STATE OF BETRAYAL: A Virgil Jones Mystery (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 2) (18 page)

“Hold on,” Murton said. “Are you
carrying?”

“No. I had to turn in my service
weapon. I haven’t replaced it yet.”

He reached into the bag at his feet
and pulled out two Smith and Wesson 1911 model .45’s. “Remember these?”

Virgil did. They were the same thumb-busters
Murton had used to kill Collins and Hicks, the men who’d kidnapped and tortured
him.

“Would you prefer Mr. Smith, or Mr.
Wesson?” Murton asked. “Wait, never mind. I almost forgot…you’re left-handed.
You’ll want Mr. Smith.” He handed one of the guns over, along with a clip-on holster.
Virgil pulled the gun from the holster and noticed that its safety, slide
release, ejection port and mag release were designed for left-handed shooters.

“Be careful with that,” he said.
“It’s loaded.”

“What else have you got in there?”

“Jesus, Jonesy, when was the last
time you were on a stakeout?” He rooted around in the bag and listed the
contents. “I’ve got about a half-dozen energy bars, four bottles of water,
binoculars, a camera, and four extra mags loaded with Federal hollow-points.”

“Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“Only if you don’t need it. Boy, I
thought the feds were dull. You state guys are like a safe substitute for
sleeping pills. Come on. Let’s book.” He grabbed the bag and hopped out of the
truck.

Virgil pulled back the slide,
checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber and set the safety. They crept
along the side of the warehouse toward the building their part-time researcher
and Murton’s full-time girlfriend said was going to be the next one to burn. Virgil
had a loaded gun tucked into his waistband, his best friend as a partner and suddenly
realized for the first time in a long time…he was having fun.

21

__________

T
he
industrial park was laid out in the shape of a horseshoe with buildings spaced
evenly around the inner and outer parts of the shoe. They took up a position between
two buildings on the outer edge near a drainage culvert facing the suspect
building. Most of the structures were similar in design and appearance. They all
had tan or white corrugated steel sides, no windows, a single door in the front
and loading docks for semi trailers in the rear. If Becky was correct—Virgil
had his doubts—they had about fifteen minutes to spare. They crawled down
next to the culvert, dug into the weeds and waited.

“This is dumb,” Virgil said.
“There’s no way she could predict this.”

“She didn’t predict this exact
building. It’s just the one that’s in the center of the complex. It could be
any of them, really.”

“Still, even to pick the right
industrial park is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Who am I to say? It’s intel.
What’s the harm in checking it out?”

Virgil slapped a mosquito at the
back of his neck. He also thought he felt something crawl up his pant leg as
well. “The harm is I’m getting eaten alive and we’ve only been here a few
minutes.”

“Speaking of eating, hand me that
bag, will you?”

Virgil tossed the duffle to Murton
then slapped another bug off his neck. “Did you bring any bug spray?”

“Nope. I put some on before we left.”

Great
. “Give me one of those
candy bars,” Virgil said. “And don’t give me any grief about juicing. I’m
starving.”

“They’re energy bars.”

Virgil was starting to get annoyed.
“Whatever, Murt, just give me one, will you?”

“Okay, okay. Don’t get yourself in
a bunch.” He pulled two bars out of the bag. “You want the Snickers or the
Three Musketeers?”

__________

They passed the time
discussing their other case. “I’ve seen the crime scene photos,” Murton said.
“That was a lot of blood.”

“It was a lot, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll tell you something you
probably already know…when it comes to murder, I’m a little out of my element.
That’s one of the reasons I wanted you with me. Most of my job with the Feds
was pretty basic, either straight-up investigative work—fraud or fugitive
tracking, and for me a ton of UC—but since murder isn’t a federal
crime…at least not yet, I’m not quite sure what to do about Nicholas Pope.”

“You know what? I hadn’t thought of
that,” Virgil said. Then he barked out a little laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing…Boot. I guess I didn’t
realize until just now that I’d be working with a rookie. Maybe we should
reevaluate our partnership agreement.”

“We don’t have a partnership
agreement.”

“Not yet.”

Murton refused to take the bait. “So
teach me about murder. What are the details of Pope’s murder that we should
focus on?”

“Well, we’ve got Becky looking into
that coded clue and the hope is that she might be able to figure it out. No one
else has been able to. Pope obviously had some sort of information that someone
wanted. Whether they got it or not is unknown. Clearly he was tortured in an
attempt to extract that information.”

