by Thomas Scott
Becky’s main job was to compile every scrap of evidence and enter it into a usable database. Every single person listed in a case—suspect or not—got entered into the list with as much information as possible. If there were blank spots in the information, Becky had talents and resources that no other agency in the state had access to. But the information was just that…little bits of data that didn’t always have much meaning unless you knew how to look at it. That’s what made Becky good at her job. She not only knew where to look, she knew how to look at what she saw.
“What did you find?” Virgil asked.
“Pretty much what I expected,” she said. “And one thing I didn’t.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her bag and sorted through them, taking her time. Virgil looked at Rosencrantz who simply shrugged. Becky caught it out of the corner of her eye. “Just give a girl a minute, will you?”
Virgil tried to help. “Maybe if you told us what—”
She stopped shuffling her papers and looked at him with a wooden expression. “Virgil?”
He knew what was coming. “Yes, Becky?”
“Shut up.”
Rosencrantz looked over at him. “Cool. I didn’t know we could talk to the boss that way.”
Virgil and Becky both said the same thing at the same time: “You can’t.”
After another full minute of organizational madness, she had it in order. “Okay, Rosie. You interviewed everyone down in Shelby County, right?”
Rosencrantz nodded. “Yup. Spent the whole week down there.”
“And everyone has a rock-solid alibi for Charlie Esser.” A statement.
“Well, I don’t know that I’d say rock-solid. Most of them. The rest are fairly tight. The coroner couldn’t get an exact time of death because of a number of mitigating factors, but we narrowed the window down to a twelve hour period based on when he was seen last and when he was expected to be seen.”
Virgil tried to interrupt. “Becky, we’re sort of thinking that Charlie wasn’t the beginning of whatever’s going on here. Martha is. Charlie tried to kill her, which sort of makes her the center of the case, not Charlie.”
Becky shook her head. “That’s…wrong. Sort of. I think.”
“Meaning what?”
“That’s what I’m trying to get to…in a reasonable and logical fashion. Except you keep interrupting me.”
Virgil held up his hands in an ‘I give up’ gesture.
Becky paged through her notes. “The last group of people who saw Charlie Esser alive…that would be the other members of the co-op, correct?”
Rosencrantz nodded.
She turned to Virgil. “And of that group, you and Murton both stated that you witnessed Vernon Conrad assault Cal Lipkins. You also listed Conrad’s excuse for the assault as, and I quote, ‘Conrad stated that Lipkins was a bully and always had been.’ You both also said that Conrad further stated that no one got along with Lipkins and he was the one who was trying to push the fracking deal through. Lipkins was the one who set up the tests, made contact with Westlake’s group, and was trying to get everyone to go along with the deal. Is that an accurate portrayal of the facts?”
Virgil leaned forward in his chair. “Yes. Go on.”
She turned to Rosencrantz again. “You corroborated all this in your reports as well.”
“I did,” Rosencrantz said.
“And Martha Esser wanted the deal, even though her husband didn’t.”
“That’s right,” Virgil said.
“Martha Esser also stated to various hospital employees and Sheriff Holden that her husband, Charlie, tried to kill her by throwing her down the stairs. I called the sheriff earlier and confirmed this with him. I also asked him a question that probably got overlooked.”
Virgil was already shaking his head. “Becky, we asked all the right questions. I know we did. I was there.”
“Relax Jonesy. I’m sure you did. But you were there investigating Charlie Esser’s murder. I asked the sheriff if Lipkins pressed charges against Conrad for punching him. I was just gathering and entering information into the database. He said no charges were ever filed.”
“So what?”
She shuffled her notes again and read directly from the page. “The sheriff is a talker. He gave me all the boring details of life in the country. But it wasn’t all boring. He said Vernon Conrad and Martha Esser had had an on-again, off-again romance going back to before Martha and Charlie were married.” She handed Virgil a piece of paper with a set of fingerprints on it. “Guess whose prints were all over Martha Esser’s hospital room?”
