by Thomas Scott
Said let out a little chuckle. “Does the name Carla Martin ring any bells?”
“You have absolutely got to be pulling my weenie.” Carla Martin was a federal agent with the DEA, and she’d been instrumental in cracking Virgil’s last case as well.
“Nope…and I’ll leave the weenie pulling to the lieutenant governor. How is she, by the way? Sandy.”
“She’s well. But let me ask you this: Why would a federal agent with the DEA be interested in running for sheriff?”
“Why not? According to Rosencrantz, she started with the feds right out of college, she’s got enough time in to take her pension, so if she wins, she’ll have the nice double-dip.”
“Huh.”
“Anyway, get with Rosie and he’ll fill you in, I’m sure. I get the feeling those two are something of an item these days.”
“Huh,” Virgil said again.
“Okay, you’re starting to repeat yourself, so I’m going to get back to work. Talk to you,” Said said, and then he was gone.
Virgil set his phone down, then picked it right back up again and called Rosencrantz. “Hey, Rosie, it’s me. Are you and Ross up in Kokomo?”
“Hey, Boss-man, welcome back. Ross is up there going through the county’s records. I’m at the bar with Becky.”
“Why?”
“It’s sort of a long story. If you’re not doing anything…”
Virgil wasn’t, so he headed for the bar.
He walked in through the back and spent a few minutes with Robert and Delroy before going upstairs. When he walked into the office, Rosencrantz looked up and said, “Man, you’re looking good. Right down to your fighting weight, huh?”
“Something like that,” Virgil said. “Good to see you. Hey, Becks. What are you guys working on?”
Becky mumbled hello to Virgil without looking up from her computer. She was typing away and had three different screens going, none of which Virgil understood. He raised an eyebrow at Rosencrantz.
“I know it’s only your first day back, but did you get a chance to read the reports Ross and I have compiled so far?”
Virgil turned his palms up, then flopped down on the couch. “Not the details. I skimmed the summary pages. How about you lay it out for me?”
Rosencrantz took out his notebook and flipped through a few pages. “Okay, we’ve got this young girl, Lisa Tate, sixteen years old, resident of Kokomo. An only child, living at home with her parents, straight-A student, volunteers at the shelter, church every Sunday, school athlete, part-time job at the grocery store…like that.”
“Sounds like an all-American girl,” Virgil said.
“Yup. Except about three weeks ago she went to a cross-country meet, or match, or whatever they’re called, and vanished. It was like she’d been snatched right off the planet. This was during the actual event.”
“Leads?” Virgil said.
“Nothing. Her parents have some money, so everyone thought there would be a ransom demand, but nothing ever came of it. No call, no letter, no nothing.”
“Sixteen,” Virgil said. “Think she might have skipped?”
“Not unless she decided to do it with her purse, wallet, cell phone, and most importantly, her insulin kit locked in her car, which was sitting right there in the lot where the match was being held.”
“Mmm, that doesn’t sound good,” Virgil said. “Boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Good kid, with a solid alibi.”
“What’s his story?”
“He was at the meet, sitting with Tate’s parents.”
Virgil shook his head. “Man, that doesn’t sound good, either.”
Rosencrantz nodded at him. “Tell me about it. She simply ran into the woods and never came out. Howard County conducted a search of the immediate area and when they didn’t find anything, they had their crime scene people go through the woods inch by inch. They didn’t find a single shred of evidence.”
Becky sat back and stared at her screen for a few seconds. “Whatcha got, Becks?” Virgil said.
“A seriously depressing set of facts.”
“Let’s hear it,” Rosencrantz said.
Becky puffed out her cheeks and said, “According to my data, and this is just the raw stuff mind you, Indiana is currently ranked 15th in the nation for missing persons. Last year alone—in our state—there were over 174 people reported as missing. Sixty-three percent of them were women, and of those, almost twenty percent were young women under the age of eighteen.”
Virgil was trying to do the math in his head. “That’s, uh…let’s see…”
“Careful,” Becky said. “I can smell the smoke coming out of your ears. The exact number you’re looking for is twenty-two.”
Virgil couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Twenty-two girls, eighteen or younger every year? How is that even possible?”
Becky gave him a sad shrug. “There are ninety-two counties in this state, Jonesy. Statistically, that amounts to about a quarter a person per county, per year.”
“Yeah, except no one loses a fourth of a kid,” Virgil said.
Becky held up her hands. “I know, I know. I’m simply doing the math. Look what happened a few years ago with Patty Doyle. If you hadn’t gotten involved with that and found her, she’d be one of the missing women, and it might not have even registered with you.”
“I’ll bet it registers with the parents,” Rosencrantz said. “In fact, I know it does. Ross and I interviewed the Tates last week, and I’m telling you, they were sitting there staring at us like their daughter disappeared last night…not three weeks ago.”
Virgil looked at nothing for a few seconds, then turned to Becky. “Where’s Murt?”
“He’s on his way over. We’re having lunch together.” Then she let her eyelids droop. “Or are we?”
