State of Killers: A Mystery Thriller Novel (Virgil Jones Mystery Thriller Series Book 11)

by Thomas Scott

  “The question is, where?”

  “We’ll root them out,” Murton said. “What’d Johnson have to say?”

  “Nothing more than you already know, except he told me if we find these guys, he wants us to kill them.”

  “Carl said that?”

  “Yeah. He’s pretty beat up over the whole thing.” Then, “Here we go. I think this is the judge’s place.” Virgil slowed, then turned in and parked in the circular drive, just past the front door. Miles pulled up right behind him, and by the time they were all out of their vehicles, the porch light popped on, and an elderly man with white hair opened the front door. He wore a pair of faded designer bluejeans, along with a white polo shirt buttoned all the way up. His slippers looked as old as he did. He stepped out onto the wide porch, one hand behind his back.

  Miles walked over to Virgil and Murton and said, “What’s this all about?”

  Virgil winked at him. “You’re about to find out. Let’s go introduce ourselves.”

  They walked up toward the porch, and when they were almost to the bottom step, the man said, “That’s close enough.” He brought his hand out from behind his back and let the Kimber .45 rest easy at his side, the gun pointed at the ground. “Let me see some ID if you don’t mind.”

  Miles looked at Virgil and said, “What, you brought me out here to have me shot?”

  Virgil ignored Miles, and they all pulled out their badges. Virgil looked up at the man and said, “I’m Detective Virgil Jones with the state’s Major Crimes Unit.” He tipped his head at Murton and Miles and introduced them as well. “Are you Judge Henry Parker? My boss, Cora LaRue from the governor’s office informed me that you’d be expecting us.”

  The judge tucked the gun into its holster behind his back, then said, “Yep. That’s me. Forgive the greeting. Out here, you have to take care of yourself, especially if you’re an officer of the court. By the time the cops show up, the party is already over, if you take my meaning. Come on in, and let’s try to make this quick.”

  They stepped into the foyer of the judge’s home, and he said, “Let’s do it right here. Who’s the victim?”

  Virgil jerked his thumb at Miles, and said, “He is.”

  Miles gave Virgil an odd look. “Victim? Victim of what?”

  Virgil looked Miles in the eye. “By order of the governor’s chief of staff, you’re to be sworn in as acting sheriff of Shelby County until either Sheriff Holden can resume his duties, or in lieu of that, a special election can be held to replace him.” He was smiling when he said it.

  Miles wasn’t. He turned to the judge and said, “Your Honor, if I could have a moment with Detective Jones?”

  The judge let his shoulders droop. “This was supposed to be quick and easy.”

  “It will be, judge,” Virgil said. “We’ll be just a moment.” Miles walked outside and Virgil followed, closing the door behind him. “What is it, Ron? I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I am. But I don’t want to mess up my disability or pension. Not to mention the salary I get from the MCU as Becky’s assistant.”

  Virgil shook his head. “You won’t. Everything you’re getting right now comes from the state, in one way or another. This is county business.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Ron, I wouldn’t put you in that position. Besides, this county’s police force needs a leader right now, and I can’t think of anyone better suited for the job. Plus, it’s mostly administrative work…budgets, duty rosters, and that sort of thing. So, what do you say?”

  Miles tried not to let the corners of his mouth turn up, but he didn’t quite manage. “No disrespect, but it would be nice to have a real badge again…even if it’s only temporary.”

  “So let’s go back inside and get you sworn in…”

  When they walked back in, the judge and Murton were debating the pros and cons of the Kimber .45, versus the Sig P226 that both Virgil and Murton carried.

  “I’ll give you that the Kimber is a fine weapon,” Murton said. “In fact, it’s practically a work of art. But you’ve only got an eight-round mag. With the 226, I’ve got a double stack of fifteen. That means with one in the box, you’re at nine, and I’m at sixteen.”