Virgil looked at the paper and thought, son of a bitch.
“How do we even have Conrad’s prints to begin with?” Virgil asked.
“Carry permit from the state. They were right there in the database.”
“So you’re saying Vernon Conrad killed Charlie Esser, not because he wouldn’t go through with the deal, but because he tried to kill Martha?”
“Not exactly. The coroner said Charlie Esser was still alive when the silo was filled. Technically, he died of suffocation after he was attacked and locked inside the silo. I’m simply telling you that the sheriff said Vernon Conrad and Martha Esser had been in love with each other for years. Decades, even. Then Charlie starts knocking her around and eventually tries to kill her. If you were Vernon Conrad, what would you do?”
Virgil stood up and looked at Rosencrantz. “Want to take a drive down to Shelby County with me?”
“You got it, Boss.”
Virgil turned to Becky. “Nice work, Becks. Really.”
“I love me some detective work,” Becky said. “I told the sheriff to expect you. He says he’ll be waiting in his office. What are you going to do about Murt?”
Virgil chose his words carefully. “I’m handling it, Becky. I promise.”
She stared at him for a full minute, then walked out the door. Virgil pulled out his phone and called the bar. He looked at Rosencrantz and said, “I’ll be right there.”
Rosencrantz closed one eye and squinted at him. As soon as he stepped outside, Virgil got Delroy on the line. “He still there?”
“Ya mon. Where else he gonna go, him? Hang on.”
A few seconds later Murton was on the line.
“How are you holding up?” Virgil said.
“As well as can be expected, I guess.”
“We caught a break in Shelby County. We’re headed there now.”
“Not to sound too selfish, but does it do anything for me?”
“I don’t know…at least not yet. But don’t worry. Everything is under control,” Virgil said. It was a bald-faced lie and they both knew it.
23
An hour later they turned into the Shelby County Law Enforcement Center parking lot and entered the building. The sheriff was standing behind a glass wall partition speaking with one of his deputies. When he saw Virgil and Rosencrantz he walked over to meet them, grabbing his jacket from a coat tree. His gait reminded Virgil of a turtle with bad knees. Did turtles have knees? He wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know about all this, Detectives. Known Vern a long time.”
“I appreciate your position, Sheriff, but how long you’ve known someone can’t be the determining factor on whether or not they’ve committed a crime.”
The sheriff gave Virgil a look like he’d just spit in the punch bowl. “I know that. I’m only suggesting that you use a little discretion is all. I know I will. In fact I already have. I called Vern and told him we were on our way out to talk to him.”
Rosencrantz looked down at his shoes.
“I wish you hadn’t done that, Sheriff,” Virgil said. “We’ve just lost the element of surprise.”
“Ain’t any surprise to be had. Vern’s about as violent as a church mouse on Easter Sunday. You riding with me or you gonna follow? Never mind. I think you should follow.”
When they turned into Conrad’s driveway, Virgil pulled his truck right up behind the sheriff’s station wagon
. The three men stood in the cold for a moment, Virgil and Rosencrantz looking over the property. “Doesn’t look like much,” Virgil said to no one.
The sheriff, still somewhat offended by the accusations against Conrad said, “Folks live a simple life out here. How about you show a little respect? What were you expecting, a four-storied mansion?”
Virgil, already tired of the huckleberry routine turned and glared at him. “I had no expectations, sheriff. It was just a statement. These guys run mega farms…thousands of acres, but all I see is a small ranch house, a barn, and a few outbuildings.”
The house was small, and old. But it appeared well-kept, the design simple and functional. Virgil could practically see the inside in his mind. A kitchen and bathroom in the front, a one room common area, two bedrooms and a hall bath in the rear. The annuals and perennials that fronted the landscaping and rounded the corners of the house had withered with the season. A wooden rocking chair with the finish worn away and a small side table sat next to the front door. The roof looked new, except there was one solitary shingle just below the chimney chase that was askew. It was, Virgil thought, the kind of place you wouldn’t give a second look if driving past.
