by Thomas Scott
Murton ran back outside and took off after Hector. He tried to call Virgil but didn’t get an answer. He called Becky, told her what was happening and asked her to do a background check on Hector Sigara. “I know he works for Pate, but see if you can turn anything up on him. Check his driver’s license, credit history, the works.”
“What about Jonesy? He went to see Pate. He’s not in any danger, is he?”
Murton didn’t have an answer for that. What the hell was going on?
__________
Virgil felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket, but ignored it. “Is that the best you can do? A homophobic remark intended to…what? Make me lose my cool? It won’t work. Why was Brackett burning vacant buildings in Hendricks County?”
“I don’t know anything about that, although I must say, it’s too bad that he won’t be our next sheriff. He was a huge supporter of what I wanted for that county.”
“You speak of him in the past tense, Mr. Pate. Why is that?”
“Let me ask you something, detective. Do you take me for a fool? Do you think that I don’t have contacts in every branch of our various government agencies that keep me informed?”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Then you know that I know that Brackett is dead. Natural gas explosion at his house it seems.”
“You were quite the supporter of his from what I’ve heard.”
“Nothing illegal about that. Brackett wanted what I wanted.”
“I doubt it. Brackett wanted to be sheriff. He may have even wanted to help the people of his county get back to work. It helps with the crime rate. What are you going to do now that your prison isn’t going to be built?”
“Oh it will get built, Detective, I assure you.”
“I doubt it.”
Pate cocked his head to one side. “What are you talking about?”
“Who killed Nicholas Pope?”
“I have no idea. I barely knew the man.”
“He was your head programmer on a contract worth millions of dollars and you say you barely knew him?”
“I employ hundreds of people. The fact of the matter is I haven’t met most of them. What were you saying a moment ago? What makes you think the prison won’t get built?”
“Was it Brackett? Did he kill Pope for you? Was he that deep into you? I don’t think Sheriff Powell is going to have any trouble linking you to Brackett and the fires and when that happens, well, it won’t take too much of a breeze to blow your house of cards apart. You’ll be indicted for Nicholas Pope’s murder, tried and then sent away for life. If that prison of yours ever does get built, you’ll probably be its first customer.”
Virgil expected an outburst from him. In fact, he was doing everything he could to make it happen. He was just about to tell him what he’d learned at the lottery office earlier in the day; that the ticket had been verified and someone was about to come forward and claim the prize, but Pate interrupted him and that’s when everything changed.
“How are you feeling, Detective?”
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Factoring in the time he spent in the apartment and then getting back to his car, Murton figured Hector had about a two-minute head start. But to which location, Pate’s office, or his house? The apartment complex was only a few blocks from 465, the loop that circled the city, and Murton was now less than half a block away from making a choice. North or south? One would take him to the office, the other to Pate’s residence.
He rolled past the first entrance on his right, an easy glide up the ramp and onto the highway. Then he ran the red light, almost got clipped by a woman in a minivan who pounded her horn and flipped him off before he took the hard right up and around the clover leaf, maybe ninety seconds back now.
Or maybe going the wrong direction.
__________
The question caught Virgil completely off guard. “What?”
“It’s a simple question, Detective. How are you feeling?”
“How am I feeling? In what context?”
Pate took a sip of his drink and made an elaborate show of placing it back on the table just so before he turned his attention back to Virgil. He grinned. “Why, your leg of course. Has it completely healed? Nasty, nasty break, I understand. Any lingering issues? Pain, tingling, difficulty with your medications? Hallucinations, perhaps? Anything like that?” He leaned forward in his chair. “Anything…at all?”
Virgil laughed out loud. “Really? You think you can get inside my head? I’m embarrassed for you.”
“Oh, I don’t have to get inside your head, Detective. I’m already there. I have been for quite some time. Too bad you’ve not noticed.”
“I stand by my original statement, Pate. You’re delusional. Probably psychotic as well.”
“Am I?” Augustus Pate picked a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve then leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. He was close enough to touch. “The entire ordeal…it must have been so very…” he shook his head and let his voice trail away as if he couldn’t find the proper words. Then an odd transformation took place. He opened his eyes wide and ran his tongue across his lips. “Tell me, Detective. What’s it like to be stripped naked and hung from the rafters like you’re being crucified? Were you afraid? I understand you defecated on the floor. I can only imagine the pain, the sense of hopelessness and despair, the humiliation and how that must have...well…you were there, weren’t you? Did you find it surprising at how little time it took to have so much damage inflicted upon your person? I have the pictures. Would you like to see them? A little celebratory trip down memory lane? It might offer you a certain perspective that you seem to lack. No, no, let me finish if you please. You were off the mark then and you’re off the mark now. Last time it almost cost you your life. They beat you senseless and robbed you of your dignity with no more effort than it took to cut the clothes from your body and hose your pile of shit from the floor. Do you think someone like you can simply walk into my home and question me about issues you know nothing about? I’m not the one who is delusional, Detective, you are. I understand you’ve been having conversations with your dead father. What an experience that must be. Tell me, does he stink yet? Has he rotted through to his core? Can you smell the stench of his soul? It’s all in your head, Virgil. There are no wrong answers.”
