STATE OF ANGER: A Virgil Jones Mystery Series (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 1) (8 page)

12

__________

T
hey
were behind on the docket and Virgil waited at the courthouse for three agonizing
hours. His cell phone was set on silent but he felt the vibration and pulled
the phone out and checked the screen. A text from Ron Miles. After he read the
message, Virgil leaned forward across the bar and tapped the prosecutor on the
shoulder. “I’ve got a situation. I need to leave.”

“You’re joking, right? We’ve got a
situation right here. It’s your testimony that’s gonna keep this prick locked
up. You want to blow that?”

“It can’t be helped. I’m in the
middle of this thing and I’ve got to go.”

The prosecutor turned in his chair
and looked at me. “Look, I know we’re behind schedule here, but the defense is
just about to wrap it up, then we’ll be able to get you on the stand and out of
here. If you’ll just wait for a little—”

The judge tapped her gavel, leaned
forward from the bench and spoke into her microphone. She sort of whispered
into the device, her tone mocking Virgil’s attempt not to disturb the
proceedings. “Gentlemen, is there something you’d like to share with the
court?”

The prosecutor turned his
attention forward. “No, your Honor. I’m sorry for the—”

Virgil stood and looked at the
Judge. “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”

The prosecutor turned and spoke
through his teeth. “What the hell are you doing? Do you want to be held in
contempt? Sit down.” The judge raised her eyebrows at me.

“Urgent matter, your Honor.”

She seemed to consider it for a
moment. “Step up. This better be good Detective.”

Virgil crossed the bar with the
prosecutor on his heels and walked up to the bench. “I appreciate the court’s
indulgence your Honor.” The judge made a circular, ‘get on with it’ motion with
her hand. “Judge, an urgent situation has come to my attention. I’m sure your
Honor has heard about the murders earlier today of one of our State Troopers,
along with one of our city’s more prominent citizens, Mr. Franklin Dugan, at
his home.”

The judge leaned forward and
looked out over the tops of her glasses. Judge Andrea Moore was the senior
judge in the superior court system and was not known for her leniency. “Yes,
Detective, I have heard. But what does that have to do with me, my court, or
this case?”

“Nothing at all your Honor.”

“Then why are we speaking,
Detective?”

The conversation already wasn’t
going exactly as Virgil had hoped. “Your Honor, there’s been another murder,
just a few blocks away from here as a matter of fact. My—”

“Are you psychic, Detective?”

“Beg your pardon, your Honor?”

“I think you heard me. I said are
you psychic? You as well as anyone should know we do not allow electronic
devices of any kind in the courtroom. So, either you’re psychic, or you’re
breaking the law in my courtroom. Which is it, Detective?”

Virgil opened his mouth to answer,
thought better of what he wanted to say and instead chewed on the inside of his
cheek for a moment.

The judge leaned back, smacked her
gavel against the sound block and said, “The court will be in recess for five
minutes. Detective, I’ll see you in chambers. Now.”

Thirty seconds later Judge Moore
sat at her desk with Virgil standing on the other side. “You’re killing me
here, Jonesy. I’m already over three hours behind. What the hell is going on?”

“I need to leave, Andrea. There’s
been another shooting, and that makes three today.”

“Oh come on, Jonesy. This is Indy.
We have shootings almost everyday. What makes this such an emergency?” She
reached for a pitcher of water and poured two glasses. “Water?”

“No, thanks. Listen, we’re not
sure, at least completely sure that is, that this latest one is connected. But
the crimes scene techs are saying—and initial witness statements seem to
back it up—that it was a high-powered sniper rifle. And it was silenced.
Broad daylight, woman goes down right on the sidewalk, shot in the chest, and
no one heard a thing. What are the chances?”

“It sounds to me like you’ve got
plenty of people on the scene right now.”

Virgil took a deep breath.
“Judge…” He paused, then started over. “Andrea, do you remember last year when
you came to me about that little high speed chase your son was involved in?”

“It was hardly a high speed chase,
Detective.
He was a passenger in the vehicle and he says, and I believe
him by the way, that he did everything in his power to convince the driver to
stop the car.”

