STATE OF ANGER: A Virgil Jones Mystery Series (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 1) (12 page)

“I’ve got to tell you, I didn’t
want to go. But my mom made me. She didn’t say it, but she made it clear that
your dad had died trying to save me, and it was our duty to go.”

“Oh, Virgil, that’s terrible.”

“You know, it wasn’t really,” he
said. “She didn’t put the weight on me. She didn’t have to. She just helped me
see that it was the right thing to do. Boy, I can remember her and my dad
fighting about it. They fought for weeks after that. Not about me going, but
the fact that he didn’t.”

“Why do you think he didn’t go?”

“He never told me. He was drinking
pretty bad back then, but I think the real reason was that he felt responsible
for your father’s death.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You have to
understand, I might not know what I’m talking about here. It’s not something my
dad and I talk about very often, but I think he feels like if he could have
gotten me out, then your dad would still be alive.”

“But you know that’s not true. It
took two men to get you out.”

“Yeah, try telling that to him.”

“I will.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that. He’s
not exactly the easiest guy in the world to talk to sometimes.”

“So says the son.”

Virgil looked at her, a reply
forming, when the phone rang again. Sandy dug her feet into his lap for a
second, then swung them off and went to the kitchen. She answered the phone
like it was the most natural thing in the world, spoke into the receiver for a
moment, then handed it to Virgil, a hint of a smile sneaking across the corner
of her mouth. “It’s your dad.”

“How do you know that?”

“Caller I.D.,” she said. Then with
playfulness in her voice Virgil was grateful to hear, she added, “
Detective
.”

Virgil laughed at himself and took
the phone. “Morning, Pops. What’s up?”

“Hey Virg. Your boss is looking
for you. She tried here out of desperation. Said she couldn’t get a hold of
you. Anyway, sounds like something big might be happening with your case. She
wants you to call her right away. Say, who’s that just answered your phone?”

16

__________

V
irgil
dialed Cora’s number then put the phone on speaker so Sandy could hear the
conversation. When she answered her words were clipped and the frustration in
her voice was evident. “Know where the Safeway off of Morris Street is?”

“What’s going on, Cora?”

“Woman named Elle Richardson is
dead. Shot in the middle of her forehead. Ron Miles is already there and says
the crime scene crew thinks it’s the same shooter. If you’re not doing anything
you might want to swing by. And by the way, Pate’s lawyer is raising holy hell
with the Governor as we speak so you may have touched a nerve somewhere. Things
are happening, Slick. You might want to get in the game.”

“We’ll get right over there,”
Virgil said, then wished he’d been more careful with his choice of words.

“Is there something you’d like to
tell me?” Her voice seemed to relax a little, but as was often the case with
Cora, she didn’t wait for an answer. “Your phone sounds sort of funny. Do you
have me on speaker or something? Hey, one other thing, I’ve got everyone else’s
paperwork from yesterday’s cluster fuck outside the Governor’s place, but I’m
still waiting on Small’s. Tell her to get it to me, will you, or did I just do
that?”

__________

Fifteen minutes later they were
dressed and in the truck, the bubble light flashing on the dashboard. When they
pulled up to the crime scene, TV was there, along with a few print people. When
they got out of the truck, the cameras turned their way. Virgil looked at Sandy
and said, “I hate it when the news beats me to the crime scene.”

“Well, they don’t really have a
life,” Sandy said.

A very tall and skinny female reporter
and her cameraman caught them just before they ducked under the crime scene
tape. “Detective Jones, what can you tell me about this latest murder? Our
information is the victim is a nurse, just like one of yesterday’s victims. Do
the nurses of our city need to be concerned, Detective? Is it the work of the killer
you’ve been hunting in connection with the death of Franklin Dugan?”

Hunting. Good word.

Virgil’s opinion of the press went
like this: They had a job to do like anyone else. It had always been his
experience that as a detective, if you treated the press with dignity and
respect, they in turn, would reciprocate in kind, thereby establishing a
mutually beneficial relationship between all concerned parties.

They ducked under the crime scene
tape. “No comment,” Virgil said.

The reporter put a pout on her
lips. “Come on Jonesy…”

 “Not now, Karen.” He looked at
Sandy. “Go find Miles, will you? I’ll be right there.”

Sandy looked at him, a quiz on her
face. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I’ll be right there.”

__________

 “Did you know I’d be here, Karen,
or did you just get lucky?”