  The judge gave him a scholarly nod. “But you don’t carry with one chambered, do you? Because if you do, you’re taking a bit of a risk. The 226 doesn’t have a safety.”

  “You’re right,” Murton said. “It doesn’t. But because it has a de-cocking lever and about a ten-pound pull on the first shot, that’s almost better than a safety…if you know what you’re doing.”

  Virgil cleared his throat. “Uh, we’re good to go, judge. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Murton looked at Judge Parker and said, “My brother. He can ruin a good debate just by walking in the door.”

  The judge looked at Virgil and Murton. “Brother’s, huh? Well, that’s interesting.” Then he turned to Miles and said, “Detective Miles, raise your right hand and repeat after me…”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Once Miles was sworn in, the judge filled out a form, signed it, then said, “I’ll turn this in at the county courthouse tomorrow. Until then, try not to shoot anyone.”

  “I’ll do my best, Judge,” Miles said.

  “See that you do.” Then, not quite ready to let the gun debate go, the judge looked directly at Ron and said, “What do you carry of late, Sheriff Miles?”

  When the judge addressed Ron by his proper title, it filled him with a sense of pride, one that he didn’t realize until that very moment he’d missed. “A Glock 19.”

  “Good God, man. You should at least go with the 17.”

  “It’s a little bulky for my taste,” Ron said.

  “You’re only looking at a half-inch of barrel length,” the judge said. “I’d think about it.”

  “I will,” Ron said. Then, “Uh, do I get a badge or something?”

  “You do, of course. And a uniform to go with it. But this is my home, not the county supply depot. Talk with Betty down at the station tomorrow and she’ll get you all set up.”

  And Virgil thought, Ah…Betty. So that’s where that came from.

  They let the judge get back to his evening. Once they were outside, Miles looked at Virgil and Murton and said, “So now what?”

  “Take it one step at a time, Ron,” Virgil said. “Do what the judge told you to do. Meet with this Betty woman tomorrow, get everything you need, then settled in and do the job. We have every reason to believe that the meth is coming from Shelby County, and you should probably make finding these two guys, Dakota and Hawk, your priority, and shut down any way you can. Forensics proves—or will prove—that they’re the ones responsible for all these killings. The MCU will be backing you up on numerous fronts. If you need something from us, all you have to do is ask.”

  Miles nodded. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Jonesy. I know we’ve had our fair share of differences in the past, but the way I feel right now…I don’t know, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I feel like a real cop again.”

  “That’s because you are. Got directions to the Esser place?” Virgil said.

  “I do. Patty gave me the key. I think I’m going to make a quick run back out to the crime scene at Mizner’s and let the night shift know there’s a new sheriff in town, so to speak. I’ll get with the day shift tomorrow. What about you guys?”

  Virgil looked at Murton and said, “I know it’s getting late, but I wouldn’t mind making a quick run over to the hospital to check on Holden.”

  “Fine by me,” Murton said. Then to Miles, “Watch your back, Ron.” He jerked his thumb at Virgil. “This one told me on the way over that if you said no, I was next in line for the job. No disrespect, but I don’t want it. I’ve already got one.”

  A little less than an hour later, Virgil and Murton turned into the Shelbyville hospital’s emergency department parking lot. They found Cool easily enough, the state’s helicopter sitting right outside the
entrance.

  Virgil looked around for a few seconds, then said, “Sort of a tight fit.”

  Cool agreed with him. “Wouldn’t want it much tighter, that’s for sure.”

  “How’s Sheriff Holden?” Murton said.

  “Bell is in checking on the situation right now. The last time he asked, they said he was stabilized. I think there is some urgency to the whole thing though, because…ah, here comes Bell. I’ll let him fill you in.”

  Bell walked over, said hello, then removed his round glasses and wiped them with the tail of his shirt. “They’ve got him stabilized for now. The problem is, he’s too weak for transport. I spoke with the cardiologist, and they’re planning on going in later tonight if his vitals hold up. He seems to think they will.”

