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

by Thomas Scott

  Rosencrantz looked at Murton, and said, “Don’t worry about the food. We stopped on the way over and stocked up. We’re good.” Then to Virgil: “You think the DNA will come back that quick?”

  Virgil nodded. “Chip told me he and Mimi have been using a new rapid testing method, and they’re getting great results. If we get a match tonight, I’ll be back in the morning, we’ll hook Don up, and all of us will be home by this time tomorrow.”

  Unfortunately, not all of that happened, and Virgil was about to learn that his thoughts of the past were still there, waiting to haunt him.

  Kenny Wolfe, the reserve deputy, not only did a little real estate on the side, he also worked part-time as a security guard for the resort’s casino. That meant he had access to the cameras, and that meant he’d been helping Don cheat at the poker tables, and keeping the pit bosses off his back. The problem was, Don wasn’t paying his fair share back to Kenny, which now amounted to over fifty grand. When Kenny heard that the state cops were watching Don Whittle, he did the only thing he could think to do if he was ever going to get his money. He made a deal with the devil.

  At the same time Virgil was driving back to Indy, and Murton was resting comfortably at the resort with nothing to do until the following morning, Kenny made a call to Whittle’s cell phone. When Whittle checked the screen and saw who it was, he answered by saying, “Give me thirty seconds,” then ended the call. When he looked out the front window, the rental car was gone.

  He still wasn’t sure if the cops had listening devices in his house, so he stepped outside to the back patio, and called Kenny. “What?”

  “You’ve got trouble, man. The cops are all over you, both at your house and the casino.”

  “No shit. I’ve already seen them at the house. The same house that has your picture on the sign in the front yard. Thanks for the heads up, asshole.”

  “What do you think I’m doing now?” Kenny said. “It’s the first chance I’ve had.”

  “What else do you know?” Whittle said.

  “They’ve got a warrant to search your house. I think they did it while you were locked up.”

  “I already know that, too. You’re not giving me much help here, Kenny.”

  “Yeah, says the guy who owes me fifty large.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,” Whittle said.

  “If your plan is to run, you better pay me first.”

  “I’m not running. Running only gets you caught.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “You know the street behind my place…one block over?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Park in front of the yellow house. The woman who lives there is about two hundred years old and blind as a bat. You can cut through her backyard and get to mine without being seen. Here’s what I want you to bring…”

  Kenny did what Whittle asked, and an hour later, he and Don were sitting in the backyard speaking quietly. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Whittle said. “Tonight, after dark, I’m going to slip out the back—the same way you came in—and grab an Uber over to the casino. Then, while I’m on camera gambling at the resort and being seen by as many people as possible, you’re going to go over to the rental and take out the cops who are watching me.”

  Kenny shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’ve got no business being there.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s your rental. You have every right to go there. Tell the cops you wanted to check in and make sure everything is all right with the water heater, or whatever. Or take them a pizza or something. Anyway, once you’re inside, kill them both, then get the hell out and drive away. You’re a cop, so they won’t suspect anything.”

  “I’m a reserve deputy. That’s not exactly the same thing.”

  “Whatever. Wear your uniform. It’ll be a piece of cake, and I’ll be at the casino with a rock-solid alibi. That means they’ll start looking for someone else instead of me.”

  “Man, I don’t know,” Kenny said. “What if they start looking at me?”

  “Why would they? No one knows our arrangement.”

  “Yeah, that’s another problem,” Kenny said. “Our arrangement isn’t exactly paying off the way you said it would.”

  “Do your part tonight and it’ll pay off big time.”

  “I’ve heard that one before.”

  “Then how about this?” Whittle said. He reached down and grabbed a bag sitting close to his feet and handed it to Kenny.

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it and see for yourself,” Whittle said.

  When Kenny opened the bag and saw the stacks of cash, his eyes got wide. “How much?”

  “The fifty I owe you, plus another hundred. You in or not?”

