by Thomas Scott
“But Mr. Pope, Nicky, as you called him. No trouble remembering him?”
“What exactly are you implying, Detective?”
Time to dial it back. “I’m sorry Ms. Monroe. I think sometimes I’ve been doing this type of work too long. I need to practice my people skills or something. No implication whatsoever. Boy oh boy, if you knew the type of people I have to interview day in and day out…the way they lie right to my face.”
“I can only imagine.”
Miles made a show of checking his watch. “You know what? I think just this once I might go ahead and bend the rules a bit. I’m supposed to be off the clock right now as it is anyway. If your offer of that glass of wine is still good…” He glanced at her feet and smiled.
Never talk to the cops. Ever. That’s what Abigail’s husband, Lee, had always told her. Once you open your mouth and start down that road, they’ll back you into a corner, with no way out. And that’s exactly what she’d done. She opened the door, invited him in and now after only a few questions she felt like he knew she was lying. Had to get him out of the house. Had to think. She’d offered him a glass of wine? What, they were on a date now?
“Yes, of course. In fact, why don’t we go back inside? These chairs are wonderful to look at, but they’re hell on my back.”
They went inside and Ron followed her into the kitchen. “Forgive me, Detective. Where are my manners? Please, have a seat on the sofa and I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”
“Oh I’m fine right here, Ms. Monroe. In fact, I’m sort of a kitchen kind of guy.”
Great. Plan A was to tell him she was out of wine. Now what? Plan B, that’s what. Abigail pulled the cork from the bottle and when she made a show of reaching for another glass, she knocked the bottle to the floor and it shattered at their feet. “Oh, damn.”
The glass was everywhere and the white tiled floor was now covered with red wine. Miles jumped back, the glass crunching under his feet, wine splashing across the bottom of his pants. “Whoa. Don’t move Ms. Monroe. Are you cut? Is that wine or blood on your leg there?”
Abigail looked down. “No, no, I don’t think so. It’s just the wine.”
“Where are your shoes? I’ll get them for you. If you take a step you’ll slice your feet up.”
“Um, right over by the front door, I think.”
“Okay, stay right there.” Miles went and got her shoes and brought them into the kitchen. Monroe slipped them on and together they crunched their way past the glass and naturally, right back to the front door.
“Detective, I’m wondering…well…to tell you the truth, I’ve had a particularly stressful day at work today. Could we finish another time? Perhaps tomorrow at my office? I can make sure the HR people are there. Most of the programmers should be present as well. I just think it might be more productive that way.”
Miles didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course. I’d be happy to help you clean up the mess in the kitchen though. I feel like it was my fault.”
“That’s quite all right, Detective. I’m sure I can manage and I’m equally sure that’s not in your job description.” Monroe opened the front door.
Miles started to step through the door, then stopped. “Just out of curiosity, Ms. Monroe, how long have you been with the lottery?”
She clearly wants me out of the house, Ron thought. Knocking the wine bottle off the counter couldn’t have been more obvious. But why? And why was she lying?
“Almost two years exactly. I took over for my husband Lee after his unfortunate automobile accident.” Monroe glanced back toward the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Detective, but that wine…I’m afraid it will stain the tiles if I don’t get it cleaned up.”
“You bet. How about nine tomorrow then, at your office?”
“Tell you what. Call me at nine and we’ll figure something out. That will give me a chance to check my schedule and make sure all the appropriate department heads can be there as well.”
“If we could firm something up right now, that would probably be best.” Monroe pinched her lips together in a line and looked down at the floor. Ron saw the look and backed off a little more. “You know what? You’re right. I shouldn’t waste my time coming to your office if the appropriate people aren’t going to be there. And who knows? You might have an important meeting with the governor or something.”
Monroe let out a little laugh, thought, Thank God, he’s leaving, then made another mistake.
“Oh, the governor is much too busy to see me, I assure you, Detective. In fact, most of my political dealings are with Bradley Pearson, the governor’s chief of staff.”
Miles laughed with her and said, “Huh.”
“What?”
“Oh nothing, really. Most of my dealings are with Pearson as well.”
Shit. Stop lying. It’s not necessary. “How do you know Bradley Pearson? I thought you said you were with the Indianapolis Police.”
Ron put the flat of his hand against his forehead. “Did I? Boy, I’ve got to get a handle on that. I’m sorry. I was with the Indianapolis Metro Homicide Unit. In fact, I was with them for over twenty years. But my new job is Lead Detective for the state’s Major Crimes Unit. Pearson hired me. I guess we practically work for the same guy. Anyhow, sorry for the mix-up. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Monroe watched the cop walk down the sidewalk and around the corner before she shut the door and picked up the phone.
Miles walked away casually, turned the corner and once he was out of sight he picked up his pace and jogged to his car. He took out his cell and punched in the number for their unit’s researcher, a smart, sassy young woman named Becky Taylor, who, Ron had heard, could find anything on anybody.
“I was just getting ready to go home, Ron.”
“I’ll authorize the overtime.”
“Don’t need it.”
“Really? That practically makes you a suspect.”
