State of Life: A Mystery Thriller Novel (Virgil Jones Book 12)

by Thomas Scott

“Why?” Cora said.

  “If you keep frowning like that, you’re going to get a permanent line.”

  “If you don’t answer my question, you’re going to get a permanent fine,” Cora said. “Now spill it. How much, and what for?”

  Virgil tried to do the math in his head but failed. “I uh…don’t really have a solid number yet.”

  “Well, uh…get back with me when you do. What’s it for?”

  “I want to put together a statewide task force. Did you know that on average over twenty-two teenaged girls go missing in this state every year…?”

  Sandy walked into Cora’s office as Virgil was wrapping up his speech. She walked over, gave her husband a peck on the cheek, winked at Cora, then, to Virgil, said, “Ready? Mac’s waiting.”

  “I think so. Cora?”

  “Yes, yes, get out of here. And for the love of God, please stop trying to invent ways to spend the state’s money, will you?”

  Virgil turned his palms up. “Think positively, Cora. And remember, it’s for the children. Besides, if I get my way, we might not have to touch the discretionary budget at all.”

  “Yeah, like that’ll ever happen. Now go.”

  When they walked into the governor’s office, Mac stood, smiled at Virgil, and said, “I heard you let a ninety-pound Asian man throw you into the pool. Twice.”

  Virgil let his eyelids droop. “Yeah, yeah, you’re only about the twelfth person to remind me. Is there anyone who doesn’t know about it?”

  The governor smiled. “What can I tell you? Word gets around.”

  “Whatever. And technically, he only threw me in once. The second time he pushed me.”

  “Well, if that was part of his plan, it seems to have worked. You’re looking fit. Ready to rumble, as they say.” Then, right down to business. “Speaking of rumbling…where are we with the Tates?”

  “I understand you’re close. You and the Tates,” Virgil said.

  The governor seemed to consider the question. “John and Amy Tate have made a considerable investment in my political career over the years.”

  Virgil tipped his head and said, “Ah.” The governor was speaking of big money donors.

  “In any event, I’d like to find a way to bring them some closure regarding their daughter, Lisa.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Mac. We’ve got a plan that’s coming together as we speak. I’d like to put a statewide task force in place to gather every scrap of information we can about all the missing teenage girls going back two years. If what we have planned works out, we’ll be able to go back further, potentially solving a number of current and cold-case files, not just Lisa Tate.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “Other than your permission, nothing.”

  The governor shook his head. “Jonesy, you’re among the highest-ranking law enforcement officials in the state. You don’t need my permission to start a task force. Work out the budget issues with Cora and get it done.”

  “I’ve already started that process, Mac. And you’ll have to forgive me, but that isn’t why I needed your permission.”

  “Then what are we talking about here?”

  “The amount of data we’ll be collecting is too much for us to process alone. Becky simply can’t do it by herself. It would take months to input all the data and find any connections. I’d like to bring in some outside talent for a week. Maybe two.”

  The governor let his chin drop to his chest. When he looked back up, he said, “You’re not talking about…”

  “They are the best we could ever hope for. This is what they do, Mac.”

  The governor shook his head. “Jonesy, every time the Pope crew has access to our system, we’re at risk.”

  “It didn’t stop you from using them before,” Virgil said.

  Sandy touched her husband on the arm. “That was to benefit Murton, and you.”

  “I know that,” Virgil said. “And I’m grateful. But if I’m not mistaken, we all benefitted from that in one way or another.”

  “Be that as it may, I’m not entirely sure I want two world-class hackers in our system…again,” the governor said. “Look what happened with the lottery.”

  Virgil shook his head. “Ancient history, Mac. You know that. Nothing was ever proven, and in the eyes of the law, no crime was ever committed. I know these people. We can trust them.” When the governor didn’t respond, Virgil continued with, “And based on what I saw a little over a week ago, it seems you do too.”

  The governor pointed a friendly finger at Virgil. “That’s personal. Nothing to do with the state. And, not to put too fine a point on it, my private business.”

  “What was that you said a few minutes ago?” Virgil asked. “Something about word gets around?”

  Sandy’s face went pale. The governor looked at her and said, “Have you been giving your husband lessons on the methodology of political maneuvering?”

  Virgil laughed. “Mac, you’ve been doing that to me ever since we met.”

  The governor chuckled. “I suppose I have, in one way or another.” Then he slapped his thighs, stood, and said, “Okay, if they’ll do it, we’ll have them. But the responsibility is on you, Detective.”

  “Thanks, Mac. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” the governor said. Then: “Lisa Tate is dead, isn’t she?”

  Virgil bit into his lower lip and nodded. “If it weren’t for the fact that she needs daily meds, I’d tell you it could go either way. But when you factor the insulin into the equation, I’m afraid I’d have to say she’s almost certainly gone. Mrs. Tate is still holding out hope on some level, but John seems to have acknowledged it in his own way. But we’ll find who did it.”

  “I hope you do,” the governor said. He walked Virgil and Sandy to the door, then said, “How long did you say all this will take?”