  Virgil turned into the MCU parking lot, went inside with the hair samples from Whittle’s house, and found Chip and Mimi working away in the lab. “What have you got?”

  Mimi looked at Virgil, and said, “Absolute proof that Dick Whittle was murdered. The arsenic is in both his hair and fingernails. The levels are extremely high. My guess is that someone was giving him this stuff over a long period of time.”

  “Wouldn’t he have known it?” Virgil said.

  “Not unless he saw them do it. There’s no smell or taste, which is why it’s one of the first things they test for in poisoning cases. Any idea who did it?”

  Virgil nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got a line on a guy.” He pulled the plastic baggie out of his pocket and said, “If you can match this with the blood spot Chip found on the running shoe, we’ll have him for sure. Can you run that rapid test you guys are always bragging about?”

  “Sure,” Chip said. “Still going to take about three hours, though.”

  “That’s fine. I’m going home for the night. Need to see the family. Call me the minute you have the results. If there’s a match, I’ll have Murt and the rest of the crew lock him up tonight.”

  Mimi took the bag, peered at it closely for a few seconds, and said, “We’ve got plenty of follicles here, so the testing should go well. Go home, Jonesy. I’ll call you the minute we know anything.”

  Virgil thanked Mimi and Chip, then headed for home.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When Virgil arrived at his house, he was surprised to find the state helicopter sitting on the pad in his backyard. When he walked out onto the deck, he found Sandy, Becky, Sarah, Cool, Mac and Nichole, along with Nicky and Wu, all sitting at the large picnic table eating burgers and fries. “It looks like I missed dinner,” Virgil said.

  Sandy stood and gave her husband a hug and a kiss. “Don’t worry, we’ve still got plenty. Huma is inside feeding the kids. Let me grab you something.”

  Virgil thanked her, then turned to the governor. “Mac. Good to see you. What’s going on?”

  The governor tipped his head at Nicky and Wu, and said, “Those two are breaking my heart by leaving tomorrow.”

  “How does that break your heart?” Virgil said.

  Nichole smiled. “Because they’re taking me with them.”

  Virgil raised his chin, and said, “Ah.” Then, “So you guys have wrapped everything up?”

  “We have,” Nicky said. “There really isn’t anything else for us to do. The data all points to your man, Don Whittle, so with that in hand, you shouldn’t have any trouble nailing him to the wall.”

  Virgil nodded. “We’ve got a watch on him right now, and Chip and Mimi are doing some DNA testing that should come back tonight. If it’s a match, then we’ll have Whittle locked up tight. After that, it’s just a matter of getting him to tell us where the bodies are buried.”

  The governor shook his head. “Nasty business…these serial killers.” He looked around the table. “I’m grateful for your work, all of you.” Then, just to be polite, he looked at Virgil and said, “Now that you’re home, Jonesy, perhaps we should all be on our way.”

  “Ah, stay a while, if you can, Mac. All of you. It’s a beautiful night, I’ll bring you up to speed on the c
ase, and we can wait for the test results.”

  “Miss Sandy did say something about pie,” Wu said. “I would enjoy a slice.”

  Nicky just shook his head.

  The governor looked at Cool, and said, “Rich, you good?”

  “I’m at your disposal, Mac.”

  So they stayed for a while. And it changed everything.

  An hour later, Whittle was at the casino, gambling away, buying drinks for everyone at the tables, and just like before, leaving a paper trail of credit card receipts everywhere he went. Every now and again he’d look directly at one of the security cameras to make sure they had perfect, time-stamped pictures of him. It took everything he had not to smile. The plan, coming together. Fuck a bunch of state cops, he thought. And that did make him smile.