  “What’s your assessment of the man?” Virgil said. “The cardio guy.”

  “I really only spoke with him briefly,” Bell said. “But it was a doctor-to-doctor conversation, and based on what he told me, I think the sheriff is in good hands. As good as he would be up at Methodist is difficult to say. But it doesn’t really matter at this point because of the transportation issue. Bottom line: He doesn’t have a choice.”

  “What exactly are they going to do?” Murton said.

  “He’s getting the full treatment. They’re going to crack his chest and do a quadruple bypass. It seems the sheriff needs to lay off the gravy and red meat. The doc says he’s about as clogged up as they come.”

  “But he’s going to make it?” Cool asked.

  Bell tipped his head slightly and wiggled the flat of his hand side to side. “If we were having this very same conversation twenty years ago, I’d say his chances would not be nearly as good as they are right now. The technology has come quite a long way. Is it risky? Yes. There’s no question. But if they can get it done, and keep him free of infection, I’d say his chances are better than fifty-fifty.”

  Virgil reached up and scratched his face, right under his left eye. He knew about post-surgical infection. “It’s sort of been my experience that when someone says, ‘better than fifty-fifty,’ they usually mean it could go either way.”

  “I take your point, Jonesy,” Bell said. “But the fact of the matter is this: The man is in for a tough few weeks, and that’s just to get his heart in order. He also needs a double knee replacement.”

  Virgil looked at Cool, who knew immediately what he was thinking. “I’ve already spoken with Julia, and she told me that as early as tomorrow she’ll start the process to gain privileges here in case Holden can’t make the trip up to Indy.”

  “So now what?” Virgil said.

  “There really isn’t anything for us to do at this point,” Bell said. “He’s in good hands. I think it’s time to go home for the night.”

  Murton looked at Cool and said, “Would you mind dropping me at my place? Bell can get a ride back to his helicopter with Jonesy.”

  Virgil looked at Murton and said, “I don’t think you want to do that. The last time Cool dropped me at my place at night, we woke the whole house. Sandy wasn’t pleased.”

  Murton smiled at him. “It’s okay. I have privileges.”

  Virgil ignored him and looked at Bell. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been wanting a ride in that new truck of yours anyway.”

  “Well, you’re about to get one.” Then to Cool. “Don’t land on that pad. It’s still curing.”

  After Virgil dropped Bell back at the crime scene, watched him takeoff, then went and had a quick word with Miles, who had just finished up speaking with the night shift deputies. “Getting the word out?”

  “Yeah, as fast as I can anyway.”

  “How are they taking it?”

  Miles turned his palms up. “Ah, you know how it is. Most of them were okay, a few wanted to be hard-nosed about it. But I think everyone understood something had to be done. Can’t run the department without someone in charge.”

  Virgil nodded. “That’s true. Want some advice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Promote that Henderson guy…at least temporarily, to the position of undersheriff. He’s got the most seniority, and it’d be a show of good faith on your part.”

  Miles tipped a finger at him. “That’s a good idea. I’ll do that first thing tomorrow. You heading out?”

  Virgil rubbed his face with his hands. “Yeah, I’m beat. But Murton and I will be back tomorrow. We’re going to work this thing hard and try to get it figured out.”

  “Try to save me some of the glory, will you?” Miles said.

  Virgil laughed through his nose and clapped Ron on the back. “You want the glory, go and find these assholes. See you in the morning.”

  By the time Virgil made it home, the hour was late, and everyone was in bed. He checked on the boys, then went in and gave Sandy a light kiss on her cheek. She mumbled something that Virgil thought could have meant, come to bed, or, go away I’m trying to sleep.

  He was tired himself after such a long day but was a little too amped up to drop right into bed, so he made his way into the kitchen, grabbed a Red Stripe from the fridge, and went outside and down to the pond.

  The lecture started almost immediately.