Virgil gave her the wait-a-minute finger, then turned to Rosencrantz. “Can you get in touch with the Tates? I’d like to run up there this afternoon and hear it all first-hand.”
Rosencrantz made a quick call, and when he was finished, said, “They’ll be waiting for you. I’ll text you the address. Want my case notes?”
Virgil shook his head. “No, I’ll take a harder look at everything when we get back. I want to come at them cold.”
Just then, Murton walked into the room carrying two plates of Robert’s famous Jamaican Jerk chicken. He’d overheard Virgil’s last comment. “Come at what cold?”
Becky looked at her husband and said, “Your lunch, among other things.”
Virgil took the plates from Murton, gave one to Becky and the other to Rosencrantz. “It’s on the house.” Then to his brother, “C’mon, Murt. Time to get back to work.”
“Where are we going?”
“Kokomo. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Murton looked at Rosencrantz. “Enjoy my lunch.”
Virgil said, “Becky, start getting a list together of all open and active cases of teenaged girls missing in the state. Maybe we can find some commonalities.”
“How far back?”
The question was a good one, and it stopped Virgil. If they didn’t go back far enough, they wouldn’t have sufficient data to work with. Too far, and they’d be overwhelmed with information, some of which might no longer be relevant. “Let’s go back a full two years. That way we might get a picture of what was happening before she disappeared. It won’t be that many more, statistically, but it could help.”
“You got it, Jonesy,” Becky said. “But do me a favor, will you?”
“What’s that?”
“At least try to get my husband back in time for dinner.”
“No promises, but I’ll try. Murt, you ready?”
Murton dropped his head. “I just gave away my lunch, I’m standing right next to the door, and as usual, I’m waiting on you.” He walked over and kissed Becky goodbye, then said, “See, this is what happens when a guy starts feeling better. I miss the slower, foggier Jonesy.”
“Murt…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Murton said. He snatched a piece of chicken from Rosencrantz’s plate, gave him a wink, and they were out the door, headed for Kokomo.
Chapter Twelve
FIVE MONTHS AGO:
Sam’s latest book was still being torn apart by his editor, which left him with two things to do on this bright and sunny Saturday…yard work, and research for his next book. He thought about tackling the research first, but he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be as productive with the yard chores barking at the back of his brain. So, he’d do the yard first, then spend the afternoon doing the research. He went outside to check the lawn. If the grass was dry enough, he’d get it cut, then get back to his office.
He ran his hand through the grass, and it was indeed dry. He went back inside, changed into his work clothes, put on a pair of grass-stained tennis shoes, then grabbed a plastic bag and the pooper-scooper to clean out the backyard before running the mower. He’d just finished picking up the piles of dog poop when he heard a siren off in the distance. It sounded like a cop car. He listened for a moment as the sound got closer, then it faded a bit, before going silent. It sounded fairly close. Less than a mile for sure. Something going on, somewhere nearby.
He tossed the bag of poop into the garbage can, then gassed up his mower. He was just about to crank over the engine when he heard another siren, this one a little different from the first. Maybe an ambulance, or firetruck.
The thought that went through Sam’s head at that moment was, Dad?
He spent a few seconds debating whether he should drive past the old man’s house or not, but he ultimately decided it was nothing more than coincidence. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard a siren or two over that way, and he’d never gone before. Why now? He pulled out his phone, brought up some tunes, and plugged his headphones in before dropping the phone back in his pocket. Then he started the mower and got to work.
Sam and Danika’s lot was fairly big…just a tad over a half-acre, and by the time Sam had the grass cut, the driveway, sidewalk, and curb edged, the weeds pulled from the landscaping—the front anyway, he’d leave the back for next week—almost three hours had passed. He got everything put away, and was checking the bottom of his shoes before going into the house when his phone buzzed at him. He pressed the tab on the headphone’s wire and said, “Hello.”
“Sam? It’s Don.” His voice sounded hoarse and raspy.
“What’s up?” Sam said. In the background, he heard a woman saying, ‘no, no, no,’ over and over again.
“Sam, I’m at Dad’s. You better get over here. He’s gone, man. He died this morning.”
Despite their struggles over the years…the fights, the nature of abuse inflicted upon him by his father, Sam felt his heart break at that moment. No matter how mean and cruel and thoughtless Dick Whittle had been to his children—each of them in different ways—he was still their father, and Sam felt an immediate emptiness inside his chest.
“Sam? Are you there? Did you hear what I said?”
“What happened?” Sam asked.
“I just told you. Dad’s dead. He just…died.”
“When?”
“Are you listening to me? Karen found him this morning. If you want to see him before they take his body, you better get over here.”
Sam was shocked by the news of his father’s death, but it didn’t stop him from thinking about the sirens he’d heard earlier in the day. “What do you mean before they take his body away? When exactly did he die?”
Don, the pleaser, was running out of patience. “Sam, I don’t know for sure. But the funeral home is on the way right now, so get over here, will you?”
“The funeral home?” Sam was shouting at his brother now. “What the fuck? Why are you just now calling me?”
Don began shouting back. “I’m not your personal assistant. Get off my ass. I’m doing the best I can over here.”
