State of Killers: A Mystery Thriller Novel (Virgil Jones Mystery Thriller Series Book 11)

by Thomas Scott

  “Looks like you’re out of the woods now,” Martin said.

  “I am. But my point is this: At the time, I wasn’t. Those pills had their claws in me so deep that if someone would have shown me a truckfull of the stuff, I’d have hidden it away forever. It would have been like having a lifetime supply.”

  Martin nodded again. When she spoke, she took the official tone out of her voice. “I understand, and I’m sorry for what you had to endure. And you’re right, it would have been a lifetime supply, just not the way you think.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning if you’d kept that stash for your own personal use, you’d be dead by now. You’d end up taking more and more pills just to stay even. It happens with all hard drugs. You begin to chase the feeling…chase the high. But no matter how much resistance you think you’ve built up, the body can only take so much. The kidneys and the liver just can’t function under that sort of stress. That truckload of pills wouldn’t have carried you into old age. It would have carried you for about three or four years, tops. I see it all the time.”

  Virgil nodded at her. “I’m sure you do. And you’re right, I was taking more and more just to try to stay even…to feel normal. But here’s the thing…as we sit here today, I know everything you’re saying is true, even though at the time, I didn’t. So the question becomes, how do you know there isn’t someone out there who doesn’t know what you or I know? Maybe they think they’ve hit the lottery, so to speak.”

  “I almost hope that’s the case,” Martin said, her tone once again drifting back to official. “It’ll make my job, and yours, much easier. A meth lab will explode somewhere, or someone will overdose, and be found with much more pseudoephedrine than is legal to possess as written under the current federal laws.”

  “What do you need from us?” Murton said.

  “Mac says you guys are the best. He also says this MCU of yours knows how to get things done and get them done quick. We want you to look into the driver’s death and see if there’s any way to track down who has these drugs. If we don’t stop this and stop it soon, there are going to be a lot of dead Hoosiers. You think Oxy was bad? This stuff is made from battery acid, drain cleaner, and paint thinner, among other things.”

  “We can do that,” Virgil said. “Look into the murder. What’s the status of the crime scene?”

  “Undisturbed. If you could get your crime scene techs out there and get them started, we may be able to get the jump on whoever it is we’re looking for.”

  “Where exactly is it?” Virgil said. “The crime scene?”

  “North of Indy, in Whitestown. That’s Boone County, by the way.”

  “We’re aware,” Murton said. “And this distribution center, uh, MedX…where are they located?”

  “About five miles away from where they found the truck.” She slid the file folder across the table and said, “Everything you need to get started should be in there, along with my contact information. We—as in the DEA—will be working on this as well obviously. That means we’ll be running parallel investigations. We’ll share anything we find or know directly with you. Who will be my point of contact?”

  Virgil gave Agent Martin the contact information for Becky Wheeler and Ron Miles. When she heard Becky’s last name, she raised her eyebrows. “Relative?”

  Murton smiled. “Keeper of my heart. We recently married. Mac himself officiated.”

  Agent Martin smiled for the first time during the meeting. “Well, congrats, and all that.” She stood, grabbed her vest, and said, “Why is it the good ones are always taken?”

  “I’m married too,” Virgil said.

  Agent Martin gave Virgil a look without saying anything, nodded at Mac, and walked out the door.

  “That came across as sort of pathetic,” Murton said. “I’m married too?”

  “What? I was simply stating a fact.”

  “I’m a little surprised you didn’t tell her what Small’s job is. You tend to throw that around more than necessary.”

  “I don’t think that’s entirely accurate,” Virgil said.

  “Although I’m loath to admit it, you sort of do,” Mac said. Then, “Listen, this is exactly the kind of thing the MCU was built around. Get out there and find the killer or killers. And it’d be good if you could find the drugs too. I don’t need a ton of meth floating around my state.”

  Virgil and Murton stood. “We’re on it, Mac,” Virgil said.

  The governor pointed a finger at Murton. “And Wheeler?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Try to look a little more coppish or something, will you? It looks like you’re about to go on a date.”

  Murton shook his head. “Mac, it’s one thing to concede the match. It’s quite another to be a sore loser.”

  “I’m not a sore loser, and I concede nothing. Now get out and get to work.” He was trying not to smile when he said it.

  Chapter Six

  They sat in Virgil’s new Ford Raptor for a few minutes reviewing the file Agent Martin had left with them. Then Murton got on the phone and made the calls to the rest of the MCU while Virgil drove north, toward the crime scene.

  Once he had everyone on the way, Murton put his phone away, and said, “Ross isn’t happy. He just got to your place.”

  “He’ll get over it. Did he say anything about the pad?”

  “I didn’t ask. I’ll tell you something, Jones-man, this one already has a nasty feeling to it.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Virgil said. “Whoever killed this Boyd guy must have had some way of knowing who he was, and what he did.”

  Murton was looking through the file notes as he rode along. “Not only that, but they had to have known what he was carrying. Otherwise, they might have ended up with nothing more than a truckload of antacids or something.”

  “Yeah, we’ll want to get Becky looking into that…how they knew what truck and when.”