“Uh huh. Took him over four miles
to do it though.”

“Make your point, Jonesy.”

“My point is, you brought that to
me, and I took care of it for you, did I not?”

“Really? You’ve got this one bit
of juice with me and this is how you want to spend it?”

No, I don’t.
“I guess I’ll
have to.”

“Yeah, I guess you will. Use the
side door. I’ll handle the lawyers.”

“Are you going to reschedule for a
later date on the docket?”

“Are you kidding? No way. The
prosecutor doesn’t really need you and the ink isn’t even dry on the public defender’s
Bar exam. The defendant isn’t going anywhere except back to a cell.”

Virgil shook his head. “So I
wasted my, uh, ‘juice’, as you called it?”

“Yep. Isn’t it fun though? I hate
it when someone has something on me. Anyway, we’re square now. Go catch your
shooter, sharp stuff. I don’t like it when people shoot up my city.”

“It may be your courtroom, Andrea,
but it’s my city,” Virgil said as he reached for the door handle. “Stop in at
the bar sometime, I’ll buy you a beer.” The judge made a go away motion with
the back of her hand, so Virgil went away.

__________

Ten minutes later he rolled up to
the scene and found Ron Miles. “Jonesy…what a cluster fuck. I’m trying not to
get ahead of myself here, but this is too coincidental, don’t you think?” He pressed
on without waiting for an answer. “First Burns, and that banker guy, Dugan, and
now this.” He turned and pointed at the victim lying on the sidewalk. Virgil
followed his motion and then looked inside the plate glass windows of the
coffee shop. Three uniforms and two plain clothes were inside talking to the
customers.

“Tell me what’s what, Ron.”

“Okay. Victim’s name is Rhonda
Rhodes. I.D. on her person confirms. Looks like she was a Hospice nurse
according to documents in her possession and initial statements from the coffee
shop’s employees. She’s a regular here. Five or six days a week, again
according to the employees. Married, husband is a retired fireman.”

“He have an alibi?”

“Yeah, a good one too. He was just
down the street from his residence speaking with one of his neighbors, guy
named Wimberley about replacing their driveway.”

“Has he been notified yet?”

“Yep. He’s here now,” Miles said,
then pointed to the back of the EMS van. “Getting his vitals checked by the EMS
guys. He’s wrecked, man.”

“All right, go on.”

Miles took his notebook out,
flipped through a few pages for a second, then continued. “Victim pulls up,
parks right at the curb, goes inside, sits down to have a cup of joe and do her
paperwork. Guy that waited on her says she was here for about twenty,
twenty-five minutes tops, drank her coffee while working on her paper, then she
gathered her paperwork, paid her bill and left. The waiter says he was putting
her money in the register as she walked out. Says he saw her get hit. Said the impact
of the round lifted her up and sent her flying backwards. Didn’t hear a thing.
He said it was like watching a movie scene with the sound turned off or
something.”

“Okay, keep him here. I’m going to
want to talk to him.”

“You got it, Jonesy.”

“Any other witnesses?”

“Nope. At least not yet.”

“All right. Keep the uniforms
talking to people. Let’s go speak to the husband.”

Tom Rhodes sat in the back of the
EMS unit on one of the side benches, his forearms resting across his thighs,
his head down, hangdog. Virgil nodded at the paramedics and asked them if he
could have a few minutes. They climbed out and Virgil and Ron sat on the bench
opposite Rhodes. Miles spoke first. “Mr. Rhodes, this is Detective Jones. He’d
like to speak with you for a moment, ask a few questions if you’re up for it.”

Tom Rhodes did not, Virgil
thought, look up for it. “Mr. Rhodes, I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I know
you’re going to think the timing is lousy, but the sooner we can get the
information we need, the better our chances are of catching who ever did this
to your wife.”

Tom Rhodes looked up and shook his
head. “You don’t look like a cop. You damn sure don’t look like a detective.”

Virgil gave him a sympathetic
grin. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Sometimes that’s the whole point though. Not to
look like a cop.”