__________
Hector came in through the back door and heard Pate talking to someone in the study. He listened for a few moments at the edge of the doorway then stepped inside. When he saw who his boss was talking to, he pulled out his stun gun and crept into the room, his eyes locked on Pate, looking for his signal to move.
__________
Pate’s use of his first name infuriated Virgil, but he was right about something. Virgil had missed the mark. It was the sounds of his footsteps as they walked through his house. They were identical to the ones he’d heard the day he was kidnapped and tortured. The rhythm, the length of the stride, the slight shuffle of step were all precisely the same. “It was you, wasn’t it? I was still blindfolded. I heard someone walk through the warehouse. I counted your steps.”
Instead of pulling away he tilted his head and leaned in closer. “Of course it was me. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I think about it every day, just as you do, I’m sure. The difference is…oh, what’s that saying? One man’s pleasure?”
Virgil saw Pate’s eye shift ever so slightly and when they did he jumped up from his chair, pulled his gun, grabbed Pate by the collar of his shirt and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Then he spun sideways so he could see who was behind him. “Who are you?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he took a step closer and pressed the trigger on the stun gun. Virgil watched a blue arc skip across the metal contacts, the crackle of the electric current a sound he hoped never to hear again.
“His name is Hector,” Pate said. “He works for me. He’s very good at what he does. Very thorough.”
Hector tried to move closer and wh
en he did Virgil pulled Pate from the chair, got behind him and wrapped his arm around his neck, his gun now at the side of Pate’s head. The three of them were moving, circling the group of chairs, keeping their distance from each other. Virgil tried to move toward the entrance of the room, but Hector blocked him. Virgil realized that Pate was giving signals to Hector so he spun him around until they faced each other and stuck the barrel of the gun under his jaw.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Hector,” Virgil said. “First, you’re going to set your little toy down on the table behind you. Yes, that’s right, that table right there. Good. Now open your jacket and remove your weapon.”
“Don’t do it Hector,” Pate said.
Virgil pushed the gun up, further into Pate’s neck. “Shut up.”
“Hector, shoot him.”
“I said shut up.”
“How do you think this is going to end, Detective? You’re in my home with a gun to my throat. What fantasy of yours doesn’t end with you either dead or in jail? Hector, shoot him, now!”
Hector had his pistol pointed in Virgil’s direction, but Virgil kept weaving Pate back and forth blocking his angle. “I don’t have a shot, boss.”
Murton took three quick steps into the room, grabbed Hector’s stun gun from the table and then cocked the hammer on his .45 semi-auto. The sound froze everyone. “I do,” he said. He sidestepped to his left to remove Virgil from his line of fire. “I’ve never missed from this distance, Hector, though I guess there’s a first time for everything. Want to take your chances? How’s it going, Jones-man?”
__________
“It’s going just fine,” Virgil said. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“I can see that,” Murton said. “Hector, drop the gun.”
Hector lowered his weapon then let it drop on the floor. When he did, Murton walked up behind him, touched the stun gun to the back of his neck and gave him a jolt. Hector dropped to the ground, unconscious. “Hey these things pack quite a wallop, don’t they? I might have to get one.”
Virgil turned Pate around and pushed him through the French doors and out on to the patio by the pool. Murton stayed right with them.
“You’re fools,” Pate said. “Both of you. Do you think you’re going to change anything? The bill was passed in both the House and the Senate and then signed into law by McConnell. The prison is going to get built. Thanks to Bradley Pearson and Abigail Monroe, I’ve got the contract to run it and the entire project is going to be financed on the greed and delusions of the people of the state. Nothing you do here or in the future will change that.”
Virgil let go of Pate’s shirt, holstered his weapon then laughed at him. The message was clear; he was no longer a threat in any sense of the word.
“You seem to find something amusing, Detective. Care to enlighten me?”
