Voodoo Daddy (A Virgil Jones Mystery)

by Thomas L. Scott

  “Maybe you should go over to Dugan’s office and look things over. You’ll probably revise your last statement after you do. I’ve attached his office as part of the crime scene and I sent Rosencrantz and Donatti over there as soon as I heard what happened out here. They’ve got his office locked down and are personally standing guard outside until you get there. There are only two things on Dugan’s desk. One is a copy of Pate’s financials and the other is a copy of a Texas Department of Insurance investigator’s report. They have an open file on him. He started his ministry there five years ago with the proceeds from an insurance claim that paid out over a million bucks when his Houston church turned to a pile of ash one night. He brought the money here and set up shop all over again. He calls it Grace Community Church, and it’s mortgaged to the hilt.

  “And the church over in Broad Ripple? The one he just bought? It looks like it’s being held together with baling twine. I think they have a congregation of about thirty people, all dirt poor. The building is about to be condemned by the city, the lot can’t be worth more than about fifty grand and the victim, Franklin Dugan is the one who approved the loan to Pate. He’s also the guy who financed the vast majority of the Governor’s campaign when he ran for office. Word on the street is ol’ Sermon Sam is thinking about making a run at the Governor’s chair. A quick five million would make a nice campaign starter fund, don’t you think?”

  Then, as if she hadn’t quite made her point clear to me, she added, “Politics. It’s good stuff, huh? By the way, Rosencrantz says the bank is calling an emergency board meeting. Should be starting anytime now. You might want to stop by at some point. When you get there, ask for Margery Brennan. She’s Dugan’s secretary, or personal assistant or whatever they’re called these days. Keep me in the loop, will you?”

  * * *

  I walked outside and back down to the street and saw Sandy at the back of an EMS van getting her blood pressure taken. The two news helicopters still circled overhead, their news feeds probably streaming live video of the scene direct to anyone who had their television set turned on, though there wasn’t much to be seen from the air. The crime scene technicians had erected two tents with side flaps, one covering Dugan’s body at the end of his drive, the other over the top of Trooper Burns and his squad car. I estimated a total of about fifty uniformed officers on the scene from all three jurisdictions, City, County, and State. Metro Homicide would be in charge of the scene, and my team, while technically over the Metro Homicide Task Force, would do what we do best: work the fringes, the areas outside of normal investigative procedures.

  I got to Sandy just as the paramedics were finishing up. “How you doin?”

  “I’m okay. Jesus, what a mess, huh?”

  “That about says it. So, you’ve had a little while to think about it. Give me something I can use,” I said.

  The paramedic interrupted. “If it can wait, I’d like to get her downtown. Her blood pressure is off the charts. I mean way up, and so is her pulse. You said you bumped your head, Miss?”

  Sandy shot the medic a look. “It’s Detective. And yes, I bumped my head, but it’s no big deal. It doesn’t even hurt.”

  “Nevertheless, we’ve got to have you looked at. You may be concussed. The docs will know for sure.”

  Sandy turned to me. “Jonesy, can you do something about this?”

  “I sure can. See you at the hospital.”

  “Jonesy.”

  “No way, Sandy. You’re going. That’s a direct order.”

  “Okay, okay. But listen, before I do, you said you wanted something you could use. I think we’ve got two shooters, both with silenced weapons. The shots were muffled, like a quiet backfire from a car engine. Not even that loud really. The loudest thing I heard was the ratcheting cycle after the shots. If it wasn’t for that, I might not have even thought they were shots at all, you know?”

  “Why two shooters?”

  “Well, it’s the sequence. I’ve been going over it in my head. First I heard a pop, then another pop before I heard the cycle action. Then there were two more pops closer together and two fast ratcheting sounds. So that means one shot from something, a rifle maybe, that doesn’t cycle. Something with a bolt action? I’ll tell you something else too, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that the first pop sounded different—quieter—than the rest. So, two victims, two guns, two shooters, right?”