“A suspect for what?”
“For being mean. Who doesn’t need overtime?”
“I guess I should have said want. As in I don’t want it. Not tonight.” When Ron didn’t say anything he heard her eyes roll on the other end of the line. “Okay, what?”
“Okay you’ll do it, or okay you just want to know?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to do it tonight, but first thing tomorrow I want you working on this.”
“Donatti has me working the gang thing.”
“Too bad. This comes first. It’s one of the perks of being the boss. Maybe the only one.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“I want everything you can get me on a woman named Abigail Monroe.”
“Monroe. Abigail. Got it. Good-bye.”
“You sound a little irritated.”
“I’m not. But I’m about to be. Anything else?”
“Nope. Have a great evening.”
“He just left and I mean just now,” Monroe said into the phone. “I need you to get over here. We’ve got some things to talk about.”
“What did you tell him, Abby?”
“Bradley, we have to talk. You’re the one who said we needed to get on the same page. I’m saying let’s do that. I’m suggesting right now. In fact, I’m insisting on it.”
“Okay, I’m close anyway. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Monroe ended the call and sat down on the couch, then remembered the mess in the kitchen. She got a broom and dustpan, swept the larger pieces of glass into the pan, then ran a damp mop over the floor. By the time she was done, Pearson was at the door. She’d have to be careful here. Think.
Miles sat in his car just around the corner from Monroe’s condo. He was willing to bet twenty genuine United States dollars—though he had no one with whom to bet—that one of two things would happen within the next thirty minutes. Either Monroe would leave and go somewhere, or someone would come to her. He wouldn’t have thought it at all, except for the fact that the entire time they’d been sp
eaking she was lying her pretty little head off. He didn’t know why, but he was determined to find out, even if he had to hold her feet to the fire to do it.
Well, maybe not her feet…
He would have won the genuine twenty United States dollars, but would have lost his ass had someone offered him a secondary wager that said the person who would come to Monroe would be Bradley Pearson. Miles crept forward in his car and watched as Pearson parked right in front of Monroe’s condo and walked to the door. Miles checked the time, waited an agonizing five minutes, then got out of his car and headed up the walk. On the way, he thought about doubling down on his imaginary bet. Would Pearson show himself? He couldn’t decide.
Miles rang the bell and waited.
The alley cats, at it again. “Jesus Christ, Abby. Cleaning up after you is a little like following an incontinent Alzheimer’s patient around the bus depot. Why did you lie to him?”
“I don’t know. I panicked a little.”
“A little? You stupid bitch, you’re—”
“Don’t you call me that. Don’t you dare. You want to know why I lied? I’ll tell you. I was protecting you.”
“Protecting me? From what?”
“You killed him, didn’t you? You’re the one who killed my Nicky.”
“Abby that is just absolutely wrong. I don’t have any idea what happened to Pope.”
“You’re lying. You knew I was sleeping with him and you couldn’t handle it. Maybe I should tell that to the cops. How about that, hotshot?”
“I’ll tell you something, Abby, I wish I’d never—” The doorbell cut him off. “Who is that? Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
“Check the window.”
Monroe peeked out the window closest to the door and her heart very nearly skipped three beats. “It’s him,” she hissed at Pearson.
“Who? Miles?”
“Yes, Miles, you idiot. Who else? Go back and wait in the kitchen.”
“I am not going to hide from someone who—”
“I said go.” The look on her face told Pearson he didn’t have a choice, at least in the moment.
“Okay. Don’t say anything.”
Monroe waited until Pearson was out of sight before she answered the door. Then, with an exasperated look on her face, she pulled the door open. “Detective, I thought I made it clear that I’ve had an extremely stressful day at the office. I’m not up for this. I’m really not. I was under the impression that we would continue our discussion another time.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Monroe. The parking around here is nonexistent. I’m almost two blocks away.”
“If you have a point, Detective, it’s lost on me.”
“I can’t find my keys. I think they might be on the table on your back porch. Would you mind?”
Monroe huffed and said, “Wait here.” She closed the door on him and then was back in less than a minute. “They were on the table,” she said.
Miles nodded. “That’s what I thought. Sorry to be a bother.”
“That’s fine, Detective. Is there anything else?”
“No, no,” Miles said as he jiggled the keys at her. “Just needed these.”
“Very well then. Good evening.”
“And to you, Ms. Monroe.”
The door was almost shut, but it wasn’t Ron’s first day on the job. “Oh, Ms. Monroe? Like I said, I had to park quite a ways down the street. I couldn’t help notice as I was walking back that someone was at your door. Was that Bradley Pearson I saw?”
Monroe looked at Miles for a beat and then said something in the moment that altered her future, though she never knew it. “No, it certainly was not. I have a gentleman caller. And let me just say, Detective, the Columbo routine is getting to be something of a bore. I’m not sure what it is you’re after, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.” She slammed the door in his face.
And Ron thought, Gotcha.
Pearson came around the corner from the kitchen stripping off his jacket as he did. He got right up in Monroe’s face. “What the hell was that? What’s the matter with you? Jesus Christ, weren’t we just having a conversation about this? You never lie to the cops, Abby. Never.”
