by Thomas Scott
Miles laughed without humor. “You know what? I wouldn’t and you want to know why? Because that is essentially what I did.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”
“I had my time in with the city. I was done. You didn’t know that, did you? I had already turned in my papers. But then out of the blue Pearson comes along and tells me your job is mine if I want it. He said he could fix it so I’d keep my pension and everything. He dangled that little double salary issue in front of me like he knew I’d accept. You should have seen the look on his face.”
“I have seen it, Ron. I’ve seen it plenty.”
“You know what I figured out?”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you something, Jonesy, I don’t know if this is true or not…it’s just speculation on my part, but I think it’s true and it’s the reason I’m here talking to you. Rosie was the one that got me thinking about it. He said I should ask myself ‘why me?’”
“What is it, Ron?”
“I’m in a little bit of a bind…financially speaking. A few years ago I knew I was getting close to retiring and the pension wouldn’t be enough. I started thinking about what you and your dad did with the bar and I thought, you know what? I could do something like that. Not that exactly, but something. So I started buying some rental properties. I’m pretty good with the fix-it-up stuff anyway, plus I like doing it. I’ve solved more than a few cases just thinking about them while I was hanging sheetrock. I wasn’t making a profit but I wasn’t losing anything either. Maybe a few bucks here or there but it came off my taxes anyway so it was all good.”
“How many properties?”
“As of right now, eleven. The tenants make the mortgage payments and the rest goes to insurance and taxes. I figured ten years down the road I’d sell them all, take a little hit on the capital gains, put the money in the bank and go fishing.”
“You said it ‘was’ good. What happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. About a week before Pearson offered me the job, the common council held an unscheduled session and voted to raise taxes on single-family rental units. If I only had one or two units it wouldn’t be a problem. But eleven? There was no way I could keep up.”
“What if you sell them?”
“Ever try to unload a rental property that’s behind on taxes? Every offer comes with a free bottle of lube.”
“Seems like a little bit of a stretch to put it on Pearson, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. More than a little in fact. But here’s the kicker: When Pearson came to me he said that he knew all about my tax problems and that he could talk to some of the house representatives and persuade them to pass a state exemption for active duty police officers. And you know what? He did. He fixed my problem all while making it perfectly clear that if I retired, I was fucked, but if I took the job the tax issue would go away and I’d be in the clear.”
Virgil thought about it. Had Pearson gone to extraordinary lengths to have him removed from his job and then maneuvered Ron into a position as his replacement? If so, why?
“I’ll tell you the one and only thing that keeps me from doing anything about it,” Ron said, “is the fact that I don’t have any proof. And even if I did, what would that proof look like? I know you’re off the meds, Jonesy and with God as my witness, nothing could make me happier. But I’m going to be brutally honest here, so no disrespect intended, okay? You essentially showed yourself to the door…with the pills, I mean. I know that Cora and Pearson and even the governor himself could have stuck it out with you for a while longer, but if you put yourself in their shoes, where do you draw that line? Do you say, well, if he quits the medication tomorrow everything will be okay? I don’t know the answer to that, but with what Rosie said to me the other day…the ‘why me’ part of the equation, it makes sense to ask—the medication issue notwithstanding—why put you out and me in?”
“Pearson wanted me out because he knew he couldn’t control me or manipulate me. It might not be much deeper than that. He’s an opportunist. I think he must have known that if he could get his hooks in you—and your tax troubles were a perfect way to do just that—he’d have some sort of leverage if and when he needed it.”
“Leverage for what?”
“I’m not entirely sure. At least not yet. But it must tie in with the Pope shooting, and with Pate.”
Virgil could see Ron’s wheels spinning. Then his phone rang.
__________
“Got a little problem,” the Governor said without preamble.
Virgil glanced at Ron, held up a finger in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture and moved out of the kitchen. “That is not what I want to hear, Governor.”
“I meant to emphasize the word ‘little.’”
“Tell me.”
“It seems there is some sort of mechanical issue with the aircraft. A fuel control unit. Boy, how’s that for coincidence, huh?”
“I’m afraid I’m not following you.”
“It’ll come to you. In the meantime, the pilots are stuck here in Chicago, so you’re not going to get your ring back today. Probably not tomorrow either.”
Great. “I’m willing to entertain suggestions.”
“The pilots say they’ll have the part installed and the plane ready to go for our trip back on Sunday. I’ll just hold on to the ring and get it to you when we get back. How does that sound?”
“That sounds like a very questionable plan B.”
“Tell you what, when we get back, I’ll have the limo bring Sandy out to your place. I’ll be with her. I’ll get out, kick my toe in the dirt—sort of an ‘aw shucks kind of thing—ask Sandy to give you and me a few minutes so we can talk, then I’ll slip you the ring and everything will be five-by-five. What do you say?”
“I’m not entirely sure I want Sandy on an airplane with you that’s having issues with one of its fuel control units.”
“Wow, that’s a little harsh. But see, I was right, wasn’t I? It came to you.”
