by Thomas Scott
“Sam? Sam Whittle? Is that you?”
He turned and saw an elderly woman walking out of her flowerbed and over toward him. She wore an oversized hat to keep the sun off her face, blue jeans with dirty knees, green plastic garden boots, and a sweatshirt, even though it was a warm day. He couldn’t remember her name, so he went with his manners instead. “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to see you again.”
“And you, young man. My goodness, it’s hot out here, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Sam said. “You’ve got to remember to hydrate when it’s this warm. As a matter of fact, here—” He reached into the truck and handed the woman the other bottle of water he’d taken from his father’s fridge.
“Thank you, dear. I was just about to go inside and get myself one when I saw you.” She twisted the cap off the bottle and took a polite sip, then a larger one to quench her thirst, before setting the bottle down.
“I see the movers came and got everything,” Sam said. “I wasn’t sure exactly when they’d get here.”
“Oh, yes, they were here yesterday. Worked hard and fast. Don and Karen really had them hustling. Anyway, I’ll let you go. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to make sure it was family over here, and not some sort of crook.”
No, the crooks have come and gone, Sam thought.
“What was that?” The neighbor said.
“I said, no, I just wanted to come over and get my books.”
The woman clapped her hands a single time like she might be trying to kill a gnat. “Oh, Sam, your books are absolutely wonderful. I’ve read every one of them. When is the next one coming out?”
“Thank you. I’m not quite sure. My editor has it now. Probably in a few months.”
“Well, I can’t wait, that’s for sure. And, listen, Sam, about your father…I’m so sorry for your loss, but I hope you know how proud he was of you, and what you’ve made of yourself. It’s all he ever really talked about.”
And in that single moment of time, Sam had never felt more alone in his entire life.
Chapter Fourteen
PRESENT-DAY:
Virgil and Murton arrived at the Tate residence, a tan brick McMansion located in one of Kokomo’s nicer subdivisions. The house itself backed up to the Wildcat Creek Golf Course. As they climbed out of Virgil’s truck, Murton looked at his brother and said, “You ever think about trying golf sometime?”
Virgil gave Murton a dry look, and said, “I think golf is a complete and total waste of time.”
“So you’ve tried it then,” Murton said.
Virgil chuckled. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that. I think they actually invented the term Mulligan when I was on the course.”
Murton was about to take another poke at his brother when the front door opened. A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair—trending more toward salt—greeted them with a sad smile. “Are you the detectives from the state?”
“We are,” Virgil said. “I’m Detective Virgil Jones, and this is my partner, Murton Wheeler.”
“I’m John Tate, Lisa’s father. Thank you for making the trip up. Please, come in.”
Tate led them through the house. It had a modern, open and airy design, tastefully decorated with just a whiff of money showing in the artwork and furnishings. They made their way into what Virgil thought must have been Tate’s home office, a richly appointed room with bookshelves on three walls that stretched from floor to ceiling, a massive desk with two computer monitors, and a comfortable seating area with four high-backed wing chairs. The view from Tate’s desk gave onto the golf course that bordered the backyard. Once they were seated, Virgil looked at Tate and said, “Will your wife be joining us, sir?”
Tate nodded. “She should be here any minute. She’s rented a small office space downtown as sort of a command center. We have it staffed twelve hours a day with community volunteers who are trying to help us find Lisa. Putting up flyers around town, making phone calls, that sort of thing. Do you think it’ll help?”
Probably not, Virgil thought. “It certainly can’t hurt, sir.”
Tate waved his statement away, and said, “Please, call me John. Would either of you care for coffee or a beverage?”
“No, thank you,” Murton said. “While we’re waiting on Mrs. Tate, could you tell us a little bit about your daughter?”
“You don’t have to wait on me,” Tate’s wife said. “I’m right here.”
The three men stood when she entered the room, and John Tate made the introductions. “Gentlemen, this is my wife, Amy. Sweetheart, meet Detectives Virgil Jones, and Murton Wheeler.”
They all shook hands, and Amy said, “A pleasure, I’m sure.” She looked directly at Virgil and said, “I understand you lead the team that works directly for Mac.”
Virgil kept his face neutral. If Amy Tate could refer to the governor of the state by his nickname, then they were indeed close. “Yes, Detective Wheeler and I are part of the Major Crimes Unit. We report directly to the governor through his chief of staff—our direct boss—Cora LaRue. Cora was once a police officer herself, and—”
“Yes, thank you, Detective. I’m aware of Miss LaRue’s vitae. Yours as well. The detectives you had looking into our daughter’s disappearance have been competent but I have to tell you, it’s something of a relief to finally have the leader of the unit taking charge.”
Virgil watched Amy Tate as she spoke. She was fashionably dressed, had short dark hair, and wore very little makeup. She wasn’t exactly what Virgil would describe as pretty, but she was attractive, in an almost harsh sort of way. She held her hands in her lap, constantly massaging one with the other. Her fingernails had been bitten down to the quick.
“I can assure you, ma’am, my entire team will be focusing on Lisa’s disappearance and using every resource at our disposal to close this case.”