Sam felt the tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll be right there.”
But his brother had already hung up.
Danika was in the kitchen, and she heard her husband arguing with someone outside. When she opened the garage door, she found her husband staring at the wall. “Sam? What’s the matter?”
When Sam turned and looked at her, his face was wet with tears, and he had a particular expression on his face, one she’d never witnessed before. “My dad died this morning. We’ve got to get over there.”
Danika put on her shoes, grabbed her purse, and they jumped into the truck and made it to Whittle’s house in less than a minute. Sam expected to see the police, or at the very least, an ambulance. Instead, all he saw were his sibling’s vehicles parked in the driveway, along with his father’s car, which was also in the drive.
When he and Danika walked into the garage, they saw Karen kneeling next to Dick Whittle, who was sitting in his garage chair. He wore only a bathrobe and slippers. His hair was freshly barbered, his face cleanly shaved, and his beard neatly trimmed. His head was tipped back, and his lips were slightly parted. His skin held a bluish cast, and his expression was peaceful, as though he’d simply fallen asleep. His morning newspaper and cup of coffee were sitting next to him on the workbench. He held an unlit cigarette in one hand, and his lighter in the other. Don was standing in the driveway, speaking with someone on his phone. Danika walked over and hugged Karen, then patted Dick Whittle’s cold dead hand.
Karen picked up a hairbrush and began running it through her father’s hair. She started speaking before Sam could say anything. “I called this morning and he didn’t answer his phone. I guess he must have been in the shower. When I tried a half-hour later, he still didn’t answer, and I started to worry, so I drove over. I found him just like he is now, sitting in his chair. He was already gone. It looks like he made himself a cup of coffee, went and got his paper, then sat down to light a smoke, and then…then…”
Don finished his call, then looked at Sam. “That was the funeral home. I’m trying to figure out what’s taking them so long to get here.”
Sam was instantly hot. “What’s taking them so long? I live less than half a mile from here. Karen lives in West Baden Springs. You live in Prospect. What the fuck? He got right in his brother’s face. How long have you been here?”
“Sam, calm down. I know where everyone lives, including myself. I’ve been here almost two and a half hours.”
“That’s my point. You live twenty minutes away. Karen is half that.”
Karen stood up and put her hand on Sam’s arm. “Sam, we’re all upset. Please don’t do this now. I called Don first because I know how you and Dad felt about each other.”
“He was my father, too, Karen, and I don’t care who you called first, even though I live about one minute away from here.”
“Then why are you so upset?” Karen said.
Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why am I so upset? Okay, let me see if I’ve got this right…you discover Dad’s dead body, call 911, then call Don, who rushes over, the cops and everyone else show up, and I get the call three hours later? That’s bullshit.”
Danika put her hand on her husband’s arm and pulled him away from his siblings, out to the driveway. She leaned close and whispered in his ear. “Sam, ease up a little. Your brother and sister are simply upset. I’m sure they’re doing the best they can, even if it doesn’t look that way to you or me. They had a different relationship with your dad…much different from yours, even though you all share the same history.”
Sam looked at his wife, gave her a slight nod, then whispered back, “Okay, you’re right. I’m in shock or something. But I’ll tell you this: Something is wrong here. Who are they to be the arbiters of my relationship with my own father? Why wait three hours to call me when I’m only one minute away?”
“You’re right, of course. We’ll figure it all out. Just take it one step at a time, Okay?”
Sam spent a few minutes calming himself down, then walked over to his bro
ther. “Look, Don, I’m sorry. I’m just…in shock I guess. You did me a kindness by calling last month and asking me to come here to see Dad. And no matter the difficulties he and I faced over the years, I was glad I got to see him one last time before he died. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for that. Thank you. And I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my shit on you…or Karen.”
Karen walked over and hugged Sam. “We’re all upset. Don’t worry, we’ll get through this together.”
Sam looked at nothing for a few seconds then walked over to his father and gently touched his face and arm. He was already stiff and cold. He turned to his brother and sister, and said, “Both of our parents are gone now.” Then, when neither of his siblings responded, he said, “Did the cops or the EMTs give you any paperwork or anything? It seems like there should be a report or something.”
Karen seemed to stiffen a bit. “Sam, you don’t have to worry about any of that. Dad gave me power of attorney a long time ago, and I’m the executor of his estate. The three of us can make the arrangements together if you want, but I’ll handle everything else.”
Before Sam could reply, the funeral home driver and his assistant showed up to remove Dick Whittle’s body. They expressed their condolences, then suggested that everyone go wait in the driveway until they had Whittle on the gurney. “It’s usually something the family doesn’t like to witness,” the driver said.
After Whittle was loaded up and gone, Don said, “I guess we should run over to the funeral home and figure out what we’re going to do.”
Danika looked at Sam, and said, “Would you mind dropping me at home before you go? I think this is something you guys should do together.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Karen said, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. Then she looked at Don and said, “You have Dad’s wallet?”
Don reached into his pocket and pulled Whittle’s wallet out. “Got it right here.” He looked back at Karen and said, “You’ve got his keys?”