“What else do you see?” the sheriff asked.
Virgil looked around. “Nothing.”
“Exactly,” the sheriff replied. “The house ain’t much because the money is in the land.”
“Look, sheriff, it was just a simple observation. You seem to take offense at everything I say. I mean you no disrespect. Nor Mr. Conrad, for that matter. We’re simply here to ask him a few follow-up questions and try to either clear him as a suspect in the murder of Charlie Esser or—”
“Arrest him,” Holden said. He shook his head the way an adult would when trying to explain something complex to a child. “C’mon, if I know Vern, he’s in the barn getting his equipment put up for the winter.” They turned that way and as they did the jackpot flasher on top of Holden’s station wagon blew apart, followed almost immediately by the sound of a rifle shot. Virgil and Rosencrantz ducked behind the vehicles and pulled their weapons. Sheriff Holden looked at the ruined flasher, then the barn, then back at the flasher. “Damn it, Vern.”
“Sheriff!” Virgil yelled. “Get down. Get back here before you get killed.” Another shot, this one taking out the front tire of the station wagon. Virgil looked at Rosencrantz. “If that son of a bitch shoots my new truck I’m going to—”
The next shot went through both side windows of the truck and continued on and cracked the upper part of the rocking chair before burying itself in the side of the house. Rosencrantz brushed the broken glass out of his hair and off his shoulders. “You were saying?”
“I’ve got to get the sheriff. Throw everything you’ve got at the barn. Aim high. I don’t want you to hit him accidentally. Ready?”
Rosencrantz nodded. “Go.” He leaned over the bed of the truck and opened up on the barn. Virgil ran around the front of the truck, grabbed the sheriff by the arm and yanked him back behind the truck. They landed in a tangle, the sheriff grabbing at his left knee. Rosencrantz kept firing until the slide on his gun locked open.
“Ah, shit, I think you popped me loose partner.”
Partner?
“What the hell were you doing just standing there, Sheriff?” Rosencrantz said. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Your Easter Sunday church mouse is shooting at us. That sort of changes things.”
Holden was breathing hard, his teeth clenched, both hands wrapped around his knee. “I could stand there all day and not get killed. Vern’s the best shot I ever seen. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”
“Still think he’s innocent?”
“I think he’s scared and confused.” Then: “I am too.”
“I can see that,” Rosencrantz said. “Every time I’m scared or confused I do the same thing. I get my rifle out and start shooting at the cops. Makes perfect sense.”
Virgil looked down at Holden. “Where’s your weapon, Sheriff?”
“Where it usually is. Top right hand corner desk drawer in my office.”
Enough of the down-home bullshit, Virgil thought. He reached up and opened the door of his truck, unlatched the shotgun behind the seat and handed it to Holden. “There’s five shots in there.”
“I’m not shooting Vern. You boys have got him mixed up with someone else.”
“We’re past that, Sheriff. And I don’t want you to shoot him. Rosie and I are going to get him out of the barn but we’ve got to get there first. I want five shots from you, three seconds apart. That means you shoot, count to three, then shoot again. Think you can handle that?”
“What am I shooting at?”
“Anything but us. We just need the noise to pin him down for a few seconds.”
“Don’t kill him.”
“It’s time to do your job. I’m looking for a yes or no answer, Ben.”
Holden sucked in his cheeks, then nodded at Virgil, the shotgun pointing straight up in the air. “Just say when.”
“Rosie, take the left corner. I’ve got the right. You ready?”
Rosencrantz had reloaded and positioned himself at the back bumper of the truck. “Say the word, Boss.”
Virgil looked at Holden. “Get ready, Sheriff. I’m going to move up as far as I can, then try to get him to fire again. As soon as he does, you do what I said. And for Christ’s sake, stay out of sight. When we get to the barn, I want you to try to talk him out of there.”
