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

by Thomas Scott

  Rosencrantz let out his breath and grinned. “It’s my understanding that you guys have decided to run clean campaigns.”

  Henderson nodded. “We did, and we are. But how am I supposed to compete with what she’s doing? It’s like trying to run a race against a thoroughbred, and I can’t even find a saddle blanket for my pony.”

  Rosencrantz raised his shoulders, and said, “Why not concede? From what Carla’s told me, she wants you as undersheriff anyway.”

  “I’d love to. I’d do it right now if I could, but I can’t. The county council has made it very clear that I am to run a full and complete race because Rick Said and the governor want to make sure this mobile voting app is the thing of the future.”

  Rosencrantz gave Murton a look, one that didn’t need much, if any, explanation. Murton caught the look like a pro, turned back to Henderson, and said, “We need to talk to you about Kelly Price.”

  Henderson let his chin drop against his chest for a moment. When he looked back up, he said, “Look, I’ll take all the help you can offer, but I want it on the record that young Miss Price works as an intern for the cultural center.”

  “We’re aware,” Murton said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Henderson bobbed his head in a silent laugh. “You’re joking, right? The cultural center is run by Patty Doyle, Rick Said’s niece. Said and the governor are the ones pushing this voting app at everyone in the county, even offering to buy them smartphones if they don’t have one. Said, the governor, and the leader of the MCU—your brother—are all either business partners or friends.” He looked directly at Rosencrantz and said, “And your girlfriend is kicking my ass with a smile on her face, her thumbs hooked into her belt like she’s about to start steppin’ and fetchin,’ all with a gun strapped to her leg like some sort of phallic symbol.” Then to no one in particular, “Whew, end of rant. Sit down, both of you. I’ll go get the Price file.”

  Once Henderson was out of the room, Rosencrantz looked at Murton, laughed, then said, “And Jonesy thinks he has politics to deal with.”

  When Henderson walked back into his office, he carried an expandable file folder that wasn’t very expanded. He sat down, tossed the file on his desk, and pointed at it with his chin. “That’s what we’ve got. You can take it with you. Betty made a copy. But the truth is, there isn’t much to go on.”

  “Tell us what you have so far,” Murton said.

  Henderson looked out the window for a few seconds, then turned to Murton and Rosencrantz. “Very little. Kelly Price was a busy young lady.” He let out a sad little chuckle, then continued with, “Hell, I guess all teenaged girls are these days. It makes me feel like I’m getting old.” He shook his head. “Anyway, she was a senior at Shelbyville high school and interned at the cultural center. I know you already know that. Her parents told us that on the day she went missing, she had an early dental appointment, then a couple of classes, and after that, she was scheduled to work at the center with Patty.”

  “Did she show at her dentist?” Rosencrantz said.

  Henderson nodded. “She did. A copy of her dentist’s sign-in sheet is in the file. She’s been going there for years, the signature matches her driver’s license, and the receptionist and the dentist both say she was on time, friendly as usual, didn’t appear to be stressed, and spoke well of both Patty Doyle, and her internship at the cultural center, and her college applications. This was a happy young woman.”

  “What time did she leave the dentist’s office?” Murton said.

  “According to their records, she arrived at 7:30 in the morning, and was out by 8:15.”

  “What time was her first class?” Rosencrantz said.

  Henderson shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that’s where it all goes to shit. She wasn’t due at the school until 9:45. You know how it is with seniors…they usually only have a few classes to take during any given day, especially the ones who worked hard through their first three years. So, that gave her ninety minutes to kill, and I think that ninety minutes got her killed instead. She never showed for her classes, at the center, or for cross-country practice that afternoon.”

  “So somebody snatched her during that ninety-minute timeframe,” Murton said.

  “It looks that way,” Henderson said.

  “What about her phone?” Rosencrantz said.

  “We’ve tried it a number of times. Goes straight to voicemail, which is now full, by the way, because her parents kept leaving her so many messages.”

  Murton took out his phone and said, “What’s her number?”

  Henderson opened the file folder on his desk and recited the number. Murton took it down, then asked, “Do we know what cell provider she uses?”

  “Verizon.”

  Murton let a small grin form at the corner of his mouth. Then he dialed Becky, back at the shop. “Hey, gorgeous. Do we still have access to Verizon’s system?”

  “Of course,” Becky said.

  “Let me give you some digits,” Murton said. He read the number off to Becky, then said, “Get me all the data you can for the last week. Tower pings, call and text records, and precise locations if you can get them.”

  “Sure. When do you need it?”

  “As soon as you can. Might want to tell—whoops, make that ask—Jonesy to get a subpoena going just to cover our rear, but get me the info right away, will you?”

  “Sure. Are you guys on to something already?”

  Murton let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll let you know. Get back with me as soon as you can.”

  Becky said she would, then ended the call.

  Henderson had an odd look on his face. Murton caught it and said, “What?”

  “I should have done that…gotten a subpoena for the phone records.”

  “That’s what you just did,” Murton said. “By having our help. Anything else you can tell us before we go and speak with the parents?”

