his voice. “I got two hunnert per body, Manny got three hunnert, and I’m not sure about Calvin, but I know he got more’n us. Since he’s the one that took the body away.” Jorge hesitated. He looked at the ground and muttered something in Spanish.
Tiny pinpricks of pain filled Jonelle’s lower back. She stood to relieve the pressure from sitting precariously on the barrel. She walked a short distance away from the building, to work out the kinks and get away from Jorge and his horror story. Silver moonlight caressed the grave markers over the burial plots, giving them an otherworldly glow. After a few moments of contemplation, Jonelle turned and walked back to the building. Instead of sitting on the barrel, she stood behind it, keeping the obstacle between her and the gravedigger.
Jorge raked his fingers through his hair. “Lady, I wish I could tell you everthin’ you wanna know, ’cause as of tomorrow, I’m outta here. I’m leavin’ this place. I got mixed up in this shit, and the only way for me to git out is to leave. Go someplace far away. Chicago, mebbe. I got relatives in Chicago.”
A sour taste again rose up from Jonelle’s stomach. She sipped more water and cleared her throat. “How many bodies are we talking about?”
Jorge looked as if he wanted to be someplace, anyplace, other than standing in front of Jonelle. “I came here six years ago, but I only been doin’ this for the last five years. So, I guess mebbe”—Jorge glanced up at the sky—“four, sometimes six bodies a year.”
I must be dreaming. I can’t possibly be listening to this man tell me this stuff. Wake up! Wake up! Jonelle pressed her arm against a sharp tine of an upturned pitchfork propped up next to her. “Ow,” she said softly, rubbing her upper arm. Nope, not dreaming.
Jorge gave her a funny look.
> “Tell me how long Manross has had this scheme going.”
Jorge shrugged. “Doan know about that. One day, when we was ready to leave, he asked me if I wanted to make some extra money. I said, sure. He explained what I had to do and that I wasn’t to tell anyone. Didn’t see any harm. Not like we killed anybody or nuthin’. They was already dead. You know?”
“Go on.”
“When we had a body ready, Manny called Calvin. Calvin would come aroun’ after work, about 7:30. We’d load the body in the back of his van, he’d give us the money, and then he’d leave.”
“Cash?’
He nodded.
“So Calvin picked the bodies up. Then what? Do you at least know what was done with them?” Jonelle itched to leave this creepy man, but she needed to hear more.
Jorge fished in his shirt pocket and pulled out another cigarette. He lit it with steady hands and took a few puffs before answering.
“I think some kinda experiments were done on ’em. Or somethin’ like that. At firs’ I thought mebbe somebody needed a heart or kidneys or other kinda body parts, but Manny said no. He said the parts are only good if you take ’em out right away.”
“Organs, dammit. They’re called organs. These are people we’re talking about, not flippin’ cars.”
After taking another long pull of the cigarette, Jorge said, “Since we wasn’t doin’ it for the organs, I sorta figured somebody needed the bodies for some kinda experiments or somethin’.”
Goosebumps erupted on Jonelle’s arms in spite of the still warm night. “Oh… my… God. Are we talking some kind of modern-day Nazi thing? Is there another Joseph Mengele walking around?”
Jorge frowned. “Who? Mengle who? I doan know no Mengle.”
Jonelle felt as if tiny ants were having a feast all over her body. The need to rush home and take the hottest, longest shower she could stand was nearly overwhelming.
“And you have no idea where Calvin took the bodies? Or the person he gave them to? You expect me to believe you and Manross did all this for a few hundred bucks?”
Jorge stared hard at Jonelle. His already dark brown eyes seemed to grow darker. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “You got no idea how hard it is tryin’ to live day to day and sendin’ half of what you make home. You, with your fancy clothes and shoes and cars. You got no idea.”
Burial Plot (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 1) Page 17