by Thomas Scott
Later that same night, Shelby County Undersheriff, Allen Hall, was working the midnight to eight shift, out patrolling the countryside. It’d been a slow night. By three in the morning, he’d only managed to nab two speeders, and one guy who did a little country roll through a stop sign. The truth was, Hall was a little bored with his job right now. He liked the work well enough, but the sector where he was assigned wasn’t very populated, which meant he didn’t see much action. Be nice to have a good old fashion domestic situation, or maybe a bar fight, he thought. But since the department was short-staffed at the moment, Hall, being the next in line for the big chair, knew it would help his career by taking one of the night shifts.
He drove a few random county squares, then with little forethought, he took a left at the next intersection. A half-mile later he drove past Wilbur’s barn and noticed his truck was parked out front. He didn’t give it much thought until he was already at the next intersection. Then he began to wonder why Wilbur would be in his barn so late at night…or more precisely, at this time of the morning. Wilbur wasn’t exactly an early riser, which meant that in all likelihood, he’d been there most of the night. Maybe a welfare check was in order.
Hall turned his squad car around in the middle of the intersection and headed back that way. He didn’t know it at the moment, but Hall was about to get some of the action he so desired.
Dakota had the night shift, and together with his crew, they had four cooks going at once, while the day cookers all slept in tents about two hundred yards away behind the barn, well camouflaged in the woods. The loft had been fine when it was just Kono, Dakota, and Johnny, but with the extra crew, they needed more sleeping space. Plus everyone agreed, it wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling trying to sleep when you knew there was always a chance the barn could blow at any minute. Making meth wasn’t exactly the safest thing in the world.
The cook was done for the night, and they were getting ready to go to their tents when Dakota saw the headlights sweep through the gap in the Judas door at the front of the barn. He killed the interior lights, told everyone to stay put, then grabbed a shotgun, and slipped out the back. He snuck along the side of the barn and got right up close to the front corner.
And waited.
Hall parked his squad and hit the barn with his spotlight before getting out. When no one appeared, he gave the siren a little burp. Still nothing. He hoped Wilbur wasn’t in there on the ground having a heart attack or stroke or something. The guy smoked about a carton a day, or some ridiculous amount, and it was a wonder he was still alive.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out, and took exactly three steps toward the barn door when Dakota opened up on him. The shotgun blasts knocked Hall to the ground, but the vest saved him…for about five seconds. Dakota ran over and fired one more time, and Deputy Allen Hall in his dying moment would have given anything for another dull night patrolling the countryside.
The shotgun blasts woke Johnny, who scrambled into his jeans and boots and took off toward the barn, his own shotgun in his hand. When he got to the front, he saw Dakota standing over the dead cop, and said, “What the hell?”
Dakota looked at his partner and said, “Just like before. The guy showed up out of nowhere and I didn’t have a choice.”
“Kill the lights on that car, man,” Johnny said. “The whole county will be out here the way this place is lit up.”
Dakota killed the lights, then said, “Now what?”
“I’m not sure. But we’ve got to get rid of the car and the cop…like, right now. I’m pretty sure these guys have regular radio checks and all that shit, and if we don’t do something quick, they’re going to come looking, and that will be the end of us.”
“Let’s toss him in the trunk and get him out to that barn where you put them other two guys. There’s plenty of room in there.”
Johnny thought about that for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, that’ll work. But this time you and I are both going. Get the cook shut down.”
“We already are,” Dakota said. “If this guy would have shown up five minutes later, we’d have all been busted in bed. Come on, help me lift him into the trunk.”
They stripped the cop of his guns and his cell phone, got him in the trunk, then slammed the lid. Johnny looked at Dakota and said, “You killed him, that means you drive his cruiser. Let me get the truck, and you can follow me out.” Then, “Man, I can’t believe you had to kill another cop.”
Dakota didn’t care. “Yeah, it’s sort of getting to be my thing.”
The killings didn’t bother Johnny either, but getting caught did. He looked at Dakota and said, “You know what it is? It’s that damn truck…the one I got from the old man. Everyone keeps seeing it and turning in to visit or whatever. We’re going to have to keep it out of sight.”
As it turned out, the Shelby County sheriff’s department didn’t require their deputies to make regular radio checks. They only had to report in over the radio for the beginning of their shift, and their end. So a little over five hours later when Sheriff Ben Holden walked in the door, he had no idea anything was wrong. Neither did anyone else. The desk clerk looked at him and said, “Morning Ben. You look like you’ve been up half the night. How’re the knees?”
“I have. My knees won’t let me sleep half the damned time as it is.”
“Why don’t you take Betty’s advice and just go ahead and get them replaced? They say the procedure isn’t nearly as bad as it used to be.”
“You ever had it done?” Holden asked the clerk.
“Nope.”
“That’s what I thought. Did anything happen last night?”
“Nothing worth talking about,” the clerk said. “Get you a cup of coffee?”
“Yup, that’d be fine. I’ll be in my office.”