  Henderson shook his head. “No. Other than the phone, that’s it, really. Unless some maniac walks in and confesses, we don’t have one single thing to work with.” Then directly to Rosencrantz: “Forget everything I said earlier about your girl. She deserves this job a lot more than I do.”

  In the car on the way over to the Price residence, Rosencrantz looked at Murton and said, “I think Sheriff Henderson might be a little out of his element.”

  Murton considered the statement for a moment, then said, “You may be right, but not every cop is an investigator. It takes a different mindset to catch a killer than it does to bust up a bar fight.”

  Rosencrantz nodded. “I hear you. In fact, Ed isn’t the kind of guy I’d want to take on in a bar, or anywhere else for that matter. The guy looks like he could crush a brick if he put his mind to it.”

  Murton didn’t respond to Rosencrantz’s statement. He instead said, “Did you notice how he was already speaking of Kelly Price in the past tense?”

  “Yeah, I did. It’s hard not to. When Ross and I interviewed the Tates up in Kokomo about their daughter, Lisa, I had to constantly remind myself not to do that. You have to always speak of the missing in the present tense or you’ll get your ass handed to you.”

  “Did Jonesy tell you what happened when we went up there? Right as we were leaving?”

  Rosencrantz nodded. “He did. Said for a second he thought Tate was going to try to take you on.”

  “Ah, it was never anything close to that. The man was simply trying to come to terms that his one and only daughter is dead.”

  “What about Price?” Rosencrantz said. “Think she’s still out there?”

  Murton gave Rosencrantz a look, one that didn’t require an explanation.

  They rode the rest of the way to the Price residence in silence, each man lost in their own thoughts regarding who was taking the girls. Murton, in particular, spent his time thinking about what he’d told John Tate on his front porch, and how he’d handle the killer if they ever came face to face.

  Frank and Laura Pric
e, Kelly’s parents, answered the door together, the looks on their faces suggestive of hope and surprisingly good news, like it might be Kelly herself ringing the front doorbell instead of two state investigators. Murton watched as their faces went from hope, to blank, then finally the stark realization that they’d managed to dupe themselves into a false sense of emotional freedom…the kind that comes from knowing your child is alive and well.

  Once they were all seated inside, Murton looked at the Prices and said, “I’d like you both to know that the governor himself has taken an active interest in your daughter’s disappearance. We’re working with law enforcement agencies all across the state, gathering relevant data that can help us catch whoever has taken your child, and others.”

  Laura Price looked at Murton and Rosencrantz and said, “Is she still alive? Please tell me she’s still out there.”

  Murton opened his mouth to respond, but no words passed over his lips.

  Chapter Twenty

  Don already had his next girl picked out. It hadn’t been that long since the last one, but his urges were growing, and not only that, he found over the years that with the advent of the internet, his research was much easier than before. He no longer had to bother with scouting the malls and shopping centers or fast food restaurants, following this girl or that everywhere they went. And more importantly, he didn’t have to run the risk of taking them from the actual cross-country meets as he’d done on a few occasions. That was simply too dangerous. All he had to do now was look them up on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. Thanks to modern technology, every scrap of information he needed was at his fingertips, twenty-four hours a day.

  It went like this: As coach of the girl’s cross-country team, he’d go to the meets and watch the girls from the opposing team. With the roster provided by the other coach, he’d pick one out before the event started. And when no one was paying any attention, he’d take out his phone and snap a quick picture. Once he had that, everything else was a walk in the park. With a name and a photo, a basic internet search on the various social media sites usually turned up his girl in about five minutes. He’d study their profiles, their sexy selfies with full pouty looks in the mirror, and when he’d seen enough pictures to fire his engine, he’d research where they worked, who they hung out with, and even find their home addresses. It wasn’t that hard if you knew what you were doing. He’d stalk them online, then when he was ready, he’d make his move.

  And later tonight, he’d be ready again. It was almost too soon to take another, but this one had to be done out of necessity, if nothing else. If he didn’t take one of his own, the cops would start to notice a pattern. So tonight, it’d be one from his own team—a French Lick girl—which Don thought sounded appropriate, given what he had planned for her.

  When Virgil walked into the operations room at the MCU headquarters, he found Becky hard at work, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “What are you doing?”

  Becky hit a few more keys, then turned to face her boss. “We need a subpoena for Kelly Price’s phone records. Murt asked if you’d get the necessary paperwork started with Verizon.”

  “Okay, I’ll get right on that,” Virgil said, trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

  “I’m just passing on the information,” Becky said. “In other words, don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “I thought Sheriff Henderson would have done that already.”

  Becky shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jonesy. Murt asked for the subpoena, so I guess we better get it. Since I’m not technically a law enforcement official, that leaves you.”

  “Yeah, I get it. That’s fine.” Then: “Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”

  Becky snuck a peek at her computer monitor, then turned back to Virgil and said, “What’s up?”