It did indeed. Virgil ignored the governor’s remark and his callous indifference to events that cost the lives of a number of people back in the late eighties. But callous indifference aside, it was suddenly clear to Virgil why Pearson wanted Ron in and him out.
__________
“Was that the governor?”
“Yeah, it was. Don’t look at me like that, Ron. It’s an unrelated issue.”
“Really?”
“Really. It’s something personal. Listen, I might have an idea of what this is all about. All of it.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Sit tight.” Virgil went into his office, unlocked the safe and pulled something from the back. When he returned to the kitchen, he handed the envelope to Ron. “Take a look at this.”
“What is it?”
“Just look.”
Ron opened the envelope, pulled out the paper and studied the contents. “A copy of Sidney Wells, Jr.’s birth certificate. This is the broad that was trying to kill the governor. I don’t mean to sound ignorant, but so what? That’s a closed case. What does this have to do with anything?”
“In all of your years of solving murders, Ron, what have you ever known any of them, categorically speaking, to be about?”
“Same as you. Money, revenge, sex, or power.”
“Exactly.”
“Which one is this?”
“Let me tell you a little story. You know most of it, but this should give you some perspective…”
__________
Ron looked at Virgil over the tops of his glasses. “That wasn’t in your report, the part about Wells being the governor’s daughter.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t.”
“Why not?”
Virgil shrugged. “I’m not sure I can answer that, Ron. Lapse in judgment? Professional misconduct? Empathy? Seduction of power? Who’s to say? I’d just lost my father. The governor had just lost his daughter. I was already on the p
ills by then. But the important thing to remember is what he said to me when I asked him about Samuel Pate. I wanted to know if he—the governor—had sent me down that path…to look at Pate as the prime suspect in the murder of Franklin Dugan. He told me no, that it had been Pearson who suggested I investigate Pate. And that’s what I did.”
Miles reached up and flattened his hair with the palm of his hand. “What of it?”
“The governor’s daughter and Sid Wells, Sr., were going around the city killing people. The first person they killed was Franklin Dugan. But Dugan wasn’t really part of why they killed everyone else. All the others were killed for revenge…as payback for what the governor did. But Dugan was different. Sermon Sam wanted him out of the picture because he found out about the child porn. Dugan was also the first to be killed. When that happened Pearson immediately had me looking at Samuel Pate. But what if the reason was deeper than that? What if he had me looking at Samuel Pate not because of something else, but because of someone else.”
“Who?”
“You already know who, Ron.”
“You’re talking about Augustus Pate?”
Virgil pointed his finger at him. “Exactly. This private prison thing has been going back in forth in the Indiana house for over a year. What if Augustus Pate knew about his son’s predilection for under-aged sex? If he did know and that knowledge became public, he wouldn’t have a chance in hell at winning the bid on the lottery deal or the private prison, would he? In fact, if it ever came out that he knew, he’d probably be sharing a cell with his son in the very prison he was supposed to build.”
“But Samuel Pate killed himself.”
“So what? In the end, Augustus still got what he wanted. His son was no longer a factor and it was none other than Bradley Pearson who made that happen.”
“Jesus Christ, I did not sign up for this.”
“Yeah, you sort of did, Ron. Why do you think they call it the Major Crimes Unit?”
__________
“Here’s something I can’t figure out,” Ron said. “What does any of this have to do with Nicholas Pope’s death?”
“There’s a very real possibility that none of this has anything to do with Nicholas Pope.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
Virgil grinned at him. “No, I don’t. I’m saying it’s possible that his death is unrelated and as such, that fact shouldn’t be ruled out. Look at the facts, Ron: Twenty years ago, I killed Pope’s father. A few months ago Samuel Pate gets erased from the map. At the same time, Samuel’s father, Augustus is awarded one of the largest construction projects in the state. Shortly after that, one of his other companies takes over the management of the lottery. The lottery is essentially paying to build the prison. You said Monroe and Pearson were lying to you. Monroe was Pope’s boss at the lottery. I will personally accept any wager you’d like to offer that says his death is unconnected.”
“No bet. So how do we prove it?”
Virgil heard a buzzing sound in his head and for a moment he thought he was having a bad reaction to being off the pills. “Do you hear that noise?”
Miles reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and wiggled it. “Yeah, it’s me. I took a class. It seems I am technologically up to speed.” When he looked at the screen a curtain of irritation crossed his face.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. “Our researcher, Becky? She just quit. Who quits via text message?”
Oh boy. “Listen, Ron…about that…”
__________
“You and Wheeler hired Becky out from under me?”
“Well, technically we hired her out from under the state, but yeah, I guess so.”
“That’s about the shittiest thing that’s happened to me all week and I’ve had some shitty things happen to me this week. This isn’t some sort of revenge deal is it? I mean, I know you were pissed at me for taking the job, but the truth of it is, you were already gone by then. If I didn’t take it, somebody else would have.”
