STATE OF ANGER: A Virgil Jones Mystery Series (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Doesn’t look like it’s going to
be easy. We don’t have jack-shit on this one.”

“Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

“You spoke with Sandy?”

“Just now.”

“Okay,” Miles said. “Well, there’s
that, and not much else. Not yet anyway, and most of it’s speculation at this
point. One of the techs found the slug, or I guess I should say what was left
of the slug that took Burns out. It cracked the front window, but didn’t
penetrate. It ricocheted off the window and imbedded in the top of the dash. He
says it looks like it was probably from a .223, but he says he can’t be sure
until they get it back to the lab for tests.”

“What about Dugan?”

“One to the head, two in the
chest. Coroner says he’ll get what’s left of the slug fragments when he does the
post. There’s some tattooing on his skull from the powder burns, so it was up
close and personal.” Miles pulled the tent flap back and they stepped inside.
As bad as Burns looked, Dugan was somehow worse. He ended up flat on his back,
his arms out at his sides like a kid ready to make an angel in the snow. One of
his slippers had fallen off his foot and was lying next to his hip. They both
looked at Dugan for a full minute then stepped back outside the tent. “Jesus,”
Virgil said to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Miles said.

“So, what do you think about
Sandy’s take? Two shooters?”

“I think it works. Dugan was
close. Foot, foot and a half. Burns wasn’t. So, if Sandy’s got the timing
right—and why wouldn’t she—there must have been two. I mean, how do
you shoot from a distance with one weapon and then take another weapon and run
over and pop someone up close? Or better yet, why? Just doesn’t add up.”

“What if she heard it wrong?”

Miles flattened his hair with his
palm. “Well, I just don’t think she did. Plus, I’ll tell you something, even if
she did hear it wrong and there was only one shooter, what’s he gonna do? Take
out Dugan up close and then run away with Burns just sitting there? That
doesn’t work. And neither does taking out Burns first from a distance and then
walking up and popping Dugan. So I think she’s on the money. Two shooters, two
weapons, all at the same time.”

They talked it over for a few more
minutes running through different variations on the theme, but in the end,
Sandy’s scenario held up.

 “Okay, keep doing what you’re
doing here,” Virgil said. “I’m going to work a specific angle, but I want you
to run this by the numbers. Let’s not let anything fall through the cracks.”

“Like I ever do. You know who’s
got the best closure rate in Metro, right?”

“Yeah, I know. So do what you do.”

“I intend to. So, what’s the
angle?”

Virgil hesitated for a second. “Uh,
it’s sort of complicated. Cora’s got us looking at something.”

Miles looked away for a moment as
if studying something off in the distance. “Well, I’ll keep you updated with
whatever we find,” he said.

“That’ll do,” Virgil said as he
took one last look around. “I’m heading out. Find us something, Ron. I need a
thread to pull on.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Jonesy. This
one has that ‘might kick our ass’ sort of feel. Is this about McConnell?”

“Have you ever met Bradley
Pearson?”

“Isn’t he the governor’s chief
weenie? I heard he’s sort of a snake…”

7

__________

V
irgil
drove over to the hospital and walked into the Emergency Department and when he
did his gun set off the metal detector at the doorway. He was about to badge
the security guard headed his way until he noticed it was a friend of his from
the Marion County Sherriff’s Department. “Hey Kev. Double dipping these days?”
They shook hands.

“Are you kidding me? My oldest
daughter is getting married this spring, and the twins start college in a year
and a half. If I didn’t have to sleep, I’d be triple dipping.”

“Amber’s getting married?”

Kevin scratched the back of his head.
“Yep, she sure is.”

“Getting old, Kev.”

“Huh, tell me. I don’t have much
time to think about it though. Too busy trying to make enough money to pay for
the wedding.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

The deputy’s face lit up. “Ah, she
hit the jackpot, man. One of the docs here. Hell of a good kid, just out of med
school. Matter of fact, that’s how I got this gig.”

Sandy came around the corner and
walked over to where Virgil and Kevin stood.