  “Clearly you didn’t hear a word I said the other day,” Mason said. He was sort of pacing back and forth between his cross and where Virgil sat.

  “Of course I did. You told me I was going to be asked to do something and that I must refuse. Then you said that certain things are set in stone. Do I have that right?”

  “Yes, you do,” Mason said. “But you took that information and tried to wrangle your way around it by having your little meeting with the governor.”

  “What would you have me do?” Virgil said. “You give just enough information to confuse the hell out of me, then drift off to wherever it is you go, and leave me to figure everything else out. In the meantime, a bunch of people are dead, and it’s on me to put a stop to it. So, what do you think I should do?”

  “Having a little more forethought might be a place to start. You haven’t changed anything, Virg. Not one single thing. Why do you think I said it is set in stone?”

  “What, exactly, is it?”

  “I can’t say, Son. I wish I could.”

  Virgil tipped his bottle of beer up and finished it with one long drink. Then he stood and set the bottle on the arm of his father’s cross. “So do I, Dad. So do I.”

  And this time it wasn’t Mason who disappeared. Virgil turned and walked back up to his house, his father standing there, watching him go.

  The next morning, Ross was up at five and ready to go by five-thirty. He stepped out into the hallway and knocked on his partner’s door. When Rosencrantz opened up, he looked like he may have gotten about two hours of sleep.

  “Late night?” Ross said. He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice.

  “Something like that. Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  “You look like you’ll need about five hours.”

  “Five minutes,” Rosencrantz said. “Meet me in the lobby.” Then he shut the door in Ross’s face.

  Ross laughed out loud as he headed for the elevator.

  The five minutes turned into fifteen, and when Rosencrantz finally made it to the lobby, he looked at his partner and said, “Where’d you get the coffee?”

  Ross gave him a flat stare and said, “From the coffee pot.”

  “Ross…”

  “Okay, okay, I’m just messing with you. Right down the corridor over there.”

  Rosencrantz turned the corner and saw a table set up with a continental breakfast spread and three large urns of coffee. “Thank god.” He walked over, selected the largest cup he could find, and filled it to the brim.

  “We’re going to be late,” Ross said. “Green made it clear that we were supposed to be in his office by six. That means we should have left ten minutes ago.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck him. I work for the state.” Then, after another few sips of coffee, h
e said, “Let’s go. You drive. I hope they give us one of those golf carts or whatever to drive around in all day. My legs feel like rubber.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When they walked into Green’s office, he made an elaborate show of checking his watch. “I thought we agreed on six.”

  Rosencrantz, who was finally coming around, said, “You said six. It’s ten after. Let’s not make a federal case out of it.” When he looked out at the factory floor, nothing much seemed to be happening. He pointed out Green’s window and said, “Besides, it’s not exactly a beehive of activity out there.”

  “That’s because everyone is waiting on me. Once a week we have a quick production meeting. I didn’t want to start until you guys showed up.”

  “We’re here now,” Ross said, dryly. “How about we get to it.”

  Green gave them each a hard hat, ear protectors, a clipboard, and safety goggles. Attached to the clipboards were forms of some sort that neither Ross nor Rosencrantz recognized. Green saw the looks on their faces and said, “Those are copies of our internal safety audit sheets. I figured it was appropriate for what you guys have in mind.”

  Both men shrugged. They didn’t care what the sheets meant. They wouldn’t be using them.

  Green stood and said, “Here’s what needs to happen, and this is non-negotiable, okay? First, you guys keep that safety gear on at all times. The last thing I need is corporate crawling all over my butt because one of you catches a nail in the eye or some goddamned thing. Second, do not—and this is very important—interrupt anyone who is actively working. They likely wouldn’t talk to you anyway, because you’d be taking money out of their pockets. They’ve got a job to do and they want to get it done and get out. But, everyone does take a lunch break, usually between nine and ten—we’ve got our own cafeteria—so if you want to speak with anyone, that’d be the time.”