“Ron, I can assure you this has nothing to do with revenge. Becky sort of came to us. I think she just wanted more hours. Plus, she and I have worked together for a few years now and she…well, hell, I don’t know…she knows me. She knows how I think and what I’m looking for. Half the time she knows what I want before I do.”
Miles just sat there and shook his head. “I don’t know how you managed to get anything done. This job is nuts. I’ve got politics on one side and administrative bullshit on the other. Somewhere in the middle there’s some sort of crime happening. I’m almost too busy to notice. Who has time for that?”
“You better get used to it.”
“I had her working on something for me and now I’ll have to get someone else.”
“What was she working on?”
That earned Virgil a suspicious look. “How about you and I come to some sort of agreement?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, don’t play dumb with me, Jonesy. Like it or not you’re up to your neck in this Pearson and Pope shit. Pate too. You’ve got the three-P trifecta going on and I feel like the only way I’m going to make any headway is with your help.”
Virgil held his hands in the air. “Who says I’m playing dumb?”
Miles pointed his finger at him. “I do, that’s who.”
“I think I have an idea.”
“I think I’ve got a headache.”
“Why not have the MCU hire Murton and me to handle the research? You’ve got a discretionary budget. Did you know that? Anyway, we’ll handle the research, it’ll be like you never lost Becky and maybe we can figure this thing out together.”
“What would that cost me?”
“Ah, you don’t have to worry about that. We’ll take care of you,” Virgil said.
“Why do I feel like I’m getting rolled?”
“Welcome to the MCU, Ron.”
“Yeah. Like I haven’t heard that before.”
__________
“So what was she working on?”
Miles chewed on his lip for a few seconds. “Okay, this is not public knowledge. Are we clear on that?”
“You bet.”
Pope left a message. It was written in blood…his blood and it was under the sofa. The crime scene techs took about twenty different pictures of it.”
“What did it say?”
“It listed his killer’s name and address. How the hell do I know what it said? It was some kind of coded message…a series of numbers. No one can figure it out. Becky was going to go to work on it for me.”
“Do you have it with you? The picture?”
“No, but I can email it to you later today.”
“Do that.”
Miles gave him a defeated look. “Anything else I can get you, or do you now have enough information to solve this case?”
“Hmm, that should do it.” Then, just as quick Virgil thought of something else. “You said you could email me the photo?”
“Yeah, but I have to do it from the office.”
“Send it from your phone.”
“I didn’t know I could do that. It wasn’t covered in the class.”
“Let me see your phone…”
19
__________
“So he hasn’t said anything else to you?” Monroe asked. Pearson had a mouthful of toothbrush and held up a wait-a-minute finger. He rinsed, spat, rinsed again, tipped his head back, did a little gargle and then spit the contents into the basin. He turned the water off without bothering to clean out the sink. They were at Monroe’s condo.
“It’s been less than a week, Abby, and we’ve had no reason to speak with each other.”
“So you think we’re good? I’m okay in all of this, right?”
“You’ll be fine as long as you keep doing what I tell you.”
Monroe knew she had a problem, said problem being she didn’t quite know how to keep her mouth shut. She had babbled on and on to th
e cop and that could have hurt her, but it looked like Pearson had fixed that. Except he fixed it by telling him they were sleeping together and she had been ashamed to admit it. Jesus. She had to give Bradley credit though, didn’t she? He said never lie to the cops and then he marched right out there and told the truth.
So given that, after the cop left Abby felt like she had to tell Pearson the truth. She began yammering on and on until the words were pouring out of her mouth like a runaway freight train. She had already told him about Nicky—how they had been sleeping together—and now she told him how he’d had a plan to cheat the lottery system. She even told him of their plans to take the money and run. After she’d confessed everything to Pearson, she thought he’d be furious with her. Instead, he just smiled, put his arms around her and said everything would be just fine. All she had to do was follow his direction. Do what he wanted, when he wanted it.
“You can do that, can’t you, Abby?” he’d asked her.
In the moment she’d been so relieved she almost cried. Now, not even a week later she thought she’d do just about anything to get out from under him, though she didn’t yet know what that something might be. She’d have to figure that out. He couldn’t blackmail her forever, could he? What, she was supposed to be his personal sexual assistant for the rest of her life? Fuck that.
“I want you to come over to my place tonight. Pack a bag too. I’d like you to stay for the weekend. I like having a woman around the house.”
“Oh, Bradley…I don’t know. I’m awfully tired. How about next weekend?”
Pearson smiled at her. “Sure, that’d be fine with me. Do you think you’ll be out of jail by then?”
“Jail? Jail?” Now you listen to me you disgusting little—”
“Careful there, Abigail. Wouldn’t want to say anything you can’t take back now, would you? Seems you’ve got a bit of a problem in that area…letting your mouth get the better of you. I know it’s certainly got the better of me on occasion. So, let’s just keep everything nice and friendly, shall we? How does six o’clock sound? And on second thought, don’t bother with the bag. I don’t think we’ll be going out much…at all.”