“I’m certain I don’t know what
you’re talking about,” Karen said.

Virgil thought she was trying to
look surprised, but with all the plastic surgery she’d had in an attempt to
maintain the appearance of a twenty-two year old, it was hard to tell. He stood
there for a moment and watched her try to blink.

“Who’s the cutie?”

He wanted to ignore her and walk
away, but negative intimacy is a powerful force and when he turned back around
to say something to Karen, he saw the taxi. It slowed in the street behind them
and when it did the passenger in the rear of the cab turned his head away at
the last second. Virgil’s eyes followed the cab, darted to Karen for a second,
then back to the cab that was already turning the corner at the end of the
block. When he looked over at Karen again he could not think of one single
thing he ever liked about her, but he also was not afraid to admit that
probably said more about him than it did her. He watched the cab turn the
corner, stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed to where the victim was,
all the while questioning his past preference in women.

Something about the cab, though.

__________

Sandy was leaning over the body when
he walked up. “Just like Cora said, Jonesy. Caught her right between the eyes.”

Virgil looked at the victim’s
body. A pool of blood had formed under her head. Groceries were scattered
everywhere. “I see that. Where’s Miles?”

Sandy stood, then turned to face
him. “You okay, Jonesy? What was that back there?”

Virgil was trying to process too
many things at once; the discovery he and Sandy had made together just hours
ago, their love making, another shooting victim, the cab that just went by. It
was a lot of information. “What?”

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know. Just someone in a
cab. It was weird. How many people have you ever seen that look away from a
bunch of cop cars?”

Sandy frowned, tilted her head. “What
cab? What are you talking about? I’m talking about the woman. Who was that?”

“Oh, that,” Virgil said. “Uh, her
name is Karen Connor.”

Sandy chewed on the inside of her
lip. “Well, I don’t like her. She seems kinda…brassy.”

Virgil puffed his cheeks, then
blew out a breath. “Let me tell you.”

“Oh, you will, boss man, you
will.”

“Well…as long as we’re on the
subject, I guess I should tell you something.”

“Yes…”

“You know, just so it’s out
there.”

“What?” Sandy asked, a note of
skepticism in her voice.

He didn’t know if it would matter
to her or not. “You see, the thing is…”

__________

 “What?
You were married to
her?”

“Well, yeah, but the key word here
is
was
. As in
I was married to her, but now I’m not
.”

 “You never told me you were
married.”

“I’m not.”

“But you were,” she said.

“Right. But I’m not now.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask. Besides, I
thought you would have detected it,
Detective
.” Virgil watched her
expression and picked up a hint of jealousy. Just a whiff. The fun kind though.
He hoped. “It was a mistake. I was just waiting for the right woman to come
along.”

Just then, an overweight bald man
in a cheap suit walked over eating a double cheeseburger. He held the burger
with three fingers, the other two pinching the cardboard container underneath
the sandwich as a drip tray, an unused napkin in his other hand. He’d caught
the end of their conversation. “Hope that wasn’t her.”

Sandy said, “Excuse me?”

The fat man took another bite of
his cheeseburger, chewed three times, pushed the rest of the sandwich in his
mouth like a wad of chewing tobacco, and spoke with his cheeks puffed full of
food. He pointed the empty box at Virgil, but spoke to Sandy. “He said he was
waiting for the right woman to come along. I was just commenting that I hoped
it wasn’t this one here.” Then to Virgil: “How’s it going, Jones man? Crime
Scene been here yet?”

__________

Wally Wright, Deputy Coroner of
Marion County, placed his napkin in the empty box and then shoved the box into
his suit pocket. Ron Miles walked up behind him, and the four of them, Virgil,
Sandy, Wally, and Ron all adjusted into a little circle. Miles spoke to Wally
first. “Took you long enough.”

“Yeah well. Traffic. What can you
do?”

Miles wrinkled his nose, sniffing
the air. “You said you were going to bring me something to eat.”

“Didn’t have time to stop.” Wally
took a few steps over toward the body, looked down, then back toward the group.
“Are you all done here? Where are your crime scene people? I’ve got shit to do.”

Miles shook his head. “God damn,
Wally. We’ve been waiting on
you
for a preliminary assessment.”