A minute later the clerk walked in with a cup of coffee and set it on the sheriff’s desk. It was two minutes past eight.
“Night crew call in their end of shift?” Holden asked as he checked his watch.
The clerk nodded. “Everyone except Hall. He’s probably finishing up breakfast. I’ll give him a shout.”
“Ah, let him eat. Driving around all night on these country roads isn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world.”
“Procedure is procedure,” the clerk said.
“What time does Betty get here?” Holden asked.
“Same time as always. Eight o’clock. She just walked in while I was getting your coffee. Why?”
“Because it feels like she’s been giving you lessons on how to get under my skin. I said let the man eat.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
“What was that last word you just used?” Holden asked.
“Boss.”
“So we’re on the same page then,” Holden said, but he was smiling as he spoke. The truth was, he loved the people he had working for him. He simply liked to let them think he was nothing more than a grumpy old man, even though sometimes it was true. As the clerk was leaving, Holden said, “Give him fifteen more minutes, then give him a call if you haven’t heard anything.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Betty. I’ll be gone by then.”
“That’ll do. Get the door on your way out will you?”
“You bet,” the clerk said. “And I’d think about that knee replacement, I was you. It really isn’t that bad.”
“It’s a good thing you’re not me, then. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter Nineteen
While Sheriff Holden was sipping his coffee and thinking about his knees—he actually was considering having them replaced—Virgil and Murton and the rest of the crew were sitting in the MCU conference room trying to figure out how to find two murderers who could be anywhere in the state, cooking meth, and creating the kind of chaos nobody wanted.
“Maybe you should focus your efforts up in Boone County,” Lawless suggested. “It’s where the distribution center is located and it’s where the victim was discovered.”
Murton looked at Becky. “We’ve got their photos out, don’t we? Up in Boone?”
“We do,” Becky said. “Plus Grant County and many of the surrounding areas. TV, social media, Crime Stoppers, the works. If anyone sees them, we’ll be the first to know.”
“Well, not to split hairs,” Rosencrantz said, “but technically we’d be the second to know.”
Becky stuck her tongue out at him.
Virgil was about to get them back on point when his phone buzzed at him. When he checked the caller ID, he put the phone on speaker so everyone could listen in. “Hey, Cora. You’re on speaker with the whole crew.”
As usual, Cora got right to the point without a greeting of any kind. “Jonesy, did you guys hear about the cop who got his head blown off over in Grant County?”
“We did,” Virgil said. “It’s been all over the news.”
“Well, here’s something that hasn’t been all over the news: The Grant County guys found the weapon used to kill their deputy.”
“Well, that’s a little bit of a bright spot,” Murton said.
“Not if you’re one of the deputies who shot and killed the driver of that white van…a van, I might add, that had the man’s autistic daughter inside when it all went down.”
Cora’s statement reminded Virgil of the time he’d shot and killed James Pope, while his twin children—only five years old at the time—Nicholas and Nichole watched in horror as their father was gunned down by a rookie state trooper. “The daughter in the van isn’t new information, Cora,” Virgil said.
“No, but this is: When the Grant County guys found the weapon, it had been wiped down. Except the shooter forgot to wipe the trigger. Their crime scene techs got a partial print, and guess what? It doesn’t belong to the man the Grant County guys gunned down. And if that’s not enough, when they did the autopsy, they found no powder residue on the victim’s hands.”
“Where are you getting this information?” Virgil said.
“Where else? The state’s attorney general himself. He called me after speaking with the Grant County prosecutor’s office. It seems the partial print is a close, if not an exact match of the prints Becky put into the system and flagged as high priority.”
“You’re saying Chase Dakota killed the Grant County deputy?”
“I’m not saying that,” Cora said. “But I want the MCU’s crime scene techs to check the print and see if it matches. I’m all but sure it will. You should have the print any time now. They’re sending it straight to Mimi’s email.”
“What else can we do regarding the Grant County situation?” Murton said.
“As usual, Wheeler, you’re paying too much attention to your wardrobe and not enough to what I’m saying. Dakota killed the Grant County cop. Half of their force is on administrative leave while the whole thing gets sorted out.” Then to Virgil: “Jones-man, Mac wants you to send Ross and Rosencrantz to Grant County to help fill the void.”
When Cora made the request, Virgil and Murton looked at each other. Both men were thinking the same thing. Was this what Mason had warned Virgil about?
Murton shook his head, but Virgil didn’t know if he meant this is it…don’t do it, or if he meant, I don’t know if this is it or not.
When Virgil turned his palms up, Murton leaned closer, lowered his voice, and said, “I’m not positive, but this doesn’t feel like it would be the thing.”
“Hello?” Cora said. “Is anybody listening to me? I said the governor wants Ross and Rosencrantz over in Grant County. And I heard you mumble something, Wheeler. What was it?”
“We’re on it, Cora,” Virgil said.
“Good. See that you are. I want regular updates. Ross and Rosencrantz, get moving. The rest of you find these idiots and shut them down.” Then she hung up.