  Virgil tugged at an earlobe, then said, “A week. Maybe two. I wouldn’t think any longer than that.”

  “When do you think they can be here and get started? Nicky and Wu?”

  Virgil smiled. “They’re already on their way. I called them before I came over here.”

  “Get to it then,” the governor said. He opened the door and let them out, looked at Cora, and said, “Approve whatever funding is necessary for the MCU’s task force.”

  Once Virgil and Sandy were gone, the governor walked back into his office, picked up the phone, and made a call to a number very few people in the world knew of. “I hope you’re on the plane as well.”

  “What do you think?” Nichole said.

  The governor stuck his head back out of his office, looked at Cora, and said, “Clear my schedule for the next week, please. Completely. And make sure anything scheduled for the following week is flexible.”

  Cora stuck her tongue in her cheek, then said she would.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “No reason,” Cora said. Except…word gets around.

  Sam and Danika had spent the last five months trying to decide what—if anything—they were going to do about Karen and Don. Initially, after Sam had discovered that his siblings had cleaned out his father’s house prior to the reading of the will, he was furious. He was no longer certain that he’d been written out of the will as his brother and sister had told him. What he really felt was they were punishing him for the nature of his relationship with his father.

  “Who are they to judge?” Danika asked him one night. They’d both just returned from Sam’s latest book tour. They were tired, but happy. The book was being called a literary masterpiece, and the publisher had already paid out an advance for Sam’s next novel.

  “They’re nobody,” Sam said. “They went in, cleaned the place out, lied to my face, and ultimately decided that they’d rather have the money and the stuff instead of their brother.”

  “You know what I don’t understand? Why wasn’t there a probate process? Indiana law says there has to be if the estate is worth mor
e than fifty thousand.”

  “That’s just it, Danni. Technically, it wasn’t. At least that’s what the lawyer told me. Karen had power of attorney, and she refinanced his house right before he died. Where that money went is anyone’s guess, but I’ll bet her bank account is pretty fat right now. Don’s too. Anyway, the house is out, and the furnishings—no matter how much they’re worth—are considered garage sale value, and liquid cash of any kind held by the deceased at the time of death, including gold coins, or bearer bonds, aren’t included.”

  “What about any bank accounts he had?” Danni said.

  “Same story. Karen had power of attorney and listed herself on all of the accounts. When Dad died, the banks cut her a check.”

  “Will we ever know what was in the will, or the safe, for that matter?”

  “We’d have to sue them, and as I’ve said, I don’t think I’m up for that. We don’t need the money—hell, I don’t even want it. All I ever wanted was my family, and now they’re gone too. I guess it doesn’t take too much imagination to figure out what they think of me.”

  “It doesn’t matter what they think of you, Sam. You’re a good and decent human who decided that you were no longer going to put up with your father’s abuse. You were the one in the family who always told the truth. You. Not Don the liar, and certainly not Karen, the money-grubbing…”

  “You can say it.”

  “Bitch,” Danni said. “Because that’s exactly what she is.” She stood and moved over to the bookshelf and grabbed all four of the novels Sam had removed from his father’s safe. She waved them in the air and said, “I’ll tell you this: If these books were in the safe, that meant he valued them, at least on some level, even if your brother and sister didn’t. It also means that no matter your past, your upbringing, the difficulties you faced, or the abuse…the fact that he kept these books means he loved you. It might not have been perfect, but I guess he did the best he could. At the very least, he respected you in his own warped way.”

  “Well, that’s certainly one way of looking at it,” Sam said. “Maybe the rose-colored glasses version, but I’m at the point where I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  Danika walked over to replace the books on the shelf—they hadn’t been moved since Sam brought them home over five months ago—and that’s when she noticed what looked like a bookmark stuck between the pages of the fourth book. But it wasn’t. It was a sealed white envelope. She pulled it free.

  “Hey, Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look at this.”

  “What is it?”

  She handed her husband the envelope. Written on the outside was Sam’s name, and under that, a date. The date was two days before Dick Whittle’s death.

  Danika visibly swallowed, then said, “Is that your father’s handwriting?”

  Sam was biting into his lower lip so hard he thought it might soon start to bleed. “Yeah, it is. I guess my dad’s not done with me yet.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Danika sat down next to Sam, gently took the envelope from his hands, then set it on the table.

  Sam looked at his wife, and said, “What?”

  “Are you going to open it?”

  Sam knew the question held a validity all its own, one where the borders might as well have been written in smoke. If he opened the envelope and discovered it was simply another devastating tirade from his dead father…a way to taunt him from the grave, Sam wanted no part of it. He’d made some progress after his father’s death…had managed to find some peace, and even forgiveness for the way he was raised and how he’d been treated throughout his life. He also knew he still had a lot of work to do in that regard. Maybe a lifetime of work. On the other hand, if the envelope contained something that could help him heal and move on, its contents needed to be seen.

  “Sam?”

  “I don’t know, Danni. You know my dad. I’m not sure looking at the contents of that envelope could be good for me. In some ways, I think it might destroy me, or at the very least, set me back about six months.”