Wally took in a deep breath,
belched, and then let out an exasperated sigh. He squatted down next to the
body and when he did the bottom of his jacket rode up on his waist and revealed
his ass crack. A mole rode high between his cheeks, and the entire thing looked
like a hairy, upside down exclamation point. His left hand pulled something out
of his pocket, then went to his mouth. He stood, visibly swallowing as he did. “GSW
to the head. Probably dead before she hit the ground. Maybe I should have been
a cop. Okay if I get the gurney now?” He walked away, not waiting for an
answer.

Ron looked at Virgil. “Was that a
French fry he pulled out of his pocket? He said he was going to bring me
something to eat.”

__________

Sandy looked at Ron. “Did you get
a chance to look at the security tapes?

Miles shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Want me to take a look?” she
asked Virgil.

“Yeah. See what you can see. I’ll
be there in a few minutes.”

After Sandy walked away, Ron said,
“You getting any of that?”

“Course he is,” Wally said as he
pushed a gurney in front of them. “It might as well be tattooed on his
forehead. I really should have been a cop. You guys are something, you know
that?”

__________

Ten minutes later Sandy was back,
her face gray and the corners of her mouth turned down. “What’s the matter?”
Virgil said. “Are you okay?”

She held up a CD. “Got the shot on
tape, Jonesy. It’s bad.”

“What does it show?”

“Everything. Everything except
what we need that is. Picture isn’t good enough to get the plate. Not even
close. I don’t know, maybe the lab can do something with it, but I doubt it.”

“Okay. Send it back to the shop
with Crime Scene and see what they can do. I’m going to have Rosencrantz and
Donatti come out here. We need to figure this fucking thing out.”

“All right. What are you doing?”
Sandy asked.

“I’m going to church.”

17

__________

V
irgil
found the broken down church in Broad Ripple easily enough. Cora had indicated that
the building looked like it was being held together with bailing twine and when
he arrived Virgil had to admit that her assessment wasn’t very far off the
mark.

The building was originally
constructed well over a hundred years ago and although it was larger than a
small country chapel, the resemblance was unmistakable. The entire structure
was made up of red brick and clapboard, the latter having long ago lost its
protective coat of top paint, the boards now rotted and sagging at their joints.
The nail holes wept reddish brown stains that left vertical tracks in the wood
that looked like blood. A traditional steeple sat atop the main entrance to the
church and the iron cross that stood like a spire leaned slightly askew and was
held in place with guy-wires attached to its base. The wires were pulled taut
and were pinched against sagging gutters at the roof’s edge, then attached to
steel bands that encompassed the perimeter of the structure. Virgil parked his
truck a safe distance from the structure and walked inside, his gaze held to
the steeple until he was at the front steps of the building.

When he opened the door and
stepped inside he heard the sound of children laughing and jumping about from
the second story as well as a pipe organ being played from the chapel area. The
notes bellowed through the church with a laborious effort that sounded painful
and redemptive all at the same time. Then, when the music stopped, the church suddenly
felt empty, even though the children could still be heard.

A woman turned the corner, looked
at him and smiled in a sad sort of way. Then something happened that left
Virgil momentarily unable to speak and caused a slew of questions to form in
his mind at once, none of which he was prepared to ask, let alone comprehend
the answers. The woman stepped forward, extended her hand and said, “Hello. My
name is Amy Frechette. You’re the police officer, aren’t you? From the state? Murton’s
told me all about you, but I’d recognize you any day from all the pictures he’s
shown me. I’m terribly worried about Murton. Do you know where he is?”

__________

They walked into the chapel and
sat next to each other in the first pew. Virgil had little if any preconceived
notions of what a female pastor may look like, but if he had, Amy Frechette
would fit the bill with perfection. He guessed her age a little younger than
his own, perhaps thirty-five or so. She wore a matching plain brown skirt and
blazer over a white turtleneck sweater.

“I haven’t seen him in over a
week. I don’t know what’s going on.” Her voice was strong but the skin under
her chin trembled when she spoke. “You’re the best friend he’s got, Detective.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about
that.”

Her unexpected smile caught him
off guard, but then the light went out of her expression, replaced by something
dark and defensive. “You’ve not been kind to him,” she said. “He thinks of you
like a brother.”

“I’m here on another matter, Ms.
Frechette. But if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know Murton, and by
extension, his relationship with me?”

She shook her head and chuckled,
then turned in the pew so she was facing him. “How do I know about your
relationship? I guess Murton hasn’t been exaggerating when he speaks of your
feelings for him. We’ve been living together for over a year, Detective. I
guess I somehow thought you knew that.”

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t. In fact,
I think there are a number of things I don’t know about Murton these days.”