Amy’s face reddened, and she said, “That’s a very diplomatic way of saying you’ll work it until something bigger comes along, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you, Detectives, I won’t stand for it. Our daughter, our only child has been missing for three weeks and no one seems to care.”
Murton cleared his throat. “Mrs. Tate, that’s simply not true. The governor cares, your community cares, and I can assure you, we care. And, we’re good at what we do.” He leaned forward slightly in his chair, and said, “Very good. But we’re going to need your help. That’s why my partner and I are here today. We need you to tell us about Lisa…what kind of girl she is, who her friends are, what she does with her free time outside of school. The smallest of details, even if they seem inconsequential to you, could be of great importance to us.”
“Don’t you people keep records, for God’s sake? We’ve been through all that with your other two detectives, Ross and, um, the other one…Rosebush.”
“That’d be Rosencrantz, ma’am,” Virgil said. “And to answer your question, yes, we do keep records. I’ve looked at their preliminary reporting, but we wanted to hear the facts straight from both of you. It’s one thing to read it on paper, it’s another to gather the information first-hand.”
Amy seemed to relax a bit, then said, “Our daughter’s name is Lisa Ann Tate. She turned seventeen last week. I say that because I believe she is still alive, even though we missed her birthday. She is a straight-A student who volunteers at the homeless shelter, she attends church every Sunday, she’s an athlete—both soccer and cross-country—she has a part-time job at the grocery store…”
Virgil and Murton spent over two hours with the Tates, gathering every scrap of information they could regarding young Lisa Tate, and when they’d gotten everything they could, Virgil gave them his card and said, “Someone from our squad will keep you updated as often as necessary. We’ll have follow-up questions as the investigation progresses, so you’ll be hearing from us on a regular basis. Our researcher’s name is Becky Wheeler, and she’s Murton’s wife. She is also extremely good at what she does. Expect to hear from her more than anyone. When something brea
ks in this case—”
“You mean if, don’t you, Detective,” Amy said.
“With respect, ma’am, I do not,” Virgil said. “Please do not put words into my mouth. When something breaks, you’ll be the first to hear it. I give you my word.”
Amy Tate looked away and didn’t respond. Then she walked out of the room without bothering to say goodbye.
John Tate walked them back through the house and out the front door. Once they were outside, he looked at Virgil and Murton, and said, “I’d like to apologize for my wife’s demeanor. She’s one of the kindest, most caring people I’ve ever known, and I find myself honored to be her husband.” Then he let out a sad little laugh, and said, “And believe it or not, she’s actually quite charming. But all this…well, it’s taken a toll. I hope you’ll forgive her.”
“It’s not necessary to apologize,” Murton said. “We completely understand.”
Tate finally let a little fear of his own show, his voice feathered with anger. “Understand? Do you have children, Detective Wheeler?”
Murton remained calm. “No, sir, I don’t.”
“Then you couldn’t possibly understand what this has been like for me and my wife.”
“With respect, John, I do. More than you might imagine. The man standing next to me isn’t only my partner, he’s my brother. He has two young sons—my nephews—whose individual lives were threatened on two separate occasions. I not only found the men responsible for trying to cause them harm, I also took them off the board, if you get my drift.”
Tate turned and looked at nothing for a few seconds. When he turned back, he said, “She’s a diabetic and needs to take her insulin every day. She’s been gone for three weeks. We missed her last birthday. She should be getting ready for college.” He paused for just a moment, then finished with, “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
When neither Virgil nor Murton answered, Tate turned around and went back inside his house, closing the door softly behind him.
Virgil and Murton walked down the steps and over to Virgil’s truck. Just as Virgil rounded the front fender, he saw Tate running back out of the house, straight for Murton. Virgil looked at his brother and shouted, “Murt, on your six.”
Murton spun around as Tate grabbed him by his arms and pushed him back against the truck. Virgil started to move around to the other side of his truck, but when he saw that Tate wasn’t a real threat, he simply stopped and watched. Tears were streaming down Tate’s cheeks, and spittle flew from his lips as he screamed at Murton. “You find these motherfuckers and do for my daughter what you did for your own nephews. Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?” Then he let his whole body collapse into Murton, as if grief, misery, and sorrow were somehow a mechanical function of his knees. Murton held Tate up, then helped him back to the front door, Tate’s arm around Murton’s shoulders, like a wounded warrior.
Virgil watched as the two men stood there for a moment, the front door hanging open. Murton leaned close and said something into Tate’s ear. Tate listened, gave Murton a tight nod, and went back inside.
Once they were in the truck, Virgil looked at Murton and said, “What’d you say to him?”
“I told the man we’d find his daughter.”
Virgil knew that wasn’t all that was said. “What else? Hey, Murt…?”
On the way back to Indianapolis, Virgil punched in Ross’s number on the truck’s main display. “Where are you, young man?”
“Hey, Boss. Headed back to Indy. Almost there as a matter of fact.”
“Did you get anything out of Howard County’s records?”
