STATE OF BETRAYAL: A Virgil Jones Mystery (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 2) (22 page)

25

__________

M
urton
didn’t have to wait long. He was watching a group of teenaged boys shooting
hoops directly across the street from Nichole’s apartment when Hector pulled
up. Murton knew Hector from his undercover work on Samuel Pate. He was a lean,
soft-spoken, former special forces operative that followed orders and didn’t
ask questions. Perfect for a guy like Pate. Unless Hector lived in the same
apartment complex as Nichole—which would be quite a coincidence—his
arrival was trouble. Murton got out of his car, ducked behind a row of hedges
and headed toward the basketball players.

__________

A half-hour later
Virgil pulled into Pate’s drive. He was surprised when Augustus Pate himself
answered the door. He wore tan slacks with a white button-down shirt open at
the neck. His hair looked freshly barbered and Virgil could smell his Clubman after-shave.
He looked surprisingly fit for a man of his age, his face clear and his eyes
bright. Pate stared at him for a moment and Virgil saw the color creep into his
neck and his jaw flex with tension. His words bordered on civil. His tone did
not. “What are doing at my home? You of all people.”

“I’d like to speak with you about the
murder of one of your former employees, Nicholas Pope.”

Virgil was certain he would slam
the door in his face and that would be that, but men of power and wealth are
often full of surprises and Augustus Pate proved no different. He pulled the
door open wide then turned and walked into the house. It was a gesture that
said at once, ‘come in or leave, I don’t care either way.’

Virgil followed him inside and
closed the door.

__________

Pate’s shoes echoed
off
the marble floor as Virgil followed him down the long hallway. The
sound was oddly familiar, but Virgil didn’t know why. Something about the cadence
of Pate’s step, the way the sound reverberated off the walls. They ended up in
his study, a richly appointed room that may have been at least half as large as
Virgil’s entire house. A large desk was positioned in front of a wide set of windows
and four high-back leather chairs were arranged in a semi circle with small
square end tables between the chairs. On the other side of the room, an
ornately carved coffee table was positioned in front of a sofa that faced a
stone fireplace. A set of French doors gave onto a patio with an in-ground pool
surrounded with white wrought iron tables and chairs.

They sat opposite each other in the
high-backed chairs. Pate sipped from a quarter full glass of amber liquid that
looked like bourbon or scotch and then set the goblet gently on the table next
to his chair. When he spoke his words were direct and left little doubt that
Virgil’s agenda was not the only issue at hand.

“You’ve brought nothing but misery and
grief into my life, Detective. I hold you personally responsible for the death
of my son and daughter-in-law.”

“I’m not surprised you feel that
way. I can’t begin to tell you how many times over the years I’ve watched
people of means delude themselves with a false sense of self-righteous
indignation and entitlement at the expense of others. They either wear it like
a crown or hide behind it, victims of their own making. You should be
congratulated though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone who managed to pull
off both at the same time.”

“How dare you, sir. You come to my
home uninvited and have the audacity to insult me—”

“Save it, Pate. Your son was a
degenerate and a pedophile who burned his own church to the ground to collect
on the insurance. When he killed himself he did so because he wasn’t man enough
to face the consequences of his own actions. And your daughter-in-law? She
gunned down my father in his own bar. He was a man of respect who spent his
entire life in the service of others. So, yeah, I do have the audacity. Do not
try take my measure in that regard.”

Augustus Pate pointed a hooked
finger at him. When he spoke, Virgil thought his voice would be filled with
rage, but it wasn’t. Pate lowered his hand back to his lap and visibly swallowed.
“He was still my son.” His voice was so soft Virgil had to lean forward in the
chair to hear him. “My only child. My only family other than his wife, Amanda.
Samuel’s mother died during childbirth. Did you know that? The expression on
your face tells me you might not. We were very happy, Samuel’s mother and I. The
plans we had…a life full of hope, a house full of children.” He turned his head
away and let his gaze roam around the room. “I never wanted any of this. It
just…came to me. I was a steel worker in the union when Samuel was born, when
my wife died.

“I’m certain my son turned out they
way he did because of me. I was starting a business…the long hours, the lack of
attention…I suppose they call that neglect now days, don’t they? He grew up
alone, without a mother and an all too inattentive father. Is it any wonder he
turned out they way he did? Genetics had nothing to do with it. He sought
comfort in his religion. He also found fame and fortune. The children though,
the pictures…it was either a way to find his own childhood, to get it back, or
a way to deflect his pain away from himself and on to others.”

The something odd happened. A mixture
of embarrassment and anger played across Pate’s face. He looked like a man who
might have just been awakened from a bad dream in front of a room full of
people. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Virgil wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Do you think I want your pity?
You’re mistaken. I want nothing of the sort. In fact you’re wrong on many
levels Detective. I wear no crown and I’m no one’s victim.”

“I’m not going to play your game,
Pate.”

“I can assure you, I’m not playing
games, Detective.”

“Then stop lying to me.”

“I have not lied to you. Not once.”

“You have. Every time you refer to
me as ‘detective’ it is a lie of omission regarding facts. I’m no longer with
the state police and you know that.”

He smiled without warmth or humor.
“Ah yes, that’s right. You’re Wheeler’s bitch now, aren’t you?”

Don’t take the bait, Virgil told
himself…

__________

Murton sat on
a
bench that placed the teenagers between him and the front of Nichole Pope’s apartment
door. He had the perfect view and if Hector happened to look his way he would
only notice a man watching a group of kids play ball.

Hector did almost exactly the same
thing Murton had done a few minutes ago. He knocked, tried the knob and put his
ear close to the door. But then, instead of knocking or trying the knob again,
he straightened his arm and let a small pry-bar slide down from the inside of
his jacket sleeve. He pressed the bar between the knob and the jamb, put some
weight into it and popped the door.

Murton got up from the bench and
started running that way.

__________

But he got tangled up
in
the ball players—there were ten or twelve of them on the
half-court—and he ended up on the ground. “Jesus, Mister, you okay,” one
of the kids asked. Murton ignored the boys, rolled onto his side and stood up
in time to see Hector leaving Nichole Pope’s apartment. He turned just enough
so Hector couldn’t see him, but now, facing the boys, he could see they were
getting impatient with him. He made a show of dusting off his pants and
straightening his shirt as he backed off the court toward the apartment
complex. Once Hector was back in his car and around the corner, Murton began to
run to Nichole’s door.

Over his shoulder he heard one of
the boys say, “Fuck him. Come on, bang out.”

When he got to the door Murton
wasn’t sure what he’d find. His first thought was a body—Nichole’s, but
Hector hadn’t left in a rush. He’d simply walked away like no one was home. The
wood was splintered around the jamb, little pieces of it on the ground right
below the knob. Murton took out his gun, nudged the door open with his foot and
took a quick peek. Nothing there. He went in hard, following his gun sight.
Main room empty. He put his back to the wall, spun into the kitchen—a
narrow dead-end space with the sink, cabinets and fridge all on one side. Empty.
When he spun around he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror at the
opposite end of the hall and almost fired. Two steps toward the bath took him
to the single bedroom on his left. Another quick peek. Empty. The bi-fold
closet doors stood open, a variety of women’s clothing hanging from the bar.
The bed was neatly made. The apartment was empty and Nichole wasn’t there.

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?”

__________

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.”