“All done?” Virgil said.

“Haven’t even started yet,” Sandy
said. “There was some sort of big wreck out on 465. They’re backed up, so I’m
just waiting. Supposed to be next.” She looked at Kevin and stuck her hand out.
“Hi. I’m Sandy Small, the best thing that’s ever happened to Virgil and his
team.”

The deputy laughed and shook her
hand. “I’ll bet you are. I’m Kevin Campbell. It’s a pleasure.” Kevin lowered
his voice and leaned in toward Sandy. “You know, I wanted a spot on Virgil’s
team, but they wouldn’t have me.”

Sandy looked at Virgil. “Why not?”

“Not mean enough,” he said.

“Fuck you, not mean enough,” Kevin
said. “I’ve forgotten more about mean than you’ll ever know.” Then to Sandy:
“Pardon my French, little lady.”

“Fuck your French,” Sandy said.

“See,” Virgil said. “Mean like
that.”

Sandy made a pfftt noise with her
lips. “You don’t know the half of it.” Virgil wasn’t quite sure what she meant,
but before he could say anything a nurse came through the doorway and said,
“The doctor will see you now.”

__________

Kevin said his goodbyes and the
nurse escorted Sandy down the hall. Virgil followed, looking for a waiting
area, but before he knew it the three of them ended up behind one of the
curtained areas the nurse identified as bed eight. Inside was a wheeled
hospital bed with the back raised to a forty-five degree angle, a chair, a
stand-up closet and a small stainless steel sink and counter. The nurse reached
into the thin closet next to the bed, handed Sandy a gown, and told her she
could leave her underwear on, and that the doctor would be right in. She pulled
the curtain closed, and left Virgil and Sandy standing there, alone. Sandy held
the gown and looked at Virgil with an evil grin on her face, but then she gave
her index finger a little twirl and said, “No sneaking a look, Jonesy. I mean
it.”

“How about I just go back out to
the waiting room?”

Sandy ignored his question and
started to undress. Virgil turned around, but didn’t leave. “That guard was
something else, huh?” she said.

“Yeah, he was,” Virgil was
studying the pattern on the curtain, listening to the sounds of the emergency
room, watching the feet of the hospital staff and other patients shuffle by the
bottom of the curtain. He also listened to Sandy undress. Heard her shoes as
she kicked them off, a little static electricity from her shirt as she pulled
it over her head, and finally the zipper being lowered on her jeans and the
sound of the denim as it slid against her skin as she wriggled out of her
pants.

“Okay, I’m decent. You can turn
around now.”

When Virgil looked at her he saw
the threadbare hospital gown pulled tight across her front, the fullness of her
breasts, her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.

Sandy turned her back toward him
and faced the bed, the back of the gown held closed with her hand. She looked
over her shoulder and said, “Help a girl out, will you? I couldn’t get the
ties.” She looked forward while letting go of the back of the gown. Virgil watched
it fall open and felt himself swallow. He could hear his own heartbeat as he
let his eyes follow the shape of her shoulder blades inward toward her spine,
then down to her waistline. A small tribal tattoo peeked out of the top of a
black thong that rode high on her thin waist, covering almost nothing of what
was at least the second best ass Virgil had ever seen in his life.

“Come on, Jonesy. Tie me up. I’m
feeling a draft here.”

Virgil cleared his throat without
meaning to. “Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry.” He stepped up close to her, and tied the
top tie first. The front of her thighs were against the side of the bed and part
of the gown was trapped so he had to actually open the bottom part and tug on
it a little to release the material. The back of his hand brushed up against
her ass and when it did he felt like a schoolboy trying to cop a cheap feel.
Virgil was about a foot taller than Sandy, and he fumbled the knot on the first
try, the angle awkward. “Uh, sorry.”

“Come on Cowboy, you can do it.
Just make two bunny ears and wrap one around and through the other.”

“No, no it’s not that. It’s the
angle. I’m taller.”

Sandy placed her palms on the edge
of the bed and stood on her tiptoes and arched the small of her back. “Better?”

