Yeah, Willy thought, glancing around. As against living in clover.

“You’re implying he worked with a bunch of people like you,” he said. “You handled cars, probably somebody else took jewelry, computers, silverware. Is that right?”

“Sure.”

“You know some of these people?”

Darren tried looking crafty. “Everybody knows somebody, Kunkle, just like you know me. It’s all based on money changing hands.”

Willy stood back up, his expression grim. “Right. And I know cops, like on the Winchester police force. The Feds may not want you, Darren, but one phone call from me will bring down guys who’d love a bite out of you. My sworn statement will get them a search warrant to tear this dump apart and bust you for whatever they find. You really want to play cute?”

Bader’s silence was eloquent enough.

“So,” Willy continued. “Here’s my question: Of the fences Don worked with, who do you think might’ve been pissed at him, or twitchy, crazy, or nasty enough to kill him?”

Darren didn’t seem put out by Willy’s stance. In their world, such exchanges were coin of the realm. “I could maybe come up with a couple. I gotta give it some thought.”

Willy decided he’d had enough. “I think I changed my mind. I’m gonna take you to the PD after all.” He made to grab hold of the man.

Bader pressed against the wall. “Whoa, whoa. What the hell?”

Willy paused, his face closer, looming above. “You just admitted it, Darren: You were pissed at Kalfus. You blamed him for getting locked up. You wanted to get even, and now he’s dead.”

Darren recalculated. “Don’t get your shorts in a twist,” he urged, holding up both hands. “I was pissed. I told you that. I was wrong. We did a deal later, and it went great. No bad feelings. Bygones and all that shit. We were cool.”

“Who killed him, then?”

Credibly or not, Bader chose to suddenly cooperate. “I did hear a rumor.”

Willy relaxed and resumed his seat. “What?”

“I didn’t know Kalfus was dead till you told me. Honest. But a couple of days ago, maybe three, I heard somebody was looking for him.”

“Tell me more.”

“That’s sorta it. Grapevine had it Don had overstepped. Poked the wrong bear.”

Willy sneered at him. “The man was beaten to death, Darren. Of course he poked the wrong bear. That’s why I’m here. You need to give me somewhere else to go, or I’m not leaving. And it had better be accurate, or I’ll be back with company.”

It was an empty threat, but Willy was counting on past experience to inform Darren’s thinking. He’d spent half his life in jail. He was resigned to authorities doing what they chose with him.

“He spent most of his time in New Hampshire,” he began. “I don’t know why. He didn’t ignore Vermont, but his mom lives there, and his girlfriend. Maybe he wanted distance between them and what he did. Plus, there’re more rich people living here, ’cause we’re near Boston and the coast.”