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

by Thomas Scott

  Martin nodded. “Yeah. What else can we do? He’s sitting in there—the smug bastard—knowing full well he’s about to walk on some major charges. The truth is, we’re not dangling anything in front of him. It’s the exact opposite. He’s holding all the cards, and he knows it.”

  “You sound sort of upset by all this,” Rosencrantz said.

  “That’s because I am.”

  “But you said that’s the way you guys work,” Ross said. “By climbing the ladder and all that.”

  Martin nodded…fast little head bobs that seemed to match her mood. “It is the way we work. Except the closer you get to the top, the harder it is to swallow.”

  “So, do you need to type something up, or what?” Rosencrantz said.

  “No, it’s already done. In fact, it’s already signed by all the appropriate people. What do you think I was doing while you guys were scouting the factory floor? All I have to do is fill in his name and address on the form.”

  They walked the form back into the interview room, and Witlock spent the next ten minutes studying it, making sure there was no way they could prosecute him if he told them everything he knew.

  “Are you going to sign, or not?” Martin said.

  Witlock gave her a toothless grin. “It’s almost good enough.”

  “What do you mean, almost? It’s all right there in black and white, signed by everyone who has the authority to give you what you want.”

  Witlock nodded at her. “That’s all true, but the fact remains, it’s still just a piece of paper, and I’m still sitting here handcuffed to the table like a common criminal.”

  “That’s because you are, dickweed,” Ross said.

  Witlock made a clucking noise with his tongue. “There’s no need for vulgarities, Detective. Here’s how we’re going to do this: Agent Martin is going to read this letter aloud, on video—any of your phones will do as mine seems to be not working of late—and then a photograph of the letter will be taken. Both the video and the photo of the letter will be sent to an email address I will provide, and once all that is done, I’ll tell you everything I may or may not know, and after that, I’ll leave with the original letter.”

  Martin shook her head. “Christ. Alright, let’s get on with it…”

  The reading, signing, photographing, and emailing took no more than ten minutes. Once Witlock was allowed to check his email and verify everything had been sent to him, they got down to it. But the night dragged on, and getting all the information they needed from Witlock, and putting a plan in place, lingered well past midnight.

  Rosencrantz stepped out into the hall and made a quick phone call to Becky. The call woke her up, and she wasn’t very happy about it. “I just went to sleep, Rosie.”

  “Yeah, sorry, but we’re still working. I’ve got an email address I’m sending you. Need you to get inside and work your magic…” Then he told her what he wanted.

  “You’re looking for two guys named Chase Dakota and Johnny Hawk,” Witlock told them. “I’ve never actually met Hawk. Only Dakota.”

  “We know who we’re looking for,” Martin said. “We’ve known for quite some time. What we don’t know is where they are.”

  “I don’t either. We always meet at my other place in Roseburg. Dakota drives the stuff up…in an Amazon Prime van no less, then we make the swap and I drive back up here, and he leaves with his money.”

  “But you’re certain you have no idea where they operate out of,” Rosencrantz said.

  Witlock shook his head. “Look you guys gave me a deal, and I’m cooperating, but I can’t give you information I don’t have. I never asked, and Dakota never told me.”

  “We think they’re cooking somewhere down in Shelby County,” Ross said.

  Witlock closed his eyes in thought. In fact, he left them closed for so long it looked like he’d decided to take a little nap.

  Martin had to prompt him. “Neil?”

  He held up a wait-a-minute finger, his eyes still closed. Finally, he said, “Shelby County seems right. I was thinking back on the phone conversations we’ve had, talking about how long he said his drive was. Based on everything he ever told me, the drive time would be about right.”

  “That’s not much help, Neil,” Martin said. “When is the next drop supposed to happen?”

  Witlock glanced at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning. “In about eight hours. We set the meet in Roseburg for ten.”

  “How much are they sending up?” Rosencrantz said.

  “Street value or wholesale?”

