STATE OF ANGER: A Virgil Jones Mystery Series (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 1) (14 page)

“Murton Wheeler didn’t have
motive,” Virgil said. “Why would he want to kill Dugan?”

“That’s a great question, Jonesy,”
Elliott said. “Why don’t you use the warrant, pick him up and ask him?”

“I intend to, Preston. But I’m
telling you right now, this all leads back to Pate. Murton Wheeler might be a
player somehow, but Pate is the one we should be looking at.”

“What proof do you have?”

“He’s under investigation by the
Texas Department of Insurance for Fraud out of Houston. His last church burned
to the ground,” Cora said.

“Yes. And that would be a matter
for the State of Texas, and maybe, just maybe, a matter for the FBI, depending
of course on which way the federal winds are blowing these days,” he said, his
voice impatient and thick with sarcasm. “Either way, it’s just a tad bit out of
our jurisdiction, Cora. The fact of the matter is, neither of you can offer any
proof whatsoever of Samuel Pate’s involvement in the murder of Franklin Dugan.
As an officer of the court I appreciate your efforts, but this office has
certain standards we like to follow and we cannot infringe upon the rights of
our citizens based solely on supposition or minimalistic circumstantial
evidence. Get me something concrete and I’ll sign off on a warrant. Until then,
I suggest you round up Wheeler  and work your case from that angle. If he’s not
involved he’s got nothing to fear. But he might have the exact information we
need to move on Pate. One step at a time, Jonesy.” After a moment he looked at
Cora and said, “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

__________

Late that night the phone next to
Virgil’s bed rang just as he was about to fall asleep.

“You’ve got your warrant for Pate.
One for the office and one for the house.”

“What? Cora? Say that again, will
you please?”

“I said you’ve got your warrants
for Pate.”

Virgil thought her words were
slightly over-enunciated yet slurred and it reminded him of his days on patrol
when he’d stop an intoxicated driver then listen as they tried to talk their
way out of a trip to jail. “Uh, that’s great, Cora. How did you pull that off?”

“Don’t ask,” she said, then
giggled like a young girl. “Let’s just say my powers of persuasion are still as
good as they ever were.”

Among other things, Virgil
thought.

“What was that?” she said.

“I didn’t say anything. I think
the connection is bad. Thanks for going to bat for me.”

“Anytime,” she said. “Hey, did you
ever see that Far Side cartoon? The one where the couple is in the delivery
room at the hospital? The father is standing next to the bed and the doctor is
holding their new baby boy right after he comes out of the chute. The father
looks at his wife and says, ‘Look honey, it’s a boy. Let’s name him Preston.’”
She howled with laughter, then hung up on him.

Out of the chute?

Virgil looked at the caller I.D.
It read Elliott, Preston. It was just after one-thirty in the morning.

19

__________

T
he
next morning, Saturday at ten o’clock, Virgil and Sandy were to meet at the
Pate Ministries complex. When he turned in, Virgil saw her state car. She’d beat
him there. He looked at his watch and discovered he was about ten minutes late.
He had a search warrant for the complex tucked inside his jacket pocket. The
lobby of the church had been converted from the wide-open space Virgil had
witnessed on his last visit to a smaller, more intimate setting, the latter
being achieved by erecting a three-sided red pipe and drape system, the kind
you see at trade shows and conventions. At the front of the enclosure an
electrically operated viewing screen had been lowered from its ceiling mount
and the image being displayed prior to the screening of tomorrow’s broadcast
was a closed circuit view of the enclosed area where Virgil now stood. There
were about twenty to twenty-five people scattered about the area, some seated
in padded folding chairs that were set out in four rows of twelve across the
width of the enclosure. Others either stood or were seated in various places at
the round four-top tables that were covered with white linen cloths and set
with dishes and flatware.

Virgil watched himself enter the
area on the closed circuit system and almost tripped on the leg of a chair as
he did. A buffet was set up on the left side of the room and the wait staff
were busy as they placed stainless steel chafing dishes into their holders. A
faint wax-like aroma filled the room from the cans of chafing fuel that burned
with blue flames under the containers.

Samuel and Amanda Pate stood at
the front of the room next to the lowered view screen. Samuel had his back to
Virgil, the armbands of his crutches clamped tightly around his suit sleeves.
Amanda glanced his way, though her eyes skipped across him as if he were not
there.

Virgil and Sandy saw each other at
the same time, first on the screen, then in real life as she turned around in
her chair and looked back. She leaned over and whispered something to a
handsome man seated next to her, then stood and walked between the chairs to
the end of the row. She wore a cream-colored sweater dress with matching knit
stockings that were just slightly longer than the bottom of her dress. When she
walked the tops of her stockings peeked out from under the bottom of her dress.

“Hey, Jonesy,” she said, her hand
now on Virgil’s arm. “How are you?”

But before he could say anything,
Amanda was at his side and she slipped her left hand into the crook of his arm,
the words she spoke pointed directed at Sandy. “Virgil and I go way back. I’m
Amanda Pate, Samuel’s wife. You’re one of Virgil’s people, aren’t you?”

