by Thomas Scott
“Such as?” Banner said.
“You mentioned that the opposing team that day was from French Lick. Do you happen to know who the coach was at that time?”
“Of course. His team has taken the state title a number of times. He was fresh out of college when he took over as the coach. If I’m not mistaken, he’s also a guidance counselor at the school as well. His name is Don Whittle.”
They thanked Banner for her time, then got back in the car and headed toward the airport. On the way, Virgil called Cool and told him they needed to stop in French Lick on the way back. He asked to have another car waiting. Cool told him he’d take care of it, and ended the call.
Murton called Becky and asked for Don Whittle’s address. Ten minutes later, he got the text, and it listed Whittle’s address.
“It’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” Virgil said. “The fact that the name Whittle keeps coming up in one way or another.”
Murton nodded. “I do. Maybe we should talk to Sheriff Harper before we talk to Whittle.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Virgil said.
Ninety minutes later, Virgil and Murton were sitting in Sheriff Wes Harper’s office. Virgil got right to the point. “The first thing I’d like to know is if you have any leads at all regarding the disappearance of Jodie Carter.”
Harper shook his head. “Not a damn thing. Feels like she got plucked right off the planet.”
Virgil didn’t have a response to that, but he did spend a few seconds thinking about it. The sheriff let him, then finally said, “I appreciate your help with the notification regarding the Thompson boy. I know those things aren’t easy. How’d it go?”
“About like you might imagine,” Murton said.
The sheriff looked at nothing for a moment, then said, “You didn’t come all the way down here to ask about my progress with the Carter girl. You could have done that with a phone call.”
“You’re right,” Murton said. “We didn’t.”
“What is it, then?”
Virgil looked at Harper and said, “Yesterday you said that you were going to get in touch with me to ask for help on another matter.”
“That’s right,” Harper said. “Although I can’t believe that you’re going to take the time to get involved with a family squabble when you’ve got all these girls missing.”
“We’re not,” Virgil said. “Not exactly.”
Harper pinched an eye shut, and said, “What exactly are we talking about here?”
Murton squinted right back at the sheriff, and said, “The fact that we don’t like coincidences.”
“What’s the connection between the Whittle family feud and the missing girls?” Harper said.
Virgil turned his palms up. “There might not be one, but we’re running down clues on a particular case, and apparently Don Whittle was a witness. We’d like to speak with him about it.”
Harper checked his watch. “He’d be over at the school. Class hasn’t let out yet. You want me to come with you?”
Virgil shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, Wes, but that won’t be necessary. We simply want to ask him about what he saw—if anything—on the day one of the victims went missing.”
“Fair enough, then,” Harper said. “Let me know if you find anything out.”
“Will do,” Virgil said, and then they were gone.
When Virgil and Murton arrived at the high school, classes were just getting out. They sat in their rental car for a moment, then Murton looked at Virgil, and said, “How do you want to play this?”
Virgil turned the corners of his mouth down, then said, “I think we should play it straight. We’re interviewing a witness. Nothing more. I don’t want to get sidetracked with a family estate problem that in all likelihood doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
They walked into the building and went to the administrative offices, identified themselves, and asked where they could find Don Whittle’s office.
The woman behind the desk said, “Is this about Jodie Carter?”
Murton gave her a big smile, but there was no joy in his eyes. “In a manner of speaking. We’re helping Sheriff Harper with his investigation.”
The woman told them where Whittle’s office was located, then said, “He should be in there. I know he’s canceled practice…given everything that’s happened with Jodie.”
Virgil thanked her, and they turned to walk out of the office, but she wasn’t quite done with them. “Detectives?”
Virgil and Murton both stopped and turned back. They looked at her without speaking.
The woman looked around to make sure no one was listening, then she motioned Virgil and Murton over to the counter. When they were close, she leaned in, lowered her voice, and said, “Please don’t tell anyone I said this, but there is something off regarding Mr. Whittle.”
Virgil raised his eyebrows. “Off, how?”
“I’m not exactly sure I could put my finger on it. It’s more of a feeling than anything. The same kind of feeling you get when you’re walking down the street and see someone who you know isn’t quite right. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Murton said. “We call it listening to our gut.”
She pointed a finger at him and said, “Yes, that. I’ll tell you something else. He’s a habitual liar. Everyone knows it, and very few people trust him.”
“What does he lie about?” Virgil said.
The woman shook her head, then said, “That’s what’s so weird about him. He lies even when it’s not necessary. He could be five minutes late for office hours and make up some dramatic story about how he got held up by a major funeral procession going through town. That’s not just an example. He actually used that once.”
Murton leaned in a little closer, and said, “How do you know that wasn’t the case?”
“Because my husband is the caretaker out at the cemetery.”
Virgil and Murton looked at each other, thanked her again, then headed for Whittle’s office.
Whittle was sitting at his desk, doing some sort of paperwork when Virgil and Murton walked in. He put a question on his face, then said, “May I help you, gentlemen?”