You’ve got no idea, Virgil said to
himself.

“What was that?” Sandy said.

When she went up on her toes,
Virgil immediately upgraded his assessment from second best to all time best.
Without question. He finished the knot. “Nothing. There you go. I’m, uh, going
to go wait outside now.”

Sandy didn’t say anything and
Virgil didn’t move, and he was just beginning to wonder what would happen if
he…but then the curtain was yanked back and a tall, good-looking doctor stepped
in the room and smiled. His hair was pure white, but there were no lines on his
face. His solid black eye glasses were a sharp contrast to his hair color and
it gave him a dramatic flair. He wore traditional green scrubs under a white knee-length
lab coat. His clog-style shoes looked like they were made of wood and cork with
suede tops. The doctor looked at them and said, “Looks like I got here just in
time.” He took his pen out of his pocket, tapped it on the clipboard he was
holding, then pointed to the ceiling at the corner of the room. They all looked
up and saw the security camera. “Two of my nurses just went on break. One of
them is getting married in a month. I’m the groom’s best man. They said
something about it was getting hot in here. So, how can I help you, young
lady?”

__________

This time Virgil did leave the
room, and a half hour later Sandy and the doc emerged as well. The doctor
pulled a card from his breast pocket and wrote something on the back and then
handed it to Sandy, shaking her hand in both of his before walking away. Virgil
thought the doc held her hand a little longer than necessary.

A few minutes later they were in
Virgil’s truck. He started the engine and looked over at Sandy. “What’d the doctor
say?”

“He said I was fine, and he meant
it, too. He gave me his number. Seemed like a nice guy.” She reached into her
pocket and pulled out his card, placing it on the console between the seats.
“He said if you don’t have enough sense to see what you’re missing, I should
give him a call. What do you think?”

“He was a pretty good looking guy.
He sort of had that distinguished doctor thing going for him,” Virgil said as
he dropped the truck into gear and pulled out onto the street. “Probably makes
about a million a year, if that kind of thing matters to you.”

“You think I should call him? Or
would that be too forward?”

“I should probably get you home,”
Virgil said, ignoring her question. “You know, doctor’s orders, and all.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. You
didn’t answer my question though. What do you think? Should I call him?”

Virgil picked up the card, looked
at it for a second, tore it in half and tossed it out the window. “You must
have hit your head harder than you thought. You’re clearly not thinking
straight.”

Sandy laughed and watched the card
slip away into the wind. Virgil thought it was the best laugh he’d ever heard.

“I memorized the number,” Sandy
said.

“My ass, you did.”

“Already entered it into my cell
phone.”

“Uh huh.”

“I did. Want to see?”

“Want to hand me your phone before
I roll the window back up?” Like that, all the way to Sandy’s.

Twenty minutes later they were at
her place. Virgil walked her to the door and by the time they got there he
could see the adrenaline wearing off. There was an awkward moment at the door,
then Sandy stood on her toes and kissed him—quick—right on the corner
of his lips. “I’ll get with you after I rest for a while, okay?”

“How about tomorrow?” Virgil said.
Then he pulled her close and hugged her for just a moment before turning around
and heading for his truck. When he looked back she was already inside.

8

__________

W
hen
Virgil got back in his truck he saw that he had a message waiting for him on
his cell. It was Rosencrantz, telling him Dugan’s office was sealed and his
computer was already on the way back to the lab for processing. Rosencrantz and
Donatti were the other two members of Virgil’s team. He’d hired both away from
the city, Rosencrantz from Sex, and Donatti from Homicide. Virgil hit the speed
dial button and Rosencrantz answered on the third ring. He sounded bored.

“Uh, listen, you guys haven’t
beaten anyone up or anything, have you?” Virgil said.

“Hey, boss, come on,” Rosie said.
“Give us a little credit. We’re highly trained investigators. Besides, I haven’t
beaten anyone up for over a week.”

“Uh huh.”