“I guess. I really wouldn’t know.”

“I understand you’re a retired
fireman?”

“That’s right.”

“I want you to know that I have a
tremendous amount of respect for guys like you and what you do.”

He nodded, looked at nothing. “It’s
been my experience that people who make that kind of statement are people who
have had a traumatic experience with fire.”

“You’re absolutely right. I was
just a child, but it changed me. Tell you the truth, I always sort of thought I
might end up in your line of work.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Ah, you know, my dad was a cop.
Marion County Sherriff until he retired.”

He seemed to process this
information for a minute. “Jones. You said your name was Jones? Is Mason Jones
your old man?”

“That’s right. Did you know him?”

“No, not really. Just enough to
recognize him if we were on scene together. Hey, always voted for him though.”

“I’m sure he appreciated that,
sir. Listen, I’ve got some questions, but tell me about your day so far, with
your wife.”

He put a little gravel in his
voice. “Well it’s been just fucking splendid, Detective.” Then he caught
himself and raised a hand in apology.

“What I mean, Mr. Rhodes—“

“Call me Tom, okay.”

“Okay. What I mean, Tom, is could
you tell me about your day with your wife up to the point she left for work?”

He shook his head and chewed the
bottom of his lip. “There’s nothing to tell. It was a normal day. We got up,
had breakfast and went about our day. Then a little later, hell just a little
while ago, she left for work. I know she likes to stop off here for coffee
before getting to it. I think it helps her—or helped her I guess I should
say—to clear her head, know what I mean?”

“I think I do. Anything out of the
ordinary, today in particular?”

“No, nothing.”

“Was she acting strange, like
maybe something was bothering her?”

“No, absolutely not. If anything
it was the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it was me. I was the one
who was acting strange. Well, hell, that’s not right. I wasn’t acting strange.
I was sort of pissed off if you want to know the truth of it.”

“Why? Were the two of you arguing?”

“No. Probably would have turned
into one though if she hadn’t left for work when she did. It’s been a bit of a
sore spot lately, ever since I retired. I’m stuck at home with nothing to do
except busy work, while she’s out doing real work. We’d talked about retiring
together, you know? Maybe do a little traveling, but that never worked out.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I guess because she just
couldn’t give it up. Her work, I mean.”

“I understand she was a Hospice
nurse?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay. So you two had an argument
right before she left?”

“That’s not what I said,
Detective. You’re putting words into my mouth. I said it probably would have
turned into one. An argument.”

Virgil looked at the bandage on
his hand. “What happened to your hand, Mr. Rhodes?”

“I scraped the ever-lasting shit
out of my knuckles pulling weeds from the cracks in the drive. That’s what I
was doing when she left.”

“What about her patients, Tom?”

“What about them?”

“She was in a difficult line of
work,” Virgil said. “She cares for people at a time when there’s nothing left
for them to do but try to die with a little dignity.”

“Sounds like you’ve had some
experience with that too.”

Virgil didn’t answer.

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss,
Detective, whenever it may have been. But to tell you the truth, I never knew
much about her patients.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, it was those damn hippo
laws.”

“You mean HIPPA,” Miles added.
“With an a at the end.”

Rhodes waved his hand. “Yeah, I
guess. Whatever. Rhonda took her job very seriously. She never spoke about
individual patients with anything more than very vague generalities. And even
then, never by name. And if I’m being honest with you, and I am by the way, I
didn’t want to hear it. The whole fucking thing depressed the ever-lasting shit
out of me. I guess that says something about me, huh?”

“Is there any chance, Tom, that
this could be one of her patient’s family members? Someone mad at Rhonda
because their loved one died?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t sound right
to me. Doesn’t feel right. Everyone I’ve ever talked with think these people,
these Hospice workers walk on water, you know? I guess it could be possible,
hell, anything’s possible, right? But I don’t think so.”

Virgil scratched the back of his
head and thought,
what the hell
. “Where do you bank, Tom?”

“Firefighter’s Credit Union. Why?”

“What about church? Did you or
your wife attend anywhere?”