“Don Whittle?” Murton said.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Wheeler, with the state’s Major Crimes Unit. This is my partner and boss, Detective Virgil Jones. We’d like a few minutes of your time.”
Whittle dropped his chin for a moment, then looked up and said, “Jodie. Please tell me you’ve found her and that she’s safe.”
“May we sit down, sir?” Murton said.
“Of course. But Jodie?”
Virgil and Murton took the two chairs that fronted Whittle’s desk, sat, then stared at Whittle until he broke eye contact. As soon as he did, Virgil said, “Mr. Whittle—”
“Please, call me Don, or Coach. Mr. Whittle was my father.” He let out a little chuckle the way everyone does when that line gets used.
Murton gave Whittle a sympathetic nod. “I understand you lost your father not long ago. You have our condolences.”
Whittle looked away for a moment, and wiped the corner of his eye with the side of his thumb. “Thank you. It was a shock to us all. He was old, but still very strong and healthy. Our entire family is extremely close, and now that both our parents are gone…well, I’m almost ashamed to say so, but it’s managed to bring us all closer together in ways I wouldn’t have thought possible.”
“Then you should count yourself among the fortunate ones,” Murton said. “Most times, it tends to go the other way.”
“I’m aware,” Whittle said. “As the school’s guidance counselor, I see it from time to time. Tell me, how can I help with Jodie? I’ve spoken with the sheriff a half dozen times so far, and his department doesn’t seem to have any leads whatsoever. The entire team is worried sick about her.”
“I’m sure they are,” Virgil said. “But there really isn’t anything you can do. We’ll figure it out. In the meantime tho
ugh, we are here on another matter.”
Whittle tipped his head and let his face form a question. “What sort of matter?”
“A number of years ago a young girl just like Jodie went missing during a cross-country meet up near Indianapolis,” Murton said.
Whittle snapped his fingers, then said, “Yes, I remember. Our team was visiting that day. The match was canceled. The young lady…um, let me see…Mary something, if I’m not mistaken?”
“That’s right, Coach,” Virgil said. “We were hoping you could walk us through that afternoon and give us your thoughts. Anything you can tell us could be significant, whether you realize it or not.”
Whittle tipped his chair back and closed his eyes in thought. After a few seconds, he began to replay the events of that day. Virgil and Murton both took notes as he went through his story, but they didn’t interrupt or ask any questions as he spoke.
When he was finished with his version of events, he looked at Virgil and Murton, and said, “If you don’t mind my asking—and believe me, I understand that every case like this deserves to be solved—why are you focusing on one that is so old, instead of spending more time looking for Jodie Carter?”
“I don’t mind at all,” Virgil said. “The truth is you’re right. Every case like this does deserve to be solved. Our entire unit is looking into all the cases of missing girls—both the cold ones and the most recent—trying to find the commonalities…anything that ties them together in any way.”
Whittle couldn’t help himself. “I hope you’re not suggesting that because I happened to be present during Mary’s abduction—”
Virgil waved him off. “Not at all, Coach. We’re simply interviewing everyone we can. We have other detectives who are doing the same thing with coaches from other schools.” Then he slapped his thighs and stood from his chair. “You’ve been a big help, Don. We’ll add your statement to our case file and keep interviewing other witnesses. If anything breaks, we’ll be sure to let you know.”
“I appreciate it,” Whittle said. “Do you think…well, does Jodie have a chance? Is she still out there?”
“She’s out there, Coach,” Murton said. “The only question left is whether she’s dead or alive.”
As they were about to step out of the office, Virgil suddenly stopped, turned back, and said, “You know, this is going to seem weird, but with everything that’s been happening, it only just now occurred to me. Are you related to the famous author, Sam Whittle?”
Don let a huge smile form on his face. “I sure am. He’s my older brother, and I love him with my whole heart. I don’t know how I would have made it through Dad’s death if it weren’t for him. He’s not only my brother, he’s my best friend. I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of anyone in my entire life.”
“Sounds like you’re a couple of lucky guys,” Virgil said. “Do you have any other family?”
Whittle nodded. “Yes, a sister. Karen. She’s vacationing out in Vegas right now. I spoke with her just yesterday. She’s staying at the Bellagio, and by all accounts is having the time of her life. Anyway, you’ll let me know if anything turns up with Jodie Carter?”
“We will,” Murton said. Then, “It’s sort of weird when you think about it…”
“What’s weird?” Whittle said.
Murton let his face go blank. “The fact that all these missing girls are cross-country runners. There has got to be a connection buried in there somewhere. But don’t worry, we’ll eventually figure it out.”
Virgil and Murton walked outside, climbed into their rental car, and drove out of the visitor lot. Murton was at the wheel, and he made a quick turn around the block and parked along a side street that had a good view of the faculty parking lot. Virgil looked at his brother, a tight smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Do you think it was a good idea to bump him like that, right there as we were leaving?”