“If you were thinking about getting
something to eat before coming over here I wouldn’t bother. When they heard the
boss was dead someone made an executive decision and catered in about ten grand
worth of food. We’ve interviewed Dugan’s secretary, the entire executive team
and their secretaries as well. Everybody except the executive committee is
walking around here bumping into each other like a bunch of zombies or
something. Nobody has any useful information for us at all and there’s a ton of
food here that’s going to go bad if someone doesn’t start eating it. I’m
thinking maybe I should take some home with me. In fact, you know that Crime
Scene tech, big Al, the one that weighs in around two eighty or so? I saw him
fill four or five evidence bags with Swedish meatballs and bacon-wrapped shrimp
before he left. The bottom line is the only real thing I’ve learned so far is
that no one uses the word ‘secretary’ anymore. They prefer ‘executive
assistant.’ Who knew?”

Virgil thought for a moment then
said, “Didn’t you go to New Orleans last year?”

“Two years ago, but yeah. I got
you that Ragin’ Cajun T-shirt, remember?”

“Sure. You flew down, right? How
were the stewardesses?

“Fine I guess. I don’t really
remember. Why do you ask?”

“Never mind,” Virgil said.

__________

Two blocks away from Sandy’s,
Virgil realized he didn’t know where the Sunrise Bank headquarters were
located. He pulled over to the curb and tried to Google the address but the signal
wasn’t strong enough and he didn’t have the patience to wait. He called
Rosencrantz again.

“What’s the address over there. I
tried the Google and it wouldn’t come up. I don’t know where I’m going.”

“You know,” Rosie said, “I’m not
exactly sure. Donatti drove. I was sleeping.”

“Well, find someone and ask will
you?”

“Don’t need to. I’m standing right
next to his secretary.” Then: “Ouch, hey, that’s assault on a police officer. Okay,
okay.” Rosencrantz cleared his throat. “What I meant to say was, I’m standing
right next to his executive assistant. I’ve got the address. You got a pen?”

__________

City traffic and a slow drive to
the bank. Virgil spoke with his dad on the way over. Virgil and his dad owned a
downtown Jamaican bar called Jonesy’s. “Listen pops, I’m going to be tied up
tonight, if you’ve been watching the news.”

“Can’t miss it,” Mason said.
“Nothing else on.”

Virgil tried to work as many hours
as possible at the bar, but when he was on a case, it fell to his father to
pick up the slack. “That gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, son.
I’ll see you when I see you.”

“I’ll probably be in later if I
get the chance. Guy’s gotta eat."

“A guy does,” Mason said. Watch
your back now.”

“No worries, Pop. No worries at
all.”

__________

A half hour later after consulting
the lobby directory, Virgil took an elevator to the fourteenth floor, and found
Rosencrantz chatting up an attractive mid-forty-something woman with cat-eye
glasses and big hair. She wore a conservative dark gray business suit over a
thin white blouse. Donatti was across the hall and stood in front of what must
have been Dugan’s office, arms crossed, a bored expression on his face. Virgil
walked over and Rosencrantz introduced him to Dugan’s assistant.

“Ms. Brennan, on behalf of the
state of Indiana, let me express my condolences regarding Mr. Dugan.

“Please, call me Margery. And
thank you. Why don’t we sit?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just walked around
the corner to a small conference room. Virgil followed her into the room and
discovered Rosie was right. Someone had ordered catering, and quite a lot of it
at that. He pulled out a chair, popped a shrimp in his mouth and sat down. The
shrimp was good.

Great, in fact…

__________

Once they were settled: “So,
Margery, about Mr. Dugan. I’d like to get a little background on him and I’m
thinking you’re probably the best place to start.”

Margery gave a little snort. “I
don’t think it matters where you start, Detective, as I’m quite sure you’ll get
the same sort of background information from anyone you speak with.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning Franklin Dugan was a son
of a bitch.”

Well, that was something
,
Virgil thought.

“Let me guess…not really what you
expected to hear, right?”

“Well, I guess not, to tell you
the truth.”