“What in the world is that
supposed to mean?” she said.

“What do you know about a man by
the name of Franklin Dugan?”

“Who?”

“I am investigating a series of
murders. One of the victims was a man named Franklin Dugan. He was the
President of Sunrise Bank. Murt is either trying to insert himself into the
investigation for reasons I can’t begin to understand, or he’s trying to
extricate himself from it. I can’t tell which. Or maybe he’s guilty of
something again, and he’s—”

“What? What do you mean guilty of
something again?” she said, the anger in her voice evident.

“If you’ve lived with him for over
a year, then I assume you know of his record. He spent some time at Westville
for assault. He beat a man, almost to death.”

She pointed her finger at him. “Murton
carries images around in his head from the war that leave him little room for
peace. The man he beat was a drug dealer who tried to steal from him. I make no
excuses for his past behavior, Detective, but I don’t delude myself into
thinking it was something it was not. He’s paid his debt to society. Why not
leave him be?”

Virgil decided to try a different
direction. “Tell me about Samuel Pate.”

“What about him?”

“You sold him your church. Why?”

She pinched her lips together and
shook her head the way a grade school teacher might if she were addressing the
slow student at the back of the classroom. “First of all, Detective, you don’t
sell a church. No one does. You might sell a building that once housed a
church, but the church is never for sale. As far as the sale you’re speaking
of, it was more of a merger.”

“A merger?”

“That’s right. The Pate Ministry
wants to branch out. They’ve brought me on board as one of their staff
ministers. The building we’re sitting in is scheduled for demolition in a few
months. In time, it will be replaced with a modern ministry center designed for
and around the children of our community.”

“So you’re going to be an employee
of Pate’s?”

“I already am,” she said.

“What about the money?”

“What money?” she said. “What on
earth are you talking about?”

“Franklin Dugan and Sunrise Bank
handled the financing for your so-called merger. It was a multi-million dollar
deal. Shortly after the paperwork was completed, Franklin Dugan was murdered at
his home. He was shot to death, Ms. Frechette, and your boyfriend, Murton, has
shown up out of nowhere and inserted himself into my investigation. He has a
record for almost beating someone to death. By your own admission he’s a
tormented war veteran. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

She swallowed then clenched her
hands together. It took her a few moments to speak. “He’s been working security
for the Pates,” she said. “This deal has been in the works for over a year now.
That’s how we met.”

__________

When Virgil got back out to the
Safeway, he saw the manager of the store arguing with Donatti who stood in
front of him, his hands spread, palms up, in a ‘what-can-you-do?’ gesture. He
joined Virgil a minute later.

“What’s going on?” Virgil asked.

“Man wants to open his store. We
should probably let him. Body’s gone, Crime Scene is done, and the witnesses
have all been processed.”

“So why don’t you let him open?”

Donatti popped a stick of gum into
his mouth and tossed the wrapper on the ground. “Because he’s been a dick, or
at the very least, sort of dickish, and I mean all fucking day.”

Virgil picked up the wrapper and
rolled it between his fingers. “Besides,” Donatti continued, “that would be
what us underlings refer to as an executive decision.”

Sandy walked up. “He’s right,
we’re not authorized to make those kinds of decisions.”

Virgil looked at Donatti. “Let him
open.”

“You got it, boss.”

To Sandy: “Where’s Rosie?”

“He left a little while ago. He
said something about some follow up questions for someone at the bank. Margery,
I think he said.”

Virgil shook his head.

Sandy looked at him, her head
tilted. “What?”

“Ah, nothing. I’ll tell you
later.”

“That seems to be a habit of
yours.”

“Listen, I’d like for you to go
back to the shop, take everyone’s notes and get them into the computer. The
victims, their families, their co-workers, friends, neighbors, witness
statements…all of it. This is all connected somehow. You’re the one with the
psychology degree. See if you can psychologize some sense out of it all.”

“I don’t think that’s a real word.
In fact, I’m sure of it.”

Virgil gave her his best fake
smile. “I know. I was trying to be charming.”

“Keep trying. See you tonight?”

He leaned in close, smelled her
hair and whispered in her ear. “Count on it. I’ll let you psychologize me.”

“Like we’ve got enough time for
that.”

“Hey…”

__________

Virgil had a thought and punched
Rosencrantz’s number into his phone. “Still at the bank?”

“Ah fuck. Did Small rat me out?”

“No. I’m psychic. Are you still
there or not?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Let me talk to Margery for a
minute, will you?”