Murton smiled right back. “Sauce for the goose, Jones-man.” He pointed out the front window of the car. “Here he comes.” Then: “Look at that. He drives a gray van.”
“Sit tight for a minute. I don’t want him to see us.”
“You don’t want to follow him?” Murton said.
“Not yet. We’ve got his address. If he’s our guy—and I’ve got a feeling he just might be—it’s time to let him cook for a bit.”
Once Whittle was out of sight, Murton said, “Where to?”
“Back to Harper’s office. I’ve got a few more questions for the sheriff.”
Chapter Thirty-One
With school out for the day and practice canceled, Don Whittle was at his cabin doing two things. He was trying to decide if the cops showing up at the school today was nothing more than a coincidence, or were they really looking at him. On one hand, they seemed like they were simply gathering basic information. But on the other—cops being cops—they might have been playing him. He’d been so careful over the years, but had he been careful enough? Had he taken risks? Yes. But most of the serious risks were years ago when he was just getting started. Over time, he’d learned how to mitigate the dangers to himself. Now he wondered if taking one of his own might have been a mistake. Did he draw the cops closer by being too clever? He simply didn’t know.
What he did know was this: That fucking Jodie Carter had always turned his crank, and he’d have taken her eventually. And not only that, his urges were growing. When he first started taking the girls, he’d only take one per year. But now it felt like he couldn’t go more than a few days…a week tops, without taking another.
He sat down in front of his laptop and brought up the social media profiles of a girl he’d been eyeing for a while now. He had all the information he needed to take her, even though it was too soon. He had to find a way to control his urges, at least until the cops went away.
He looked at the girl on the screen and thought, But still, if I was careful enough…
When Virgil and Murton arrived back at the Orange County Sheriff’s office, Harper asked them how it went. Instead of answering right away, Virgil said, “Tell me again, in detail, what you said on the phone about the Whittles.”
They all sat down, and Harper said, “Dick Whittle died a number of months ago. He did well for himself over the years, and rumor has it that he was worth quite a few million. I know it’s not right to speak poorly of the dead, but he was also a mean son of a bitch who pretty much hated everyone he came into contact with, including his wife before him, his own children, and probably even himself. Anyway, the oldest boy…the author, Sam, called Ed Henderson over in Shelby County. Apparently they were college roommates back in the day, and Sam expressed his concerns about what was happening with his siblings after the old man died.”
“They were fighting about the money?” Virgil said.
“Yeah, and it wasn’t just finger-pointing,” Harper said. “Sam says Don pulled a gun on him, stuck it in his ear, and said if he ever saw him again, he’d kill him.”
“Do you believe him?” Murton said. “Sam?”
“I do, mostly because he admitted that he instigated the argument by throwing a punch that knocked his brother on his ass. Sam swears that Don, along with their sister, Karen, killed the old man for his money.”
“Any proof of that?” Virgil said.
“To answer your question, no. But let me ask you this: You ever listen to your gut?”
“Always,” Virgil said.
“Me too,” Harper said. “In short, I believe him. He told me that he thinks Don and Karen killed the old man, and then Don killed Karen.”
“He may be right,” Virgil said. “To answer your original question, Don Whittle was lying through his teeth when we spoke with him.”
“In what way?” Harper said.
Murton let out a snort. “Mostly by opening his mouth. If he said anything truthful, it was purely by accident. He said things like he loved his brother with his whole heart, and he wouldn’t have made it through their father’s death if it wasn’t for Sa
m and his support. Said he’s never been more proud of anyone. He also said he’s spoken with you a half dozen times about Jodie Carter. Any truth to that?”
“Absolutely none,” Harper said, his face turning redder by the second. “You think he’s the one who’s been taking these young girls?”
“Too soon to tell,” Virgil said. “But it’s leaning that way. We’ve got our people doing some deep research, so we’ll know more by this time tomorrow.”
“I ought to go out there right now and lock his ass up,” Harper said.
Virgil shook his head. “Please don’t do that, Sheriff. It could compromise everything we’re doing. If it’s him, we’ll know soon enough, but for now, leave him be.”
Harper said he would, then asked, “Do you think Don and Karen could have killed their own father?”
Murton looked the sheriff in the eye. “Like I said, we don’t like coincidences.”
“Neither do I,” Harper said. “Patricide? Good lord. So what’s our next move?”
Virgil looked at Harper, and said, “We’re going to have a little talk with Sam Whittle. Depending on what he says, and our assessment of his statement, we might want to do a little end-run on Don Whittle.”
“What kind of end-run?” Harper said.
Murton winked at Harper, and said, “One thing at a time, Sheriff. How long would it take to get Sam Whittle in here?”
“If he knows you guys are here? About twenty minutes.”
“Make the call,” Virgil said.
Sam Whittle beat Harper’s estimation of his arrival time by five minutes. He walked in, introduced himself to Virgil and Murton, then got right to the point. “I’m telling you in no uncertain terms that my brother and sister killed my father.”