  “Small is dropping her at the shop.” When Virgil didn’t respond, Murton said, “Hey, you with me, Jonesy? What are you thinking about?”

  When Virgil spoke, his voice was almost mournful. “I’m surprised you have to ask. I was thinking about the pills. That feeling…it never really goes away.”

  “Is this something we’re going to have to worry about?” Murton said.

  Virgil shook his head. “No, no. I’m just saying that addiction is a complicated beast. I don’t have the urge to take any Oxy. None at all. But the way I felt when I was taking it? The memories of those feelings are still there, and like it or not, they’re good memories…for the most part. I don’t want the drugs, but I’d take those feelings any day of the week. There really is nothing like it.”

  Murton stared at his brother without speaking, and they rode the rest of the way in silence, both men lost in the thoughts of the past.

  The MCU crime scene technicians, Mimi Phillips and Chip Lawless were already on-site by the time Virgil and Murton rolled up. So was Tom Rosencrantz, another investigator with the MCU. Virgil parked the truck about fifty yards away so he wouldn’t contaminate the scene. He walked over to where Rosencrantz stood, and said, “What have we got, Rosie? Anything to see here?”

  “Not sure yet. I only got here about two minutes ago.”

  “Do you know if the trooper who found the truck is still here?”

  “Yeah. He’s parked over at the opposite side of the tape.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go talk with him. You and Murt start walking the perimeter and see if you can find anything at all.”

  They told him they would, and Virgil went to speak with Mimi before getting with the trooper. As he approached the truck, he saw Lawless taking pictures and video of everything, including the body of the driver. “Hey, Meems. You guys go in yet?”

  Mimi shook her head. “Not yet. Wanted to get the pictures first.”

  “Okay. You know what to do. Let me know what you come up with…if anything.”

  “You got it, Jonesy.”
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  Virgil walked over to the trooper’s vehicle and introduced himself. “Virgil Jones, MCU.” He stuck out his hand to shake.

  The trooper shook with him and said, “Dan Ringer.”

  Virgil put a question on his face and said, “Ringer?” Then he looked down in thought for a few seconds before bringing his eyes back up. “You’ll have to forgive me, but have we met?”

  Ringer smiled at him. “In a manner of speaking, though never face to face. We spoke on the phone briefly when you and your partner were making a high-speed run up toward Gary. That gun runner task force.”

  Virgil snapped his fingers and pointed at Ringer. “Ah, that’s right. How are you, Dan?”

  “Tired is how I am if you want to know the truth.”

  “You found the truck and the driver?”

  “Yeah. Been here ever since. No disrespect to the victim, but I’m practically dead on my feet.”

  “Well, tell me what you know, and then you can take off. My crew is going to handle this one.” Then before Ringer could answer, Virgil asked a question. “What the heck are you doing down here? I thought you worked up north, in Lake County.”

  “I did. Got transferred a few months ago.”

  Virgil nodded. “Got it. So, the truck?”

  “I found it sitting there exactly as you see it. Well, that’s not quite right. I opened the rear door to check it out. When I saw the victim, I stepped up and made sure he was dead, then backed the hell out. There was really no question that he was gone, what with the eye and all, but I had to check. I already told your techs I made entry.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem for them,” Virgil said. “Any initial thoughts on what went down?”

  “Nothing more than what I’m sure you already know. Did Agent Martin brief you?”

  Virgil nodded. “She did, just a short time ago. I’ll tell you what wasn’t in her notes though—and I failed to ask—was this: Who identified the victim?”

  “The MedX chief of security. Martin made the call and had him come out.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Ringer took a small spiral notepad from his breast pocket, thumbed to the appropriate page, and said, “Guy by the name of Terry Wade. He was pretty broken up about the whole thing.” Ringer tore the page out of his notebook and handed it to Virgil. “His phone number is on there. I told him someone would be in touch to lock down his statement.”

  “Any chance Wade’s a part of this? What’s your gut say?”

  “My gut says I mostly run a radar gun out at the edge of the highway, which is trooper speak for I don’t know. He had tears in his eyes when he saw his driver in the back of that truck, though.”

  “Okay. You think it went down here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe your crime scene people will be able to tell. The security chief, Wade, told me that there was absolutely no reason for this truck to be where it is right now, so my guess—and that’s all it is…a guess—would be that whoever did this intercepted Boyd somehow and killed him there, then came out here and made off with the goods. Man, there’s going to be a ton of meth floating around pretty soon.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Virgil said.

  “Here’s hoping you figure it out.” Ringer yawned, then scratched the back of his head.

  “Got a card?” Virgil said.

  Ringer reached into his pocket again and pulled out his card. Virgil slipped it into his own pocket and said, “Nice work, Dan. Go ahead and take off. We’ve got it from here.”

  Ringer thanked him, then got back in his squad car and drove away.

  Virgil walked over to the back of the delivery truck. Mimi and Chip were suited up and getting ready to work the interior of the van. Lawless gave Virgil a wait a minute finger, then pulled his camera out of its bag and connected it to an iPad.