“What? Talk him out? I ain’t exactly a skilled hostage negotiator.”
“We’re not dealing with hostages, Sheriff.”
“How do you know that?”
Good point. “I don’t. Will you do it, or not?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can talk to him.”
“Good enough. Just try to get a dialog going. We’ll handle the rest.” He duck-walked all the way to the front of the station wagon, turned and nodded at Rosencrantz, then shouted at the barn. “Conrad…It’s Virgil Jones, I spoke with you last week about Charlie Esser. Stop shooting at us, will you? You’re only making things worse. We just want to—”
Another shot came from the doorway of the barn and even though he didn’t know where the bullet went, Virgil got a glimpse of the rifle flash and saw Conrad duck back behind the left side of the door. Holden sat with his back against the side of Virgil’s truck. As soon as he heard the shot he fired the shotgun in the opposite direction, over the roof of Conrad’s house. Virgil and Rosencrantz ran for the barn, the shotgun blasting away every three seconds.
They made it to the corners of the barn, but their line of sight was a problem. Conrad had been shooting from inside the doorway, not exposing himself to return fire. Virgil looked at the walls of the barn and noticed the dry rot and the gaps in the boards. He caught Rosie’s eyes and motioned him forward. Virgil was waiting for the sheriff to start talking, but it was Conrad who spoke first. Virgil and Rosie were each about halfway in from the corners, working toward the door, their backs flattened against the exterior wall, their handguns pointed down at the ground. When they heard Conrad, they both froze in position.
“Hey Ben, that you out there with the scatter gun?”
Holden worked himself off the ground and stared through the broken windows of Virgil’s truck. “Yup. Don’t know why you’re shooting at us, Vern, but it’d probably be best if you set your rifle down and came on out. Nobody wants to get hurt here. I know I sure as hell don’t.”
“Ain’t gonna come out, Ben. You shouldn’t have called and you shouldn’t have come out here. You and those state boys best leave my property and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
“That’s not going to happen, Vern. Man’s got a job to do and this one’s mine. I’ve got to tell you, I ain’t enjoying it too damned much right about now.”
“You ain’t never have enjoyed it, Ben. Ain’t that what you go around telling everyone all the damned time. You should have stuck to garment cleaning and the like.”
“That might be true, but I didn’t and here we are, Vern. We can’t change the past but we can control what happens next. Now come on out before these state boys decide to take matters into their own hands. They’re not exactly what you’d call the patient type.”
Virgil and Rosencrantz were inching their way toward the door as the two men shouted at each other. They were now only about ten feet from either side of the door. Virgil held his hand up, palm out, and stopped their approach. He caught Rosie’s eye and held it, then motioned for him to get low so they wouldn’t be directly in line with each other. Virgil moved in tighter on the door.
“I ain’t coming out because I know why you’re here. You think I killed Charlie, but I didn’t.”
“Then we don’t have a problem. Put your gun down and come on out. You know me, Vern. We’ll get everything straightened out. Nothing’s happened here that can’t be fixed. I was going to replace that jackpot anyway. It never did turn proper, and as for the tire, that thing is so bald I’m surprised it didn’t blow apart on the drive out here. What do you say?”
“I say you should have done something about the way Charlie was treating Martha. She’d still be alive if you’d have listened to me. That’s what I say.”
“Did all I could do under the law, Vern. You know that. Having a shootout here isn’t going to change anything except your situation.”
“I didn’t kill him, but they’re going to say it was murder just the same. He was beating on Martha so bad she couldn’t hardly take it no more. Then when he thrown her down the steps that was it for me. He was working in the silo and I went in there and knocked him around a little. At least that’s what I meant to do, but I think I must have snapped or something because I got a little carried away. I didn’t know that silo was gonna get filled. It hadn’t been used all season. How was I supposed to know?”