  “Sounds right. But, you know, if you heard it wrong, missed the first ratchet because you weren’t listening for it……”

  “No, I wondered about that. But I didn’t miss it. It was quiet this morning. I was quiet. And I was close.”

  “Okay. You can write it up later. Right now you’re going in to get checked out.”

  She raised her eyebrow at him, then let it go. “You think this is about the Governor?”

  “Have you met Pearson yet?” I said.

  “The Governor’s snake? Yeah, we met a few days ago. Hell of a guy.”

  “Isn’t he though? Anyway, they—the Governor and Pearson—made it clear this had nothing to do with them, or at least they don’t want it to look like it did.”

  “And you think different?”

  “I like to keep an open mind. The Governor asked about you, by the way.”

  “Yeah?” Sandy said.

  “Yeah. Twice. Say, I didn’t see Mrs. McConnell up at the house. Where’s she?”

  Sandy let her eyelids droop a quarter inch. “She’s been out of town for the last few days. Sister in Oregon or something like that.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do, Jonesy.”

  I bit the inside of my lower lip. “Get checked out, Sandy. You did good. Really.”

  Sandy just stared at me.

  * * *

  I looked around until I saw Metro’s lead detective, Ron Miles, speaking with one of the crime scene techs just outside the tent next to Dugan’s body. Ron’s white hair was mussed out of place and he kept running his hand over it, trying to flatten it to the top of his head. The knees on his pants were covered in dirt and grime.

  “Sorry about Burns, Jonesy. Somebody told me he was your training officer?”

  “Yeah, he was.”

  “So, the State getting in on this?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” I said. “The Governor wants us to take a peek. See if we can get in front of it sort of quick. We’ll probably just shadow you guys. See what we can see.”

  “In other words, we do all the work and you guys get all the credit.”

  “Naw, you can have the credit. Like I said, we just want to try to get in front of it, if we can.”

  “Doesn’t look like it’s going to be easy. We don’t have jack-shit on this one.”

  “Tell me what you’ve got so far,” I said.

  “You spoke with Sandy?”

  “Just now.”

  “Okay,” Miles said. “Well, there’s that, and not much else. Not yet anyway, and most of it’s speculation at this point. One of the techs found the slug, or I guess I should say what was left of the slug that took Burns out. It cracked the front window, but didn’t penetrate. It ricocheted off the window and imbedded in the top of the dash. He says it looks like it was probably from a .223, but he says he can’t be sure until they get it back to the lab for tests.”

  “What about Dugan?”

  “One to the head, two in the chest. Coroner says he’ll get what’s left of the slug fragments when he does the post. There’s some tattooing on his skull from the powder burns, so it was up close and personal.” Miles pulled the tent flap back and they stepped inside. As bad as Burns looked, Dugan was somehow worse. He ended up flat on his back, his arms out at his sides like a kid ready to make an angel in the snow. One of his slippers had fallen off his foot and lay next to his hip. I looked for a full minute then stepped back outside the tent and let the flap close after Ron stepped out. “Jesus,” I said to no one in particular.

  “Yeah,” Miles sai
d.

  “So, what do you think about Sandy’s take? Two shooters?”

  “I think it works. Dugan was close….foot, foot and a half. Burns wasn’t. So, if Sandy’s got the timing right—and why wouldn’t she—there must have been two. I mean, how do you shoot from a distance with one weapon and then take another weapon and run over and pop someone up close? Or better yet, why? Just doesn’t add up.”

  “What if she heard it wrong?”

  Miles flattened his hair with his palm. “Well, I just don’t think she did. Plus, I’ll tell you something, even if she did hear it wrong and there was only one shooter, what’s he gonna do? Take out Dugan up close and then run away with Burns just sitting there? That doesn’t work. And neither does taking out Burns first from a distance and then walking up and popping Dugan. So I think she’s on the money. Two shooters, two weapons, all at the same time.”

  We talked it over for a few more minutes running through different variations on the theme, but in the end I thought the scenario held up.