“She’s in the can, freshening up.
We’re uh, going to have a late lunch. Wait a minute, here she comes.”

“Have her pull up the records for
their safe deposit boxes. See if one of them belongs to Murton Wheeler.” Rosencrantz
repeated the instructions to Margery, and Virgil could hear a keyboard clacking
in the background.

A few seconds later: “No Murton
Wheeler listed.”

“How about anyone with the last
name of Wheeler?”

More clacking. “No Wheeler’s
listed at all.”

After thinking for a moment,
Virgil said, “Try Samuel Pate.

“Sorry Jonesy. No Pate listed
either.”

Virgil was about to hang up when
he thought of one more thing. “Ask her if she can identify a safe deposit box
by the code stamped on the key.”

“She says the keys are code
stamped to match the boxes. If you have a key she can match it to the box, then
check the box against the owner to get a name.”

Virgil gave him the code and
waited again. When Rosencrantz came back on the line his voice sounded flat,
like he was talking on the other side of a glass wall. “What the hell is going
on, Jonesy?”

“What do you mean?”

“That key code you gave me belongs
to a box currently shown as rented to you. You know those signature cards they
make you sign so they know it’s your box? I’m looking at yours as we speak. It sure
looks like your signature, man.”

__________

When Virgil arrived at Sunrise
Bank, Rosencrantz was waiting for him at the entrance to the executive offices.
He stood with his back against a marble-tiled wall, a half-eaten apple in his
hand. When he saw Virgil he pulled the signature card out of his breast pocket
and handed it to him without saying anything. Virgil studied the card for a
moment. “What do you think?”

Rosencrantz took another bite of
the apple and thoroughly chewed, then swallowed before he answered. “I think
you messed up what promised to be a very interesting lunch.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“No shit. So let’s go see what’s
in the box, Sherlock,” he said.

Virgil felt the focus drain out of
his eyes. “As long as we’re on the same page, then.” He took the apple from
Rosie and took a bite before he gave it back. “After you.”

__________

They went and found Margery and
she took them to an account manager named Beth, a heavy breasted, dark haired
woman who reminded Virgil of his first grade teacher. Beth took them downstairs
to the safe deposit box area and Virgil had to sign the signature card to demonstrate
that the box was his, even though it wasn’t. When she compared the signatures
she looked at the card, then back at Virgil. “You say you never rented this
box?” she said.

“That’s right.”

“Well, that is weird, isn’t it? I
mean, your signature matches perfectly. I’m probably breaking some rule by
allowing you access to this box, but you guys are the good guys, right? And
with what’s happened to Franklin, I don’t think anyone would object, do you?”

Virgil took the bank’s master key
from Beth’s hand and inserted it into the top lock on the box, turned it and
heard the tumblers ratchet into place. He then took the key Murton had left at
the bar and placed it in the lower lock, but before he turned it, Rosencrantz’s
hand clamped around his wrist like a pair of vise grips.

“Tell me again where you got the
key,” he said.

“From Murton Wheeler. He’s the one
I asked you guys to run the sheet on.”

“Yeah, I just put that together,”
he said. “This is the guy that almost got your bacon fried outside Kuwait,
right?”

“Something like that,” Virgil
said. “He also saved my life. I took some shrapnel. He pumped me full of
morphine and blood expander until the medics arrived. I would have bled to
death. You can let go of my wrist now.”

“I will, but don’t turn that key.”

“Why not?”

“What was Wheeler’s specialty in
your unit?”

“He was a demolitions expert. It
was his job to blow the Iraqi ammo dumps,” Virgil said. He felt himself swallow
before letting go of the key as carefully as he could.

The three of them stood there and
stared at the box in the wall. Beth put a hand to her throat then whispered ‘oh
my God.’ Virgil turned and looked at Rosencrantz and said, “Let’s clear this
building and get the bomb squad down here.”

__________

They soon discovered that you do
not clear an operating bank during business hours as quickly as you would like,
no matter the reason. The bank’s in-house security had to be notified, the main
vault locked down, the teller drawers locked, the computers had to be shut
down, and all of that took most every employee in the building working together
almost thirty minutes. Virgil wondered what they would do if a fire broke out.
When he asked the bank’s security chief that very question he looked at Virgil
with an expression that seemed to indicate he might not be operating at full
speed. “We’d get the hell out,” he said. Virgil stared at him until he shook
his head and walked away.