“So Pope—who worked for the
lottery—gets tortured and killed over information he possessed. You think
he was trying to scam the lottery?”

“It feels right, but I’ll tell you
what doesn’t feel right…if you’re the person or persons involved in the torture
and Pope dies, why take the body? There was so much blood in his apartment it’s
not like they were covering up a murder.”

“Maybe they took the body to create
misdirection,” Murton said.

“That’s a hell of a risk and what
exactly does it misdirect? Doesn’t seem like it would be worth it. You go in,
you get the info you were after—or maybe you don’t—and during the
course of that event, Pope winds up dead. Disposing of the body after the fact
only adds unnecessary risk.”

Murton thought about that for a
moment. “Without the body being present though, wouldn’t it help delay
discovery? No dead body smell, right? Maybe whoever killed Pope needed
time…time to do something, or wait for something to happen before his murder
was discovered.”

Virgil hadn’t considered that.
“That’s a possibility. Nothing else really fits, at least not yet.”

“Here we go,” Murton said. He
pulled his camera out of the bag, pointed it at the entrance of the complex and
snapped off a few pictures. The vehicle was an unmarked brown and tan Hendricks
County squad car. It crept along the access drive that gave way to the front of
the buildings. As the car approached they lowered themselves further out of
sight and when it passed, Murton rose up just enough to take a picture of the
plate and car numbers. He lowered himself back in the ditch. “Hot tip?”

“Must be.”

“Unless…”

The implication was clear. Could a
county cop be responsible for setting the fires? “I doubt it, Murt.”

“Stranger things, Jones-man.”

“Let’s just sit tight and see what
happens. There’s only one way back out of here. I’ll bet you even money he gets
to the other side, turns around and leaves.”

“And when he sees your truck?”

“What of it? We’re not breaking any
laws.”

Murton shook his head at me.
“That’s not what I mean. What if this is our guy and he sees your truck and
bails? No fire, no crime.”

Murton had a point. If for some
reason a county deputy was setting the fires, this was their chance to catch him
in the act. But if he saw the truck, he would more than likely leave without
committing any crime. “So what do you suggest?”

“I think we should sit tight and
see what happens.”

__________

Hector, a half-mile
away,
had just pulled up. He got out of his car, leaned across the roof
and looked through a pair of high-powered binoculars. The deputy was just
turning into the industrial park. Right on schedule.

If anyone had bothered to ask
him—and no one ever did—he’d have told them it was pure luck. He
was following the cruiser with the binoculars and caught the reflection of the
camera lens. He froze on that spot and watched for a few seconds before he saw
them. Wheeler and Jones. He almost had to smile. They
were
good. Hector
took out his phone and made the call. “Don’t speak, don’t say a word. This is a
wrong number. You’ve got company, drainage ditch at your six o’clock, west
side. Hit your lights and siren like you’ve got a call and get the hell out of
there.” Then he closed the phone and slipped it back in his pocket.

A second later he saw the red and
blue grill lights of the cruiser, then heard the siren. He got back in his car
and drove away.

__________

Murton raised his hand
just high enough to reach the top of the culvert, kept the shutter button
depressed and tried to follow the track of the squad car with the camera. When
it was well past, they raised their heads and watched as the cruiser turned out
of the industrial park. “What do you think of that?”

Murton was fiddling with his
camera. “I think we got made, is what I think. Look at this.”

Murton’s camera was digital and had
a screen on the backside that displayed the photos. He pressed one of the
buttons until the proper picture came up. It showed the deputy’s face clearly
looking right at the spot where they had been hiding. “Coincidence?”

“You’re running lights and siren
and just happen to glance at the spot where we were? Not very likely.”

“You may be right.” Virgil took out
his phone and pulled up Jerry Powell’s number. “Are you at home or your
office?”

“You sound like my ex-wife. It’s
Saturday, I’ve got less than two months before the election and I’m down by six
points. Where do you think I am? I haven’t seen home in so long I’m not sure
I’d know how to get there without a map. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a couple of pictures for
you to look at.”

“Bring them over. I’ll let the
front desk know you’re coming.”

“No, no. Don’t do that, Jerry. Tell
you what, wait about fifteen minutes, then step outside for a smoke. We’ll meet
you out in the parking lot.”

“What’s going on, Jonesy?”

“I’ll let you tell me. Fifteen
minutes, Jerry.”