Her actions were vintage Amanda,
Virgil thought.

But it didn’t play with Sandy. She
tilted her head slightly and said, “Something like that.”

“Well,” Amanda said with mock
sincerity, “I love your little outfit. It’s so, so….”

“Yes?” Sandy said, her eyes
blinking more than usual. “It’s so what, exactly?”

“Well dear, it’s so, um, edgy I
think is the word I’m looking for. Yes, that’s it. It’s so edgy I think I might
be a little jealous. You’ve managed to capture just about every man’s attention
here this morning. For example, that man you were seated next to just a moment
ago. Do you know who that is?”

“It’s your party,” Sandy said.
“Don’t you?”

“Of course I know, dear. I was
just wondering if you did. He’s a very successful bond trader. Single too. In
fact, don’t look, but he’s watching you right now. Would you like me to
formally introduce the two of you?”

“We’ve already met, thank you,”
Sandy said. “Speaking of attention, I think your husband is trying to get
yours. By the way, I can’t wait to see the show. I’ve heard it’s a hoot.” Then
to Virgil: “Detective Jones, could I speak with you for a moment?”

Amanda peeled her eyes from Sandy and
walked away without saying anything more. Once she was gone Virgil looked at
Sandy and said, “hoot?”

She ignored him and waved at the
bond trader.

__________

 “What was that all about?” she
finally said.

“That,” Virgil said, “was a master
manipulator in action.”

“No kidding.” Then, a few seconds
later, “What time are they coming?” She was still making eyes with the trader.

“In about thirty seconds.
Donatti’s running this squad. Rosie’s at the Pate’s residence. Once they’re in,
I want you to keep an eye on Amanda.”

“You got it, boss” she said, her
head turned upward. Virgil wanted to kiss her right then and there, and in fact
would have except a number of things happened almost simultaneously. Samuel
Pate picked up a spoon and tapped it against the side of a water goblet and
said, “Excuse me everyone, if you’ll take a seat please, we’re ready to—”

At the exact same time, Donatti
and ten uniformed State Troopers came through the front doors of the lobby.
Donatti shouted, “Police! Search warrant! Nobody move. Everyone stay right
where you are and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Virgil started moving toward Pate.
The bond trader who had been flirting with Sandy saw Virgil coming, stood up to
get out of the way and tripped backwards over the row of chairs behind him.
Amanda tried to duck behind the drapery out of sight, but Sandy wrapped her
arms around her and tackled her to the ground. The drapery and support rods got
tangled up in their struggle and fell over the buffet table, then the table and
everything on it crashed to the ground as well. People were screaming and
trying to get away from the commotion by the buffet and Donatti was still
yelling for no one to move. Virgil pointed a finger at Samuel Pate, told him
not to move, then ran over to where Sandy was still struggling with Amanda. He
yanked the drapery free from the top of them both, then held her down while
Sandy got up.

Virgil had his foot stationed in
the middle of Amanda’s back to hold her in place. Samuel Pate walked across the
room knocking chairs aside with his crutches as he approached. “What in God’s
name is going on here?” he said, his voice coarse with anger. “Will you take
your foot off of my wife’s back please? Why are the police here?”

“Step back please, Reverend,”
Virgil said. “I’ll speak with you in a moment.”

But Pate refused to listen amid
the chaos of the events as they unfolded around him. He stepped closer and put
his crutch against Virgil’s hip, forcing him to remove his foot from Amanda’s
back or lose his balance. “Step away from my wife, Detective. I insist you tell
me—”

Virgil grabbed the still extended
crutch and pinched it under his arm, then swept Pate’s legs out from under him.
Pate was face down on the ground before he knew what had happened. Virgil
yanked the crutch from his right arm and pinned his hands behind his back.
Donatti ran over and placed his handcuffs around Pate’s wrists. Virgil leaned
in close and said, “You ever place your cane against my person again I’ll show
you the other end of it. I’ve got the resume, sir, believe me.”

“Release my husband this instant,”
Amanda shouted. “For God’s sake, Jonesy, he’s disabled. You’ve got a crippled
man on the ground in handcuffs on his own property. What’s the matter with you?
I demand to know what’s going on here,” she said. Why are all these police
officers here?” She stomped her foot, her hands balled into fists at her side
as she spoke.

Virgil reached into his pocket,
pulled out the search warrant and handed it to her. “We have a warrant to
search the premises, Amanda.” Then to Donatti: “Have your men take the file
cabinets and everything in the desk drawers. You brought trucks and dollies?”

“We’re good to go, boss,” Donatti
said.

“Get started then. Grab the computers,
too. They probably have a central server somewhere. A closet, or a small
office. Don’t miss that.”

Pate mumbled something Virgil
couldn’t quite catch. “What was that?”

“It’s in the basement,” he said.
“The door at the end of the hall.”