“Not a thing. Or, I guess I should say nothing we didn’t already know. Sort of a wasted trip.”
“Did they give you copies of their investigative reports?”
“Yup. Got them boxed up and sitting right next to me.”
“Okay, Murt and I just left the Tate residence. We’re headed back as well. Get ahold of Rosie and Becky. I want everyone at the MCU in an hour. Time to come up with a plan.”
“You got it, Jonesy. Say, I heard that little Wu guy threw you in the pool…twice. Is there any truth to that?”
Virgil thumbed the button on the steering wheel and ended the call without answering Ross’s question. Then he looked at Murton, and said, “Was there anyone you didn’t tell?”
Murton tipped his head in thought. After a few seconds, he said, “A few people might have slipped through the cracks, but I’m pretty sure I covered everyone who matters.”
Once they were all in the MCU’s conference room, Virgil, Murton, and Becky listened to Ross and Rosencrantz give their account of both their interview with the Tates and what they’d done in the meantime.
“It sounds like your interview went pretty much the same way ours did,” Virgil said. He turned to Becky and said, “Do we have case notes yet for all the other missing girls?”
Becky shook her head. “Not yet. We’ve got some…a little over half, I’d say. Probably have the rest by the morning.”
“Okay. That’s great, Becks. The quicker the better.”
Murton looked at Virgil, and said, “Isn’t that what Small always tells you?”
Virgil ignored him. Then Becky said, “By the way, I’m putting a program together that’s going to take all the relevant data we can gather on the victims, and sort through everything to find any commonalities. And before you ask, no, it’s not ready yet.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Virgil said.
“Uh-huh. Well, before you ask when it’s going to be ready, the answer is I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
Becky gave him an eye roll. “Jonesy, I can’t write a program if I don’t know what the parameters are.”
“That’s why we’re here right now…to figure out what we need, and what we don’t. Let’s use Lisa Tate as our, uh, control subject, I guess you’d say.” Virgil pulled out his notebook. “Here’s what we know: Lisa Ann Tate was a straight-A student who volunteered at the homeless shelter, she attended church every Sunday, she was a school athlete, and she had a part-time job at the grocery store.” He turned to Ross and Rosencrantz. “Tell me, specifically, what you’ve done so far.”
Rosencrantz took out his case notes. “We’ve got the names of all her teachers, every student she knew at her school, and everyone she volunteered with. We also have the names of her pastor and her coaches…she did both soccer and cross-country. We’ve got her boss at the grocery store, and her co-workers as well. We’ve done preliminary interviews with all of them. It was a long week, and so far, nothing is jumping out at us.”
“My hope is, it’s about to,” Virgil said. “We’re not going to just run the victims and look for commonalities, we’re going to run every single person who has ever been interviewed as well…for all of the victims.” He turned back to Becky. “Those are your parameters. We’re going to do that for Lisa Tate, and once we have all the rest of the case files for the other girls, we’ll run them too.”
When Becky heard that she went a little pale. “Jonesy, that’s a fine idea, but statistically, we’re talking about a lot of girls. It’ll take a month just to input all the data from every significant person these girls knew or had contact with.”
Virgil smiled at her. “Get those case files from the other counties. Interview notes, all of it. Every single scrap. We’ll have all the information in the system and ready to analyze in less than a week. Go write your program.” Then he stood up to leave.
“Where are you going?” Murton said.
“To see my wife.”
Chapter Fifteen
Virgil called Sandy at the statehouse and told her he was on his way. “I need a few minutes with you and Mac. Can you make that happen?”
There was a pause and Virgil could hear his wife clicking away on the computer. “I should be able to. When will you be here?”
“In about twenty minutes,” Virgil said.
“There’s no rush, then. He’s wrappe
d up for another half hour. We’ve both got time after that. What’s up?”
Virgil smiled. “Maybe nothing. Or maybe a little extortion.”
After he ended his call with Sandy, Virgil punched in another number.
Virgil didn’t take his time, he hurried. He needed to speak with Cora as well. When he walked into her office, she looked at him like he was some sort of alien. “Your island tan really makes those white T-shirts pop. You look a little skinny, too.”
Virgil smiled at her. “Got a few minutes? I’ve got a meeting with Mac, but I wanted to run something by you first.”
Cora frowned at him, then checked the governor’s schedule on her computer. When she looked back at Virgil, she was still frowning. “I thought we agreed—not that long ago, mind you—that you weren’t going to make a habit out of this.”
“Twice hardly constitutes a habit, Cora.”
“As your little friend Wu would say, potato, tomato. Speaking of Wu, I heard he put you in the drink…twice.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I won’t…make it a habit. I was speaking with Sandy and just for the sake of expedience, I asked her if Mac had any open time. She said he did.”
“Uh-huh. Just like last time, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, that makes it a habit.”
Virgil held up his hands in defeat. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again. Really.” Unless it has to, Virgil thought.
“What was that?” Cora said.
“I said I need to talk to you, too.”
“About what?”
“I need a small increase in the discretionary budget.”