  They both stared at the envelope for a few minutes, then Danika said, “Would you like me to open it?”

  “Yeah, maybe you better. If it’s something you know I don’t want to see, I’ll deal with it when I’m ready.”

  Danika wasn’t exactly sure if that logic was sound or not, but she trusted her husband and his instincts when it came to dealing with his own father. She grabbed the envelope, carefully peeled back the flap with her index finger, and pulled the contents out. There were three sheets of paper. When she looked at the first one, a single tear trickled down her cheek. When she looked at the other two, her hands began to shake.

  Sam watched his wife’s face turn red with anger, something he wasn’t used to seeing. “Danni? You’re shaking. What is it?”

  Danika wiped the tear from her cheek, then handed Sam the first page. It was a short handwritten note:

  Sam,

  If you’re reading this, that means I’m probably trying to have some sympathy for the Devil right about now. In other words, I’ve kicked the bucket. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father to you. Maybe you won’t believe this, but I did love you. The problem was, I didn’t know how to love myself. I really wish someone had taught me, just like Danni has done for you. I’ve read every one of your books at least twice. Not only are they good, but I’m amazed by what you’ve accomplished. I’m proud of you, Sam. I always was. You alone ended up with your mother’s heart.

  Love—such as it is, I guess,

  Dad

  p.s. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something not quite right about Don. And, if you let her, Karen will take every plug nickel I ever earned. Don’t let them get away with any of it, son.

  Sam read the note three times, his heart filled with an odd combination of anger, joy, and regret. His father had been a bitter, mean-spirited abusive man who never had the nerve to be vulnerable…to put himself out there for others who might have been able to show him how to love and be loved.

  He looked at Danika, waved the note in the air, and said, “I’m not sure what to make of this. Why now? Why couldn’t he have been different? Why couldn’t he have loved me the way he writes in this note? I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t either,” Danika said. She handed the other pages to Sam, then said, “But this is something to think about.”

  Sam took the other pages and read through them, quickly at first, then more carefully a second time. By the time he finished, his face was red, his own hands were shaking, and he was just as furious as his wife.

  The other two pages from the envelope contained Dick Whittle’s last will and testament, along with a detailed listing of all his assets, the contents of the safe, and his bank account balances. Sam did some quick math in his head, and the total amount added up to nearly three million dollars. The will itself was direct and to the point. It said that the contents of the safe were to be split three ways, and the house and everything in it was to be sold, with the proceeds divided equally between Sam, Don, and Karen.

  Danika looked at Sam, and said, “I think we should get back in touch with our lawyer. If we don’t, we’re looking at giving up almost a million dollars.”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, that’s the second thing I’m going to do.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “I’m going to go have a word with my siblings.” He kissed his wife, took the will, and walked out the door. Karen lived the closest. He’d start with her.

  Karen lived on Ash Street in West Baden Springs, in a small bungalow-style house. Sam knew right away she wasn’t home, because the house was dark.

  He went to the front door anyway, rang the bell, knocked, and got no response. He walked around to the rear and tried the back door. It was unlocked—like so many small-town houses, and he stepped inside. When he turned the lights on, he almost couldn’t believe what he saw.

  Karen had gotten rid of all her own furnishings, and
replaced them with things from his father’s house. The fine leather furniture and end tables were crammed so tightly into the living room it was hard to walk around. The kitchen table was so big the refrigerator door wouldn’t open all the way without moving the chairs aside. He wanted to look through the rest of the house, but he knew he needed to get out. Snooping around where he didn’t belong—after dark, no less—would only lead to trouble, so he went back outside, got in his car, and headed north, toward Prospect, where his brother lived.

  When he arrived, the result was the same. Nobody home. Except his brother had the good sense to keep the place locked up. Before he left, Sam peeked in through the front window and saw more of his father’s furniture, along with the eighty-inch flatscreen TV. When he looked through the window of the side garage door, he saw his father’s car and most of the things that had been in his garage. He was so mad and disgusted he almost forgot that Don had a second property—the hunting cabin tucked back in the woods—no more than five minutes away.

  When Sam got to the cabin, he was surprised to find his brother and sister both there, standing next to their vehicles as if they’d just arrived, or were about to leave. He got out of his car, walked straight toward them, and before either of them could say anything, Sam balled his fist and hit Don with a solid left-handed jab that snapped his head back. Don stumbled back and fell to the ground. When he put his hands up to his nose, they came away bloody. He started to get up, but Sam pointed a finger and said, “If you get up, I’m going to kick your ass.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Don said. “I hope you’ve got good dental insurance. You’re going to need it.”

  Karen took a step back, then turned to Sam and said, “Have you lost your mind? What the hell are you doing?”

  Sam spoke, but he didn’t look at her. He was watching his brother, who was pulling himself off the ground. “Shut up. Is this where you guys are hiding the money? Wait, don’t bother answering. It’ll just be another lie. If you weren’t a woman, I’d knock the hell out of you too.”