Virgil looked at him for a moment
without responding. Then Pate lifted his head and smiled. “I’ve nothing to
hide, Detective. Nothing at all. You’ll see. Then you and I, well, we’ll talk
again, I suspect.”

Virgil ignored him and nodded to
Donatti who motioned for the other officers. They wheeled the dollies in and
moved toward the offices. Tears were running down Amanda’s cheeks. She held the
warrant in her hand, down by her side. “Read the warrant, Amanda. It gives us
permission to search and seize anything in this building. Your house as well.”

Her head snapped up, the whites of
her eyes veined with red streaks at the corners. “What? My house? You’re going
to search my house?’

“Not going to, Amanda. Are. We’ve
got a team there right now as well.”

“You bastard. If you think I’m
going to let you get away with this you’re mistaken,” she said, her finger
pointed like she was admonishing a child. “I’ll have your badge for this,
Virgil Jones. You watch and see. You think we don’t have any influence in this
town?”

Samuel Pate looked at his wife and
said, “Amanda, go home. Please, you’re not helping.”

“But Samuel, can’t you see what
they’re trying to do to us? We can’t just let—”

“Amanda, I said go home. Keep your
wits about you and get to the house and make sure they conduct their search in
a respectful manner, then call Everett. Tell him what’s happened and have him
meet me downtown. Can you do that for me, Amanda? Detective, is she free to
go?”

Virgil nodded. “Yes, but remain
available. Do not leave the city.”

When Amanda looked at him the veins
on the sides of her neck bulged with anger. “This isn’t over, Jonesy. Not even
close.”

Just then Sandy started shouting
as she pulled the rest of the drapery off their support rods. “Hey, I need some
help here. Someone get a fire extinguisher. Those burner cans are still going.
The drapes are on fire. Jonesy? Jonesy, I need some help over here.”

The burner cans from under the
chafing dishes had spilled to the floor when Sandy tackled Amanda, but in the
commotion that followed no one had noticed the smoldering drapery. Virgil
helped Sandy yank the rest of the curtains down, then grabbed carafes of ice
water from the tables and dumped them on the hot spots. A few of the people who
were present to preview the Sunday broadcast and the rest of the wait staff
picked up the smoldering curtains and pulled them outside and tossed them into
a pile on the sidewalk.

Sandy pick up a chair, sat down and
puffed out her cheeks. Her hands were shaking. “You okay?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah. Sorry. Fire sort of freaks
me out.”

“Yeah, me too. But I guess you
knew that already.”

She smiled at him. “Well, all in
all, I think that went just fine, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Textbook,” Virgil said.

__________

Virgil’s phone rang and when he saw
it was Cora’s home number he thought,
Jesus, what now
?

“Good morning, Cora. How was your
evening?”

“It was, mmm, productive. That
about sums it up, I think.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I know. Listen, did you see
everything you needed to over at that dilapidated church in Broad Ripple?”

“Yeah, pretty sure. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. I guess last night
while you were sleeping and Elliott and I were…uh, well, while you were
sleeping, it blew up and burned to the ground. I just got off the phone with
the watch commander. Looks like there was some kind of explosion. He said it
blew the steeple right off the top. It’s lying in the alley behind the church.
He said it reminds him of that Pan Am jet they blew out of the sky over
Lockerbie. Remember that?”

“I’ll get over there as soon as I
can.”

“Slow down, Slick. There’s more.
The firemen found a body inside the church. Unidentified female, but  there was
only one car in the lot and it’s registered to Amy Frechette, so you can do the
math on that. Crime scene is on the way to the Frechette residence as we speak.
Didn’t you tell me that’s where Murton Wheeler lives?”

__________

When they pulled up to Murton and
Amy’s house, two crime scene techs were already there, waiting. Sandy hopped
out of the truck and when she did both of the techs said something to her,
first one, then the other. Virgil didn’t hear any of it.

Sandy looked at them and shook her
head. “Oh my God, how about we all just pull our dicks out and see whose is
bigger?” She looked at each man individually for just a split second, then
said, “I’d probably win. We may or may not need you boys. We’ll let you know.
Why don’t you wait in your van? Go on now,” she said, and gave them a little
wave of her hand. Once they were gone, she looked at Virgil and said, “you want
the front or the back?”

“Front I guess.”

Virgil had to pop one of the small
glass panes in the front door to gain entry, then went to the back and let
Sandy inside. Amy Frechette’s house was old, but in good shape. The walls were
stucco instead of sheet-rocked, the ceiling was made of a biscuit colored
stamped tin, and the walkways between rooms were all arched. The wall opposite
the front door was covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, and each
shelf was filled with row after row of both religious and psychology studies.
For reasons he could not readily explain, Virgil expected to find a good
selection of fiction novels, the utilitarian surroundings suggestive of an
individual who lived through someone else’s imagination, but that was not the
case. Instead, what he found was book after book whose titles were reflective
of someone who sought greater understanding of the people she served. Amy
Frechette’s home did not appear to be a place of sanctuary from her work, but
instead it was a place of continued study of the work to which she devoted her
life.