Margery took a moment before her
next statement. “Look, don’t get me wrong, Detective. I just don’t know how
else to put it. He really was. A son of a bitch, I mean. But everyone knew it.
He even referred to
himself
that way. It’s just a business thing. We’re
in a tough business here. People think banks, and then, you know, they think
friendly tellers, warm smiles, free toasters with a new account and all
that—or maybe not so much anymore, with the economy the way it’s
been—but our business isn’t like that. We’re not a regular bank. We deal
exclusively with religious institutions. And let me tell you something,”
Margery bit into a shrimp and shook the tail at him, “These religious guys? I
don’t care who they are…” She started ticking them off her fingers. “You’ve got
your Catholics, your Protestants, your Methodists, your Baptists, your
Lutherans, not to mention the Scientology nuts and the Mormons—who in my
opinion are a whole class of nuts all by their damn self—they’re all some
very tough hombres when it comes to their money. So if you’re going to lend
them money—and that’s what we do—you’d better be a son of a bitch
when you’re dealing with these guys or they’ll take you straight to the
cleaners.” Margery dropped her chin and looked out over the top of her glasses.
“All in the name of Jesus Christ mind you.”

Virgil liked her immediately. He
ate a few more shrimp and thought about what she’d said for a minute, then
said, “Huh,” which made Margery giggle, which made her look about ten years
younger. “What?”

“When you said ‘huh,’ you sounded
just like a cop.”

“I am a cop.”

“You don’t look much like a cop.
Your hair’s pretty long. You look like you should be running a bar, or
something.”

Virgil’s mouth fell open a little,
and Margery smiled. “I’m just messing with you a little. I Googled you before
you got here. Your bar is sort of famous, you know. I’ve never been myself, but
now I’m thinking I might have to stop by.”

“You should. We are sort of
famous, in the city, anyway. So, listen—“

“It’s Google, by the way. Not
the
Google.

“Excuse me?”

“I could hear you on the phone
when you called for the address. You called it
the
Google. There’s no
the
in there.”

“It kind of feels like we’re
getting a little side-tracked, Margery.”

“That’s only because I’ve already
told you everything I know. The people you really want to talk to are in the
boardroom. The Executive Committee. They’re in an emergency session right now.”

“Well, gee, Margery, I haven’t
even asked you any of the tough questions yet.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for starters, why’d you
kill Dugan?”

Didn’t even faze her. “Oh, honey,
I didn’t kill Franklin. He might have been a son of a bitch, but he’s been my
meal ticket for over twenty years.”

“Well what are you going to do
now?”

“You know, to tell you the truth,
I think I’m gonna retire and lay on the beach. I’ve got a fair amount of stock,
a 401K, and a husband that died and left me with a pretty fat life insurance
settlement. Life’s too short to punch someone else’s clock, you know?
Especially when you get to be my age.”

Virgil popped another shrimp in
his mouth. “So let’s go talk to the Board.”

“Take me to your leaders, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that.” As
they walked down the hallway, Virgil said, “Say listen, about those shrimp.
Where do you get them? They’re fantastic…

__________

“They are fantastic, aren’t they?”
Margery said. “Well, believe it or not, they’re farm raised by a couple of guys
up in Elkhart. They took over on a foreclosed RV plant a year or so back, over
a hundred thousand square feet of it in all, put in a bunch of tanks and
heaters and whatnot and started growing shrimp. Or is it raising? Anyway,
they’re doing something right because they’re the best damn shrimp I’ve ever
had. You should get some for your bar.”

“I think I might…if you could get
me the number. Do they deliver all the way down here?”

“Oh, honey, are you kidding me?
They’re shipping these little buggers all over the country. I don’t know what
the growth rate of farm raised shrimp are, but they’ve got a three month
waiting list last time I checked.”

“Well, shoot. I was hoping to get
some sort of quick. I’ve got a Jamaican chef who works for me. You wouldn’t
believe what he can do with fresh seafood.”

“Get with me before you leave,
then. I’ll see what I can do about that waiting list for you. I’m sort of
friendly with one of the owners…”