  “Alright, keep doing what you’re doing here,” I said. “I’m going to work a specific angle, but I want you to run this by the numbers. Let’s not let anything fall through the cracks.”

  “Like I ever do. You know who’s got the best closure rate in Metro, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. So do what you do.”

  “I intend to. So, what’s the angle?”

  I looked at him for a second. “Uh, it’s sort of complicated. Cora’s got us looking at something.”

  Miles looked away for a moment, as if studying something off in the distance. “Well, I’ll keep you updated with whatever we find,” he said.

  “That’ll do,” I said. I took one last look around. “Alright, I’m heading out. Find us something, Ron. I need a thread to pull on.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, Jonesy. This one has that ‘might kick our ass’ sort of feel. Is this about the Governor, you think?”

  “Ever met Bradley Pearson?” I said.

  “Isn’t that the Governor’s chief weenie? I heard he’s sort of a snake……”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I drove over to the hospital and walked into the Emergency Department and when I did my gun set off the metal detector at the doorway. I was about to badge the security guard headed my way until I noticed it was a friend of mine from the Sherriff’s Department. “Hey Kev. Double dipping these days?” I said, as we shook hands.

  “Are you kidding me? My oldest daughter is getting married this spring, and the twins start college in a year and a half. If I didn’t have to sleep, I’d be triple dipping.”

  “Amber is getting married? Jesus, I used to bounce her on my knee.”

  Kevin scratched the back of his head. “Yep, my baby’s getting married.”

  “Getting old, Kev.”

  “Huh, tell me. I don’t have much time to think about it though. Too busy trying to make enough money to pay for the wedding.”

  “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  The deputy’s face lit up. “Aw, she hit the jackpot, man. One of the Docs here. Hell of a good kid, just out of med school. Matter of fact, that’s how I got this gig.”

  Sandy came around the corner and walked over to where Kevin and I were standing.

  “All done?” I said.

  “Haven’t even started yet,” Sandy said. “There was a some sort of big wreck out on 465. They’re backed up, so I’m just waiting. Supposed to be next.” She looked at Kevin and stuck her hand out. “Hi. I’m Sandy Small, the best thing that’s ever happened to Virgil and his team.”

  The deputy laughed and shook her hand. “I’ll bet you are. I’m Kevin Campbell. It’s a pleasure.” Kevin lowered his voice and leaned in toward Sandy. “You know, I wanted a spot on Virgil’s team, but they wouldn’t have me.”

  Sandy looked at me. “Why not?”

  “Not mean enough,” I said.

  “Fuck you, not mean enough,” Kevin said to me. “I’ve forgotten more about mean than you’ll ever know.” Then to Sandy: “Pardon my French, little lady.”

  “Fuck your French,” Sandy said.

  “See,” I said. “Mean like that.”

  Sandy made a pfftt noise with her lips. “You don’t know the half of it.” I wasn’t sure who she was talking to, but before I could say anything a nurse came through the doorway and spoke to Sandy. “The doctor will see you now.”

  * * *

  The nurse escorted us down the hall and into one of the curtained areas she identified as bed eight. Inside the curtain area was a wheeled hospital bed with the back raised to a forty-five degree angle, a chair, a stand-up closet and a small stainless steel sink and counter. The nurse reached into the thin closet next to the bed, handed Sandy a gown, and told her she could leave her underwear on, smiled at me, and said the doctor would be right in. She pulled the curtain closed, and left us standing there, Sandy holding the gown, looking at me with an evil grin on her face.

  Oh boy.

  Sandy gave her index finger a little twirl and said, “No sneaking a look, Mister. I mean it.”

  “How about I just go back out to the waiting room?” I said.

  Sandy ignored my question and started to undress. I turned around, but didn’t leave. “That guard was something else, huh?,” she said.