  “Wholesale.”

  “Close to half a mil,” Witlock said.

  “Where’s the cash?” Ross asked.

  “At my house, in one of the best safes money can buy. It’s bolted to both the concrete floor in the basement and the wall behind it.”

  Martin took out her phone and made a quick call to the search team. “What have you found?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” the deputy said through a yawn. “Except for the giant safe in the basement that no one can get into. We’ve got a locksmith out here right now still trying. He’s supposed to be a good safe guy, but he says it’s a hell of a safe. Doesn’t think he’ll be able to crack it.”

  “He doesn’t have to. Send him home,” Martin said. “We’ve gained the cooperation of the homeowner. In fact, get everyone out of there. The search is over.”

  The deputy told her he would.

  Martin looked at Witlock and said, “Ever wear a wire before? You’re going to make one more drug deal.”

  Witlock put his face in his hands and shook his head.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  They all went back to Witlock’s house, and when he saw the condition of his home, he pointed a finger at no one in particular and said,” Look at this place. They tore it up. Who’s going to pay for all the damages? It sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”

  “We’ll work something out,” Rosencrantz said.

  “You better,” Witlock replied. There was a little gravel in his voice.

  “Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” Ross said. “Show us the safe.”

  Witlock led them through the house, carefully stepping over the items that were scattered across the floor. Down in the basement, he walked over to the safe, inspected it carefully to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with, then said, “Well, at least they didn’t damage this.”

  The safe was immense. It had a numerical keypad, a palm reader, and a dial. Witlock put his palm on the reader and when he did, the keypad lit up. He punched in a six-digit code, then went to work on the dial. Once that was done, he turned the massive handle but didn’t open the door. Instead, he looked at Ross, Rosencrantz, and Martin, and said, “As a show of good faith, I’m going to tell you something before I open this door.”

  “I’m listening,” Martin said, the impatience in her voice evident.

  “I’ve got close to a million dollars in here, and none of you can prove how I earned it. You can theorize, suspect, bitch, whine, and moan, but those are the facts. It’s my money, not yours. I’ll let you use it because of the deal we have, but when the deal is done, I want it back.”

  “You’ll get it back,” Martin said. “Provided you come through for us. And, that’s hardly a show of good faith. It’s a simple statement.”

  “I know,” Witlock said. “I just wanted to make that point. The show of good faith is this: I’ve got a few guns in there, and I didn’t want you guys to get hurt. One of them is rigged as a booby trap.”

  Everyone except Witlock took a few steps back. “Rigged how?” Rosencrantz said.

  Witlock pointed to the handle. “Once I turned that handle, the safe was unlocked. It still is. But there’s a sensor on the inside of the door. If I don’t punch in another code before the door is pulled open, someone could get hit with a shotgun blast.”

  “Well, Jesus Christ,” Rosencrantz said. “Punch in the code.”

  Witlock entered a four-digit sequence on the pad, then said
, “Now you can open it.”

  Ross and Rosencrantz and Martin moved well to the side of the safe, and Ross said, “No, now you can open it.” He had his sidearm out. “If anything goes wrong, or if you reach inside that safe, I’ll drop you on the spot. Understood?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m trying to do the right thing here, guys.”

  “Then do it,” Martin said. “I want you to open the door all the way, and stay behind it at all times.”

  Witlock gave her an odd look. “Why?”

  “In case there’s a delay or something.”

  “There’s no delay.”

  “Just do it,” she said.

  Witlock shrugged, pulled open the door as far as it would go, then put his back against the wall. Martin and Ross and Rosencrantz were on the opposite side of the safe, their own backs against the wall. Ross had his gun pointed right at Witlock’s head. They stayed that way for about two minutes until Witlock couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I’m telling you guys, there’s no delay.”

  Ross holstered his gun, pointed a finger at Witlock, and said, “Don’t move.” Then he pushed off the wall and peaked inside the safe. “I see it.” He looked at the setup for a few seconds, then said, “Pretty clever if I’m reading it right.”