  Kenny Wolfe didn’t have any problem killing. In fact, just like Whittle, he longed for it. The fact that it would be state cops? Even better. He’d wanted to be a cop all his life, but the closest he ever got was being a reserve deputy for the county, and even they wouldn’t take him full time. There was always an excuse. If it wasn’t this, it was that. No money in the budget, we’re scaling back as it is, maybe in a year or two…

  Like that. A year or two my ass. So instead of being a full-time officer of the law, he was reduced to traffic duty a couple of times a year if he was needed. They wouldn’t even let him carry a gun. Did it matter that he spent hours and hours at the range, practicing until he could outshoot just about anyone he’d ever met? Answer: No. The real estate gig didn’t pay worth a damn, and the security job at the casino was a joke.

  Those were the thoughts going through Kenny’s mind, ramping him up, as he parked in the alley behind the rental house the cops were using. He straightened the tie on his uniform, grabbed the pizza box, checked his gun—a GLOCK 19, complete with an AAC Ti-Rant suppressor—then got out and bumped his car door closed with his hip. He walked around the corner, up the driveway, and rang the bell. Then he pulled his gun and held it under the pizza box, out of sight.

  Time to rock and roll.

  Rosencrantz was at the window when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the deputy coming up the driveway. He turned his attention from Whittle’s house and took a hard look at the man. When he glanced at the rental sign in the yard, he noticed the reserve deputy was the same guy. That, together with the uniform, put Rosencrantz at ease. He called out to Ross. “Looks like one of the locals brought us a pizza.”

  Ross came around the corner, just as the doorbell rang. “That’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

  Rosencrantz shook his head. “Naw. Whittle knows we’re watching him. Plus, this guy owns the joint. Get the door, will you? I’d rather have take-out pizza than any of that other crap we bought.”

  Ross was, as Virgil had told Sarah, very good, and very careful. He pulled his sidearm from its holster, held it out of sight behind his back, then opened the door.

  Kenny looked at Ross, smiled, and said, “Courtesy of Orange County’s finest.” Then he shot Ross twice in the chest.

  At the sound of the gunfire, Rosencrantz rolled off the chair and pulled his weapon free, but Kenny was already moving. He’d slammed the door shut, spun around the corner, and took two more quick shots at Rosencrantz, hitting him in the leg and the side of his stomach. He fired one more time, but missed, then said, fuck it, and ran out through the back of the house and into the alley. He jumped in his car and forced himself to drive as slow as possible. When he was a mile away, he parked and waited ten minutes.

  No sirens.

  No sign of life.

  No more state cops.

  Murton, who was bored out of his gourd, decided to take a little run at the poker tables in the casino. He wasn’t much of a gambler, but he knew how to play, and promised himself he wouldn’t spend more than fifty dollars, no matter what. He walked inside, spent a few minutes watching the various tables, then found the game he was looking for. He was just about to sit down when he happened to glance to his left. Don Whittle was headed his way.

  Murton turned away, not wanting Whittle to see his face. Once Whittle had passed, Murton looked around for Ross and Rosencrantz, but didn’t see them anywhere. If Whittle was here, they should be as well. At the very least, they should have called him. He took out his phone and tried Rosencrantz, but didn’t get an answer. When he tried Ross, the result was the same. He kept his eye on Whittle at a distance, then took out his badge, and looked straight into a security camera. Thirty seconds later a security guard was standing next to him.

  “May I help you, Officer?”

  “Yeah, I’m Detective Murton Wheeler with the state’s Major Crimes Unit. Do you know who Don Whittle is?”

  The security guard laughed quietly. “Do I ever. Is he causing problems again?”

  “I’m not sure, but we’ve got him under surveillance. He’s five tables down on the right. See him?”

  The guard casually turned and looked. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Can you get someone to run your video back—right now—and tell me how long he’s been here?”

  “You bet.” The guard took out his phone and made a call. Less than two minutes later they had their answer. “Video shows he’s been here for hours.”

  Murton raked his bottom lip with his teeth. “I can’t reach the guys who should be watching him. That means I have to go.” He gave the guard his phone number, and said, “If he leaves, call me.”

  The guard said he would, and Murton, who was starting to get a bad feeling, ran out of the casino, jumped in his car, and headed for the rental house. He kept trying Ross and Rosencrantz along the way, but he never did get an answer.