  Virgil opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. When no actual words were spoken, Becky gave him three slow blinks, and said, “You sort of look like a guppy. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

  Virgil puffed his cheeks, let out a breath, then said, “You have to understand, this isn’t something that’s easy for me to talk about.”

  Becky, nobody’s fool, figured it out in about three seconds. “Your dad?”

  Virgil tipped his head. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Women’s intuition. That, plus the fact that you don’t seem to have any trouble offering your thoughts on just about anything else. So, spill already.”

  “At least you’re making it easy for me,” Virgil said. “Anyway, after Ron died and all that, I was pretty messed up. Maybe I still am, but in a proper way, if that makes any sense.”

  “It does,” Becky said, and she meant it.

  “Well, one of the things bothering me was the fact that I hadn’t spoken to my dad the entire time since Ron died. He simply quit showing up. I thought I’d lost him forever.”

  Becky raised her eyebrows and drew her mouth into a thin line. “And now?”

  Virgil was surprised. “Murt didn’t tell you? About what happened while we were in Jamaica?”

  “Only that Mason spoke to you. Not the details.”

  Virgil nodded. That sounded like Murton, he thought. Loyal to the core. “I’m not sure the context of the conversation I had with my dad is relevant, but he did say some things that got me thinking.”

  “Like what?” Becky said.

  “He told me he’s been busy exploring his past, trying to learn from his mistakes. When I asked him if he’d made any progress, he said, ‘I’m whittling away at the truth…running down some clues, you might say.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  Virgil actually laughed, and it made Becky smile. “That’s just it, Becks…talking to my dad and figuring out what he’s actually saying is a little like patting your head with one hand, rubbing your stomach with the other, and balancing on a beachball with one foot in the air…all while you’re blindfolded.”

  “That’s quite the analogy, there, Jonesy.”

  Virgil waved her statement away. “It’s apt, I can assure you.”

  “So how about you answer my question?” Becky said.

  “He said he was trying to learn from his mistakes. He said he was running down some clues. As that was happening, a teenaged girl came jogging through the park. She asked me for an apple. When I turned around to the table, my dad was gone. When I turned back to the girl, she was as well. Except she left one of her shoes on the path. It was a running shoe. I think he was trying to tell me something about his past…a mistake he made.”

  “On the job, you mean?”

  “That was my thought,” Virgil said. “I’d like you to pull all his old case files from his time when he was working Marion County.”

  Becky’s shoulders fell. “Jonesy, do you know how long that will take?”

  “I’m sorry,” Virgil said. “I misspoke. I want you to pull all his unsolved cold case files. There aren’t that many, I’m sure. I know it’s a long shot, but there might be something there we can use. A piece of information that might help us find this nut who’s taking these girls.”

  “Some of those case files won’t be digitized, Jonesy. Most, in fact.”

  “I know,” Virgil said. “But the index of the case numbers should be. If you can get those for me, I’ll go into the archives myself and dig them out.”

  “Okay,” Becky said. She took another glance at her computer monitor. “I’ll get what I can as soon as I’m done with this.”

  “What are you doing there, anyway?” He was looking at her monitor.

  “I’m wiggling my way into Verizon’s system. Better get that subpoena going…”

  After Murton and Rosencrantz left Henderson’s office to go speak with the Prices, Betty stuck her head in the doorway again, and said, “Guess who’s here to see you now?” She was actually smiling, something that happened with the regularity of a heatwave at the South Pole.

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Betty. How abo
ut you just tell me?”

  “Because I’d spoil the surprise. I didn’t know you were friends with someone famous.”

  Henderson smiled and stood up…a brief respite from the duties of his day. “Sam Whittle is out there?”

  Betty, still smiling like a teenaged girl, said, “He sure is, along with his wife. How come you never told me you knew him? And look, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I’ve got one of his books in my desk drawer right now. I hear they’re going to be making a movie out of it. Do you think he’d be willing to sign my copy?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Henderson said. “Show them in please.”

  “Right away. I’ll get some fresh coffee going too. The good stuff.”

  Henderson’s smile faded just a bit when he saw his old college roommate and his wife walk through the door. Sam Whittle looked like he’d aged beyond his years since the last time they saw each other. They all gave each other hugs, then Henderson asked them to sit. “I’m really sorry I missed your dad’s funeral, Sam.”

  Sam waved him off, but Henderson wouldn’t let it go. “No really. I know it’s not much of an excuse, but I would have been there if I could. We’ve been so busy and so understaffed lately I simply couldn’t get away.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Ed. Really. You know how my dad was. I wasn’t offended that you couldn’t make it then, and I’m not offended now.”

  Henderson gave his friend a tight grin and a single nod. “I hear you’re doing well.”

  Sam gave Henderson a half shrug and said, “We’re squeaking by.”

  Henderson laughed out loud. “Squeaking by my ass. I’m told they’re making a movie out of one of your books.”

  “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds. And at the rate they’re moving, it should be in the theaters when I’m about ninety years old.”

  Danni laughed, looked at Ed, and said, “I hope you know he’s downplaying the glamorous part, and exaggerating the length of the timeline.”