Virgil shook his head at him. “I’ll share some of it with you, Gus. The rest you can figure out for yourself. Pearson has been playing you. He’s been three steps ahead of your game from the start. You want to blame me for your son’s death? Go ahead. I played a minor part in that tragedy for sure, except it was Pearson who pointed me at Samuel. The only connection your son ever had to McConnell was Amanda’s affair with Sidney Wells, Jr., the governor’s daughter. Pearson knew if that information ever became public, the deal he was trying to put together with you would fall apart. The first two victims of the Wells’ shooting spree weren’t even cold when Pearson had me looking at your son. Why do you think that is? He had nothing to do with it. The way I see it, if it weren’t for Bradley Pearson, your son Samuel would still be alive. The governor told me as much not that long ago.
“What’s wrong, Gus? You look a little bewildered. Let me dumb this down for you a bit. You thought you and your goons could take me out of the picture by torturing and then killing me and it almost worked. But the truth of the matter is you played right into Pearson’s plans. When the Feds got involved, instead of facing the music, Samuel took his own life. It’s too bad really. A good lawyer and a fat checkbook probably could have saved him, except you wouldn’t have gotten your deal with the state had all this played out in the media. Pearson knew that. My guess is you and he must have a pretty lucrative arrangement on your private prison contract. I really don’t care about the legalities of all that. I’m not a cop anymore. I didn’t kill your son, you idiot. Pearson did. Everything you had done to me was for nothing.”
Virgil shoved him into the pool then held his hand out to Murton. “Let me see that stun-gun.” Murton handed him the device and Virgil got down near the water’s edge. “Want to know how it feels to be tortured, Gus? Want to know what it’s like to lose control of your bodily functions at the hands of others? Here’s a little taste.”
Virgil pressed the trigger on the stun gun and moved it close to the water. When Pate saw what was about to happen he began swimming frantically toward the opposite side of the pool to escape electrocution.
Virgil let him get almost to the other side…
__________
When he felt Murton’s hand on his shoulder just before the metal contacts touched the water, Virgil released the trigger and stood up. He dropped the stun gun on the concrete and smashed it with the heel of his boot then kicked the pieces into the water. Pate was still swimming toward the far end of the pool. Murton Wheeler had in all probability just saved Augustus Pate’s life.
26
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Virgil followed Murton over to Nichole’s apartment. When they arrived there was a city squad car parked in front of the building and two uniformed officers standing on the portion of the sidewalk that led to Nichole’s door. One of the cops moved to intercept them, but his partner pulled him back, nodded at Virgil and said, “Hey Jonesy.”
“Frank. What’s going on?”
“Not sure. Miles and Donatti are inside.”
“Crime scene?”
“I don’t think so. At least not the kind that you’re used to. Looks like someone popped the door. You can go on up.”
“Thanks, Frankie. Stop by the bar. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I will. You feeling okay these days?” Translation: Off the meds?
“Never better.”
“Atta boy.”
Over his shoulder Virgil heard the other cop say, “Who was that?” Then Frank said, “Go find me a cup of coffee, Boot.”
__________
Ron Miles and Ed Donatti met them at the door. “Let’s talk out here. I don’t think we should be inside.”
They all moved back out to the sidewalk and went about halfway to the street before Miles stopped. “What’s going on, Ron?” Virgil said.
“When was the last time you saw or spoke with Nichole Pope?”
“A few days ago,” Virgil said. “Thursday. The day she hired us. Why?”
“Donatti’s got the rotation this weekend,” Miles said. The rotation was this: every member of the MCU had to take their turn—at least once a month on the weekend—and be responsible for accepting incoming calls and other important messages regarding open cases. “He called me after Mimi called him.”
“What’s going on, Ron?”
“That’s what I ‘d like to know. In fact, I’ve suddenly got quite a few questions I’d like to ask that young lady.”
“What are you talking about, Ron? What kind of questions?”
“Where is Nichole, Jonesy?”
“I don’t know.”
Ron looked at him for a long, hard minute. A cop look. “You wouldn’t try to pull a fast one on me, would you?”
“Ron, you hired us. We work for you, remember?”
“I do remember. But I hired you to figure out the meaning behind the coded message. Any progress on that?”
“Not yet.”
“I see. Nichole Pope is your client, is she not?”
“Yes, Ron. She is. You already know that. But so are you.”
“You’re right, I do know that. So I’ll as
k you again. Where is she?”
“Ron, we don’t—” Virgil interrupted himself and looked at Murton. “We don’t know, do we?”
Murton shook his head.
Miles scratched at the back of his neck. He looked like he didn’t quite believed them. “If you see her, hear from her, or have any contact with her of any kind, I want to know and I want to know right away. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal. Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“I’d just like to ask her a few questions.”
“What questions?”
“Oh, you know, nothing too over the top. Just the usual straightforward sort of questions like, ‘Where is your brother and why did you try to fake his death?”
__________
Virgil and Murton looked at each other. Faked her brother’s death? “Ron?”