  He brought the digital camera and tablet to life, then said, “This isn’t much, but it looks like there were at least two men who took the drugs, and I’m thinking more likely three.”

  “How do you know that?” Virgil said.

  Lawless went through the photographs. “Look at the footprints on the floor of the cargo area.” He pointed to specific areas on the iPad, zooming in and out as he did so. “One set obviously belongs to the victim, from loading the truck. You can see they match up with the shoes he’s wearing. Those are all very faint because I’m guessing the distribution center is a pretty clean place.” He switched to a different photo and said, “This set matches perfectly with the type of shoes Trooper Ringer was wearing.” When he switched to the final shot, he said, “But the other footprints, even though they’ve stepped all over each other, look like they came from somewhere else. If you look closely, you can see bits of mud and debris…right here, here, and here. The actual physical evidence notwithstanding, it’s a lot of speculation, I know. But unless this distribution center is filthy, I’d say you’re looking at a group of three.”

  Virgil clapped him on the back. “Nice work, Chip. You guys do your thing. Keep me updated.”

  “You got it, Jonesy.”

  Virgil turned around to look for Murton, just as Ross arrived. “What’s up, boss?”

  Virgil filled him in on the basics, then said, “Get with Rosie and see if you can find anything at all. If you do, mark it for Chip and Mimi.”

  “Sure thing,” Ross said. He turned to go find Rosencrantz, but Virgil stopped him. “Hey, Ross?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you happen to notice if the cement guys had started on the pad yet?”

  Ross shook his head. “When I walked in the front door my phone was already ringing. I told Sarah hello and goodbye in the same breath.”

  Virgil gave him a half-grin. “Was she mad?”

  “No, I think she was sort of expecting it.”

  Virgil told Rosencrantz to get with the Boone County sheriff’s department and let them know they were working the scene. “Also, ask him what he knows about this MedX distribution center. Problems in the past, theft, disgruntled employees, like that. Murt and I are going to go talk to their security chief.”

  Rosencrantz said he would. Virgil took out the note Ringer had given him and called the MedX security chief to let them know they’d be right over. Then he and Murton walked back to Virgil’s truck and headed that way. They were about a mile away when Murton said, “Pull over, Virgil, nice and slow.”

  Using Virgil’s proper name was Murton’s way of getting his brother’s attention. Virgil slowed, then stopped. “What is it?”

  Murton was looking out the side window. “Back up about seventy-five feet. Slowly. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Virgil put the truck in reverse and began to back up.

  “Keep it right in the center. Okay, right there. Stop.”

  “What do you see?”

  Murton popped his door. “Probably nothing, but let’s go check it out.”

  They walked to the rear of the truck and Murton pointed. “Take a look at that.”

  Virgil followed his brother’s gaze and saw a tire iron on the ground, just off the edge of the road, its socket end covered in blood and gore. Flies were buzzing around one end of the tool. He looked at the tire iron, then turned and looked in the direction of the distribution center, about a mile away. When he looked at Murton, he said, “You think?”

  “Boyd took it hard in the eye. There’s no question about that. And the end of the tire iron is covered with blood and things I don’t want to think about.”

  Virgil pulled his phone out and called Mimi. “Meems, it’s me. I know you’re not the coroner, but how did the victim die?”

  “Two people shooting the poop, or court of law?”

  “Shooting poop,” Virgil said.

  “The blow to the eye would have probably been enough. It looks like there was quite a bit of penetration, but I think what really did him in was a massive blow to the base of his skull.”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but we may have found the murde
r weapon.”

  Murton leaned in close to Virgil’s phone and said, “It was actually me.”

  When Murton leaned back out of the way, Virgil told Mimi where they were, and asked her to send Lawless with his camera and gear. He told her they’d wait where they were until he showed up.

  After he ended the call, Virgil looked at Murton and said, “Boy, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.”

  Murton frowned at him. “Who said anything about luck? I was watching for something the entire time.”

  Lawless pulled up ten minutes later, walked over, and said, “What have you got?”

  Virgil pointed at the tire iron and said, “That caught Murt’s eye as we were driving by.”

  Lawless got down very close to the ground and eyeballed the tire iron. “Looks like it caught someone else’s eye as well.” Then he did the same thing Virgil had done. He turned and looked back down the road. “The distribution center over that way?”

  “Yeah,” Virgil said.

  Lawless stared in the direction of the building for a moment, then turned and looked down at the suspected weapon. He peered into the weeds at the side of the road, then began taking pictures of the shoulder and shallow ditch near the tire iron. When he was finished, he said, “Look at those weeds. See how they’re all flattened out?”

  Virgil and Murton both looked and nodded.

  “There’s some mud down there,” Lawless said. “Not much, but if we match the dirt, and the blood, this is probably where it went down.” Then he looked at Murton and said, “Man, you’re good.”

  Murton looked at Virgil and said, “See.”

  Virgil ignored him and asked Lawless if he needed them to stay.

  “No, go ahead. I’m going to photograph everything, make a short video, then collect the samples. I’ll take the tire iron back with me as well. Probably be gone before you guys are done in there.” He turned to Murton and said, “Remind me not to commit any serious crimes while you’re still working.”