  “How are you reading it?” Witlock said, with a hint of pride.

  “Magnetic release on the hinged side of the door, like an alarm system.” He took a penlight from his pocket and pointed it inside. “A wire runs from the magnetic pad to what looks like a small battery-operated motor. There’s a thin cable running from the motor that’s wrapped tight around a trigger of the smallest shotgun I’ve ever seen. It’s pointed right at the door opening.”

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Witlock said.

  “Pretty fucking stupid, if you ask me,” Rosencrantz said. “It takes your palm print, a keypad entry, and a dial combination to open this thing. What if you were in a hurry and forgot to enter the last sequence? You’d kill yourself because you put too much security in your own system. It’s the perfect definition of overkill.”

  Witlock didn’t answer. Martin looked at Ross and said, “Can you get the cable off the trigger?”

  “Yeah.” Ross put his penlight between his teeth, then reached inside the safe with both hands. With his left hand, he jammed two fingers behind the trigger so it couldn’t be pulled, then with his right hand, he slid the cable off the bottom of the trigger, lifted the shotgun out of the mounting bracket, and ejected the single shell. He put the shell in his pocket and threw the gun across the floor.

  Witlock shouted, “Hey!”

  Ross got right in his face. He pushed him back against the wall and said, “Hey, my ass. You’re an idiot. Do not move from that spot.”

  When Rosencrantz and Martin looked in the safe, they couldn’t quite believe what they saw. A quick inventory revealed four semiautomatic handguns, an AR-15, two large green metal boxes packed full with close to three thousand rounds of ammunition, and stacks upon stacks of money banded together and labeled with the total amount. The bills were all twenties and fifties.

  Martin did a quick count and—if the labels were right—came up with a figure. “Nine hundred grand, give or take.”

  “Nine twenty, I believe,” Witlock said.

  Martin pulled an empty duffle from the safe and said, “Let’s bag it up.”

  “But not all of it,” Witlock said. “Four twenty stays behind, right guys? Guys?”

  They made their way back to the Goshen County sheriff’s office and put Witlock in a holding cell.

  “What’s going on? I’m cooperating.”

  “Yes, you are,” Martin said. “But until the deal is done, you’re still being detained. Sit down, keep quiet and we’ll be back for you when we’re ready to go. I’ll have someone bring you something to drink.”

  Witlock shook his head and sat down on the bench.

  Martin went out to her vehicle and brought in a separate bag. It was similar to the duffle they’d used to bring the money in, except Martin’s had a little more room. When she began to transfer the money from Witlock’s bag to her own, Ross looked at her and said, “Why are you doing that?”

  “This one has a tracker sewn into the interior lining. Once Dakota has the money, we’ll be able to hang back at a distance. He’ll never see us until it’s too late.”

  “What kind of range are we talking about?”

  “It’s good up to five miles.”

  “How many receivers do you have?” Rosencrantz said.

  “Two. Why?”

  Rosencrantz smiled and said, “Because if my math is right, five miles is a little over twenty-six thousand feet.”

  Martin, nobody’s idiot, caught on right away. “You’re thinking aerial support?”

  “I am. Gotta wake the boss. We’re getting tight on time.”

  When Virgil’s phone rang, he checked the time and saw it was almost five in the morning. When he looked at the caller ID, he saw that it was Rosencrantz. “What is it, Rosie? You guys okay up there?”

  “Better than okay. In fact, we deserve a raise or a promotion or a medal or something.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ve got him.”

  Virgil sat up. “Dakota?”

  “No, but we’ve got the guy he deals to up here. His name is Neil Witlock, and he’s sitting in a holding cell as we speak. He’s agreed to cooperate, and the next deal is going down in a town called Roseburg.”

  Virgil rubbed the sleep off his face. “Yeah, we know Roseburg. Becky filled us in on that, and that you guys were looking at Witlock. Didn’t think it’d happen so fast though. When is the deal being made?”