“Why is it that everyone is always picking on my wardrobe?” Murton said. He jerked his thumb at Virgil and said, “If anything, this one here should be the target of opportunity.”
Becky reached over and patted his hand. “They’re just jealous, sweetheart.”
Ross and Rosencrantz got up to leave, but Virgil held up his hand, looked at everyone in the room, and said, “Nobody goes anywhere yet. I need to have a word with Murt.” Then Virgil and Murton stood and walked out into the hallway.
After the door was closed, Murton looked at Virgil and said, “I just don’t think this is it, Jonesy.” Virgil was biting into his bottom lip…hard. “If you don’t stop that, you’re going to start to bleed.”
“How do you know this isn’t it?” Virgil said.
“I didn’t say that I knew. I simply said I don’t think this is it. Not exactly the same thing.”
“That’s not much wiggle room there, either. Dad said I was going to be asked to do something and I must refuse, even if it costs me my job.”
“That’s why I don’t think this is it,” Murton said. “You weren’t asked to do anything. Cora said Mac made a command decision to send Ross and Rosencrantz to Grant County. What she didn’t do was ask you specifically to send someone, or even go yourself. It’s two different things.”
Virgil wasn’t convinced. “That’s a little thin. You’re splitting hairs.”
“Maybe. But my gut tells me this isn’t it.”
“What aren’t you saying?” Virgil said.
Murton looked away for a few seconds, then said, “I’m saying I trust my gut, and on top of that, you’ve been put into an almost untenable position. You asked for my help and guidance on this, and that’s what I’m offering right now. No disrespect, Virgil, but I don’t think you’d be able to recognize whatever it is in the moment, and I’m simply saying I don’t believe this is it.”
Virgil looked at his brother for a long, hard minute, then said, “Okay. I hope you’re right.”
When they went back into the conference room, Virgil looked at Ross and Rosencrantz for so long without saying anything, Ross finally said, “What’s going on?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to skirt the system.”
“Big surprise,” Ross said.
At eight-fifteen, Betty keyed the microphone and tried to reach Hall. Then she got caught up answering the phone for a few minutes and dealing with administrative duties. When she glanced at the clock on the wall, ten minutes had passed. She tried Hall again but still couldn’t reach him.
She got on the computer and looked up his cell phone number from the roster. The call went straight to voicemail. When she walked into the sheriff’s office, she tried to keep her voice calm, her face expressionless. Later, she wouldn’t be able to remember if she succeeded or not. “I can’t reach Allen,” she told the sheriff.
“Hall?” Holden said, without looking up.
“How many guys do we have named Allen?” Betty said. “Yes. Allen Hall. The undersheriff.”
Holden squinted at her. “Is it just me, or do you keep bees as a hobby?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you come across like you’ve always got one in your bonnet.”
“Me?”
The sheriff ignored her question. “Did you try his cell?”
“It went straight to voicemail.”
“Landline?”
“He doesn’t have one,” Betty said.
Holden was opening and closing his left hand, making a fist, then relaxing it. Betty noticed and said, “Why are you doing that with your hand?”
“Because maybe my knees aren’t the only things that bother me. Would you get me a couple of aspirin?”
“What about Allen?”
When Holden stood up, he felt like his knees were made of gravel. “I’ll take a drive out to his house, where I’m sure I’ll find him fast asleep.” The sheriff rolled his left shoulder and t
ried to hide the pain he felt. “How about it on the aspirin?”
Betty walked out of the office and returned a few minutes later with two aspirin and a bottle of water.
“What if he’s not there?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Betty. The man’s been putting in almost eighty hours a week. I’m sure he simply forgot. If he did, I’ll let you give him all the truck you want.” He swallowed the pills with a few sips of water, then walked out of his office.
Virgil walked out of the room, then took out his phone and called Sandy. He knew Cora wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t care. When she answered, he said, “Could you get me ten minutes with Mac today?”
“I’m not sure. I’d have to check with Cora.”
“No, no, don’t do that. That’s why I called you.”
“I thought you were calling to tell me you loved me,” Sandy said.
“I am. I do. But I also need to speak with Mac.”
“Hold on, let me look at his schedule.” A few minutes later she said, “He’s got some open time about an hour from now. Want me to put it on his schedule?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t. Could you just call him and ask him to keep it open?”
“I could, but if Cora books something for him…”
“Okay, I get it,” Virgil said. “How about if you book the slot for yourself, and then I show up?”
“That should work. Virgil, what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when I get there. You should probably sit in anyway.”
Sheriff Holden turned into Hall’s drive and parked as close to the house as possible. Less walking. When he climbed the three front porch steps, he had to hold on to both handrails. He rang the doorbell and waited a full minute before he rang it once again. When he didn’t get an answer, he tried the knob and discovered the door was unlocked. He hated to do it because he was certain Hall was asleep, but he stepped inside anyway and called out his name. When he got no response, he hobbled through the front room and down the hallway to the bedroom area. He checked both rooms and discovered no one was there.