  “Yeah, he was,” I was studying the pattern on the curtain, listening to the sounds of the emergency room, watching the feet of the hospital staff and other patients shuffle by the bottom of the curtain. I also listened to Sandy undress. I heard her shoes as she kicked them off, a little static electricity from her shirt as she pulled it over her head, and finally the zipper being lowered on her jeans and the sound of the denim as it slid against her skin as she wriggled out of her pants.

  “Okay, I’m decent. You can turn around now.”

  I turned and looked at her. She stood in front of me, the thread-bare hospital gown pulled tight across her front, and I could see the fullness of her breasts, her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.

  Sandy turned her back toward me and faced the bed. She held the back of the gown closed with her hand. She looked over her shoulder and said, “Help a girl out, will you? I couldn’t get the ties.” She looked forward while letting go of the back of the gown. I watched it fall open, and felt myself swallow. I could hear my own heartbeat in my head.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra, but I already knew that. I let my eyes follow the shape of her shoulder blades inward toward her spine, then down to her waistline. A small tribal tattoo peeked out of the top of a black thong that rode high on her thin waist, covering almost nothing of what was, it looked to me, at least the second best ass I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Come on, Jonesy. Tie me up. I’m feeling a draft here.”

  I cleared my throat without meaning to. “Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry.” I stepped up close to her, and tied the top tie first. The front of her thighs were against the side of the bed and part of the gown was trapped so I had to actually open the bottom part and tug on it a little to release the material. The back of my hand brushed up against her ass and when it did I felt like a school boy trying to cop a cheap feel. I am at least a foot taller than Sandy, and I fumbled the knot on the first try, the angle awkward. “Uh, sorry.”

  “Come on Cowboy, you can do it. Just make two bunny ears and wrap one around and through the other.”

  “No, no it’s not that. It’s the angle. I’m taller.”

  Sandy placed her palms on the edge of the bed and stood on her tip toes and arched the small of her back. “Better?”

  You’ve got no idea, I said to myself.

  “What was that?” Sandy said.

  When she went up on her toes, I immediately upgraded my assessment from second best to all time best. Without question. I finished the knot. “Nothing. There you go.” But neither of us moved. I thought how easy it would be to just place my hand between those beautiful shoulder blades and bend her over the hospital bed, and as I did I noticed for the first time
that her legs were spread beneath the gown. Were they like that a minute ago? I wasn’t sure. She reached over with her left hand and grabbed the pillow from the front of the bed and brought it in front of her. I noticed my hand come to rest at the top of her back.

  I had just started to push, or thought I had when Sandy turned around. “Jonesy, what do you think the doctor would say if he caught us?”

  I felt a little dizzy. Before I could answer, the curtain was yanked back and a tall, good looking doctor stepped in the room and smiled. His hair was pure white, but there were no lines on his face. His solid black eye glasses were a sharp contrast to his hair color, giving him a dramatic flair I associate with a television actor or movie star. He wore traditional green scrubs under a white knee-length lab coat. His clog-style shoes looked like they were made of wood and cork with suede tops. The doctor looked at me, then at Sandy and said, “Looks like I got here just in time.” He took his pen out of his pocket, tapped it on the clipboard he was holding, then pointed to the ceiling at the corner of the room. We all looked up and saw the security camera. “Two of my nurses just went on break. One of them is getting married in a month. I’m the groom’s best man. They said something about it was getting hot in here. So, how can I help you, young lady?”

  * * *

  I left the room so the doctor could examine Sandy. I’d been walking up and down the corridor for half an hour, thinking about what might have just happened with Sandy when I heard her voice behind me. She was talking with the doctor who had just examined her. The doctor pulled a card from his breast pocket and wrote something on the back and then handed it to Sandy, shaking her hand in both of his before walking away. It looked to me like he held her hand a little longer than necessary.

  A few minutes later we were in my truck. I started the engine and looked over at Sandy. “What’d the Doc say?”

  “He said I was fine. And he meant it, too. He gave me his number. Seemed like a nice guy.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out his card, placing it on the console between us. “He said if you don’t have enough sense to see what you’re missing, I should give him a call. What do you think?”