She took a step back. “What was I supposed to do?”
Pearson shook his head and moved to the front door. “Wait here. Do not come outside. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“What are you going to do?”
Pearson pointed his finger at her. “I said wait here.” He loosened his tie, undid the top button of his shirt and then walked out the front door. He looked both directions down the sidewalk and saw Miles just as he was about to turn the corner. “Ron! Hey, Ron, hold on a second.”
Miles turned, saw Pearson and began walking back. They met at the midpoint between the corner of the intersection and the walkway that led to Monroe’s condo.
“Ron, Abby just told me what happened. There’s been a hell of a misunderstanding here.”
Miles stared at him but didn’t speak. It was Cop 101. If you’ve got someone circling the line, eventually they’ll take the bait and set their own hook. “I think Abby might have been a little intimidated back there.”
Miles stayed quiet.
“Okay, look. Abby and I, well, we’re sort of seeing each other.”
“As in your eyes are functioning properly, or you’re dating?”
Even Pearson grinned at that. “I don’t know if dating is the right word for it. We’re sleeping together. I mean, we’re not sleeping together right now…she sort of broke it off, which is a hell of a shame because let me tell you…” Buddies now.
Miles wasn’t having it. “Here’s the thing, Bradley. I’m investigating the murder of Nicholas Pope. Murder is considered a capital crime in the state of Indiana. For some reason or another, Monroe was lying to me back there, or at the very least, being extremely evasive. My questions couldn’t have been any more basic. Withholding information relative to a capital crime in our state makes someone an accessory after the fact.”
“Look, Ron, you’re making this into something it’s not. Look at me for Christ’s sake. I’m not exactly what any woman would call a good catch. I’m short, round and getting rounder. When I saw a chance with Abby I took it, but she’s not too proud of herself over it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the only reason she slept with me in the first place was so that I would help her get the job of executive director at the lottery.”
“So why lie to me about Pope?”
Pearson gave Miles a little grimace. “That might actually be my fault. After Pope turned up dead, Abby and I talked about it…the coincidence of the whole thing…how Jones shot and killed James Pope twenty years ago, how that saved my life and now his son, Nicholas turns up dead and he just happens to be employed by the woman I talked into the sack so she could get the job she wanted? The entire thing really is one big coincidence.”
“Then why not just get right out in front of it?”
Pearson took a breath. “That’s exactly what I’m doing right now, Ron. Neither Abby nor I have anything to hide regarding the Pope matter. She was just trying to protect her reputation, her place in the community. I don’t blame her. If word got out that she was hired after I pulled the right strings and in return she slept with me as a form of recompense she’d be ruined. The governor wouldn’t be too happy with me, either. It’s not that complicated. Surely you can see that, can’t you, Ron?”
Nice try. “You bet, Bradley. Offer my apologies to Ms. Monroe, will you?”
15
When Virgil woke he experienced a clarity of thought that he’d not recognized for quite some time. He felt refreshed, but he was surprised and even a little disappointed when he noticed that only about eight hours had passed instead of the twenty-four to thirty-six that Bell had mentioned. The sun was out and the bedside clock said it was just after eight in the morning. His bladder said he had to pee.
He stood fr
om the edge of the bed and while his back felt a little stiff from sleep, Virgil noticed his leg didn’t hurt at all. He went into the bathroom, took care of business and by the time he returned to the bedroom, Sandy was there, a look of apprehension dancing around the corners of her eyes. She kissed him, stepped back and then asked how he felt.
“You know what? I feel pretty well. My leg doesn’t hurt, Sandy. Not one bit.”
She smiled, then handed him a tall glass of fruit juice. “Drink this. All of it. After you do I’ll get you a bowl of fruit. After the fruit, Bell wants you to take some more vitamins and he has some anti-anxiety pills for you too, but he doesn’t want you to take them unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’ve got a lot of juice to drink over the next week or so. Nothing to eat except organic fruits and veggies for the same amount of time either.”
Virgil scratched the back of his head and realized he could smell himself. “Listen, do you think all of that is really necessary? I mean, I’ve always liked Doc Bell and all, but he said that I’d be out for twenty-four hours. Hell, it hasn’t even been eight. Maybe nine, I guess. I don’t remember exactly what time it was when he put me under.”
Sandy had her back to him as she removed the sheets from the bed. When she didn’t answer, Virgil said, “I’m going to open the windows. It’s sort of stale in here or something.”
“You can say that again.”
Virgil noticed for the first time that he had a small clear bandage on the back of his hand. “Say, what the heck is this?”
Sandy had the sheets balled up and tossed them on the floor by the foot of the bed. “What?”
“This bandage.” He waved his hand at her. “Did I cut myself or something last night? How would that have happened? And listen, not to be too crude or anything, but my ass is kind of sore. I’m thinking maybe we need a new mattress or something.”
Sandy sat down on the bed and patted the mattress as an indication for him to sit next to her. “You didn’t cut your hand. You were sound asleep all night last night.”