__________

Hector pulled into the
drive
—a gravel path with weeds growing up between the tire
ruts—and turned his car around, then backed up until his rear bumper was
almost touching the cruiser. He left the engine running, pulled on a pair of
gloves, got out and headed toward Hendricks County Deputy Frank Brackett’s house.
The house had no sidewalk, just a worn-down trail through the crabgrass that
led to the front door. He walked inside without knocking and Brackett was right
there.

“What happened?” he asked.

Hector had his hands in his
pockets—he didn’t want Brackett to see the gloves. “I am not sure. We
think your Sheriff Powell has enlisted the aid of two private detectives. They
were there ahead of time waiting for you.”

“How is that possible?”

“Again, I am not sure.”

“What does Pate say?”

“He says we have no room for
error.”

Brackett huffed. “Damn straight.
I’m about to win this thing and when I do, the county will belong to me.”

Hector tilted his head to the side
and let the corners of his mouth turn downward. “Hmm. I think it will belong to
the man who financed your campaign. Would you not agree?”

Brackett ignored Hector’s remark.
“I think it’s time to ease off the fires. We’ve made our point. There’s too
much risk. We’ve shown Powell’s incompetence. I think we can ride it out from
here. The voters are not going to be pleased with a sheriff who let an arsonist
get away.”

“Perhaps you are correct. I will
discuss it with Mr. Pate. Do nothing until you hear back from me.”

“Hey, no problem. You want a beer?”

“It is a bit early.”

“Not if you work third shift.” Hector
followed Brackett into the kitchen, next to the refrigerator. Brackett pulled
the door open and bent over to pull a bottle of beer from the vegetable crisper.
Hector thought the crisper probably hadn’t seen any vegetables since sometime
in the mid 90’s, but it was fully stocked with beer. When Brackett stood up and
started to turn around, Hector gave him a little zap right on the back of his
head with a handheld stun gun and it dropped him like a bag of bird seed.

Hector looked around the kitchen.
The place was a mess. The trash barrel was stuffed with a combination of pizza
boxes, Chinese takeout containers and empty beer bottles. The whole house
smelled a little like a high school gym locker. Hector put the stun gun back in
his pocket, pulled out his phone and called Pate. “I’m at his place. We’ve got
a problem. The burn didn’t go. He was discovered. I called it off.”

“How did that happen?”

“I believe Brackett was a little
to, mmm, predictable with his patterns. Our two favorite private detectives
managed to figure it out.”

“That will have to be addressed and
soon.”

“I agree,” Hector said.

“What’s your exposure?”

“If I am quick, absolutely none.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

There was a hesitation. The
decision to eliminate an inside source was not something to be taken lightly.
“I hate to lose an associate on the inside.”

Hector didn’t want to overstep, but
he knew Pate valued his opinions on these types of matters. “There are two or
three others who can be bought. I have a list. Perhaps it is time we set a
precedent…for future associates.”

This time there was no hesitation.
“Do it.”

__________

When Virgil and Murton
turned
into the back of the Hendricks County Law Enforcement Center
parking lot, they found Powell leaning against a marked cruiser, a cigarette
tucked in the corner of his mouth and a can of Diet Coke sweating on the roof
of the car. Virgil pulled up close and buzzed the window down. Powell removed
his sunglasses and stuck them in the breast pocket of his uniform. He peered
into the window and said, “I don’t like surprises.”

Murton leaned over from the
passenger seat and smiled at him. “What’s the matter, Jerry? Aren’t you
enjoying the job anymore?”

Powell shook his head. “This from a
retired fed turned bartender.”

“That’s bar owner to you, you fat
bastard,” Murton said with a laugh. “You do know the concept of a tab, right?
That’s when we give you a drink and at some apparently undetermined point in
the future, you give us some money that reduces said tab.”

Powell laughed. “If you thought I
was good for it, that’s on you. Besides, I just wrote you a check for ten
grand. That ought to count for something. I know you two didn’t drive all the
way out here to hassle me about my bar tab. What have you got?”

They got out of the truck and
leaned against the cruiser, next to Powell. Virgil didn’t waste any time
getting to the point. “Jerry, our researcher put a little program together that
mapped out the fires, their point of origin and the timing. In doing so, she
determined that the next fire would be at or near a certain location at a
certain time.”

“Good for her.”

Murton had his camera in his hand
and turned it on. After it powered up, he cycled through the photos, then showed
them to Powell. “Any idea who that is?”