  Whittle saw the cop but pretended like he didn’t. He walked right past, and sat down at one of the Blackjack tables, angling his chair slightly as he did, giving him a decent view of the cop without being obvious. He watched as the cop held his badge up to the security camera, and then saw the guard approach. The two men spoke for a minute or so, and then the cop ran from the room. Whittle smiled because his alibi was set, and it was the cop himself who’d make it happen.

  It was only two miles from the casino to Prospect, and Murton covered the distance in less than ninety seconds. He ran to the front door, threw it open, and when he saw his friends and partners on the floor, both of them in their own separate puddles of blood, he stopped for a full second and had to hold onto the door frame to keep from falling over. Then his training kicked in.

  As desperate as he was to help his friends, he had to clear the house first. He drew his Sig P226 and ran room to room, ready to fire at anything that moved. When he discovered no one else was in the house, he ran back and dialed 911. He identified himself, told the dispatcher he had two officers down, gave his location, then dropped his phone and got to work.

  Rosencrantz was bleeding from his leg and his side. Both wounds were through and through, and neither was pumping, which Murton hoped meant no major arterial damage. He pulled out his knife and sliced Rosencrantz’s shirt free, then used it to wrap his stomach as tight as he dared. Then he cut his pant leg and used that, along with his own belt as a tourniquet for the leg wound. That done, he turned his attention to Ross.

  He ripped Ross’s shirt free, and when he saw the wounds, he lost all hope. But Murton wasn’t a quitter and he never lost his drive. He began doing chest compressions and rescue breathing, the whole time with tears streaming down his face. Ross wasn’t breathing on his own, and his lips and face were starting to turn blue. In the distance, Murton heard the first sounds of sirens, and though he wouldn’t later remember, the thought going through his head at the moment was, too far away…too far away.

  Everyone was still sitting outside enjoying the evening when Virgil’s phone buzzed. Virgil put the phone on speaker, held up a hand to quiet the conversation, then said, “What have you got, Mimi?”

  “It’s a perfect match, Jonesy.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “One hundred percent. DNA does
n’t lie. You’ve got your proof. Now go get your man.”

  The governor leaned close to Nichole, and said, “My goodness, that woman does have a voice, doesn’t she?”

  Nichole smiled, reached over, and pinched the governor on his tit.

  “Count on it, Mimi. Great work. Tell Chip I said thanks as well. Listen, do me a favor and call Orange County and let them know we’ll be bringing Whittle in.” Then, “Hey I gotta go. Murton’s calling.”

  The phone was still on speaker when Virgil hit the button to switch calls. “Hey Murt, good news, we’ve—”

  “Virgil, don’t speak. Listen to me. Listen, listen, listen.” Murton’s voice was hoarse, filled with grief and despair, and something else Virgil had never heard from his brother before. Fear. “It’s Ross and Rosencrantz, man. Somebody got to them at the house. They’re both in surgery at the hospital in Paoli right now. Rosie took one in the leg and one in the side. Ross…” Murton had to collect himself before he could say the words. “Ross took two in the chest, man. It’s bad. They don’t think he’s going to make it.”

  Virgil looked at Sarah, who stood up so fast she almost fell. She covered her ears with her hands as if she could stop Murton’s words from entering her brain. She turned and began backing up until she bumped into the house. Then Sandy was there at her side, and as Cool ran toward the helicopter, Virgil was screaming into the phone. “We’re coming, Murt, we’re coming right now.”

  Becky grabbed Sarah, looked at Sandy, and said, “Let me.” Then they started toward the helicopter.

  Sarah glanced at the house and said, “Liv.”

  Sandy said, “I’ve got her. Go.” Then to Virgil: “Take care of your brother.”

  Virgil’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak. He nodded once, and ran, following Becky and Sarah into the helicopter. Once they were on board, Sarah grabbed a headset, pulled the microphone close to her lips, squeezed Cool’s arm, and said, “How long?”