  “At ten, this morning. We’ve got the money in a bag with a tracker. If you could get Cool up near Roseburg—I’m looking at a map right now and the Muncie airport is only about six miles to the southeast—we’d not only have ground tracking but aerial support as well. Dakota will lead us to Hawk and their entire operation, and the whole thing could be wrapped up by noon.”

  Virgil didn’t hesitate. “I’ll call him right now. Who’s going to bring him the receiver for the tracking device?”

  “Ross and I already talked about that. I’m going to stay close to the drop point with Agent Martin, and Ross will go to Cool and fly with him. That way he won’t have to fly and run the receiving unit.”

  “Ross have his long gun?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Gotcha. What’s the range on the receiver?”

  “Carla says it’s good up to five miles.”

  Virgil heard Rosencrantz refer to Agent Martin by her first name and thought, hmm. “Okay, nice work, Rosie. Where do you want me and Murt? Up there with you guys, or down in Shelby County?”

  “Well, you’re the boss, so it’s your call, but I’d say the best place would be in Shelby County. No sense in you guys coming halfway up the state, only to spend time going back to where you’ll end up anyway. We’ve got this end covered, no problem.”

  “Good enough. We’ll be in place with Ron and his men by ten. I’ll call Cool and Murt right now. Stay in touch and be careful.”

  “We will. You too.”

  Then before Rosencrantz could go, Virgil said, “What kind of deal did Witlock get from Martin?”

  Rosencrantz laughed…a mean guttural sound that surprised Virgil. “Not the kind I’d ever want. He’s not as smart as he thinks he is. I’ll give you the details later. I gotta go. We’re short on time.” And then Rosencrantz was gone.

  Virgil called Cool first and told him what he needed. Cool said he’d be in place and waiting at the Muncie airport no later than nine.

  “Ross will meet you there and run the receiver, so all you have to do is fly. The main thing is this: You can’t let him see you.”

  “What’s the range on the tracker?”

  “Rosie says Agent Martin told him it was five miles. He referred to her as Carla, by the way.”

  “Did he, now
?” Cool said.

  “Yep. Could practically hear his heartbeat over the phone. Anyway, I’m not exactly sure how that five mile distance thing works out when you factor in altitude.”

  “That’s because you don’t have my superior math skills,” Cool said.

  Sandy was on her side, the curve of her hip visible under the sheets. Virgil did a quick calculation in his head—math whiz or not—and decided he didn’t have to call Murton right away. They had plenty of time to get to Shelby County before anything happened.

  “I might not have your superior math skills,” Virgil said, still looking at his wife. “I’ve got something much better. She’s right here next to me. Fly safe, Motherfucker.” Then he hung up and began to pull the sheets back from Sandy’s body. Soon he was lost in her warmth, the smell of her hair, the swell of her breasts, and the way she smiled in her sleep as he touched her…

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  By seven-thirty in the morning, Dakota was ready to go. It was only a two-hour drive up to Roseburg, but at the speed he drove, it usually took him almost an extra half hour. Really can’t be too careful, he thought, and the thought made him grab a just-in-case shotgun, along with a box of shells. He tucked everything away in the van and headed out.

  At the same time Dakota was pulling away from the barn, Virgil was turning into Murton’s drive to pick him up. They’d be down in Shelby County by eight-thirty, which would give them plenty of time to brief Ron and his men. Virgil looked at Murton and said, “Rosie says we’ll have the whole thing wrapped up by noon.”

  Murton was skeptical. “We’ll see.”

  Martin, Ross, and Rosencrantz got Witlock wired up and gave him his phone back—Becky had since restored it—in case Dakota had reason to call. Martin, who was tired and in no mood to be played with, looked Witlock in the eye and said, “If he calls, I better not hear any kind of code word or phrase that lets him know something is going on. Got it?”