“Marion County Prosecutor’s Office. How may I direct your call?”
“Hi, Detective Virgil Jones, for Preston Elliott, please.”
“One moment, Detective, I’ll see if he’s in.”
I started to tell the receptionist that I knew he was in because I just missed his call, but she had already clicked off. But then she clicked right back on, again. “I’m sorry, did I cut you off? I think you were saying something.”
“No, no, that’s alright. I was just saying I just missed his call, is all.”
“Very well, sir. One moment.”
I thought by the tone of her voice I could hear her eyes rolling on the other end of the phone. A few seconds later, the line clicked again and Elliott picked up. “Jonesy, thanks for calling back.”
“Sorry I didn’t get to the phone. Takes me a little longer to get around than I’m used to. How are you, Preston?”
“I’m doing well. The question is, how are you?”
“Pretty good,” I said, then winced at my own bad grammar. “Behind on my paperwork, which I’m guessing is the reason you’re calling me?”
“I knew there was a reason they called you detective. We want to get everything filed and get this one closed off. How much time do you need for your reports, you being crippled and all?”
I thought about it, but instead of answering, I said, “How many times have you watched the tape?”
“The one with Pate where he takes the back of his head off, or the one with the Governor tossing his lunch?”
“The one with Pate,” I said, hoping the sarcasm was not as obvious as it sounded in my head.
“Only twice, unless you count the nightmares I’ve been having.”
“Anything jump out at you.”
“Like what?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, Preston. Anything at all?”
“Nothing other than the obvious,” Elliott said. “He cried a river, admitted he was not only a sexual deviant but a pedophile on top of it, admitted torching his Houston church and then, well, you know the rest of it. He punched his own ticket. Case closed.”
“Yeah, I guess we’ve seen the same tape, then.”
“What is it, Jonesy?” I could hear the impatience in his voice.
“It’s not what he admitted. It’s what he didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why pack every seat in the house, then go on TV and confess your sins and pop yourself without telling it all?”
“You’re speaking of the fact that he didn’t mention his connection with the Senior and Junior Wells?”
“You got it. But not only didn’t he confess, he didn’t even mention them. It doesn’t make sense to me. These two nut jobs are driving around the city taking people out with a sniper rifle, and we know they’re connected, Pate and the Wells. Just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Hey, who knows what these psychopaths are thinking? It was obvious he was going to go out on his own terms. Maybe he just got ahead of himself and flipped his switch before he said everything he wanted to say. I could sort of see that happening.”
“I don’t know. Seems off to me.”
“Hey, at their heart, suicides are cowards, right? Maybe he just didn’t have the stones to admit it.”
“But he had the balls to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger?”
“Do you have any physical evidence that puts him at the scene of any of the other murders?”
“No.”
“But we do have forensics that puts Wells and his daughter there, am I right?”
“And they’re both dead. So if Pate was pulling their strings, why not just admit it, along with everything else?” I said.
“You know what? I don’t know. But it’s case closed, Jonesy. Send me your reports so I can get on with my life, will you?”
“I’ll have Detective Small bring them over to you tomorrow.”
“Hey,” Elliott said. “How is Sandy? I’m hearing a rumor that you two are some kind of item. What’s the skinny on that?”
“So long, Preston.”
* * *
I carried the phone back to the kitchen table with me and as soon as I sat down it rang again.
“Hey good lookin’. What’s cookin’?”
Sandy. “Nothing much. Just doing the paper. You finished down there already?”
“Nope. That’s why I’m calling. I’m going to be here a little longer than I thought.”
“Well, God damn. How long?” I said, and instantly regretted the tone in my voice.
“What’s the matter, Jonesy?”
“Ah, nothing. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said. “These pills, they help with the pain, but they make me sort of cranky or something. I’m sorry. What I really want is for you to be here, at our place.”
“Maybe you should call the doctor, see if there’s something else he could give you.”
“It’ll be all right,” I said. Then I told her of the conversation I just had with Preston Elliott. “It seems like a hell of a loose end to me.”
“Yeah, I can see that. But I think I agree with what Elliott said. Guys like that have got a screw loose somewhere. They’re completely unpredictable. Maybe he left that part out on purpose.” Then, before I could comment on what she had just said, she added, “About the pain, It’ll get better. You’re in the hard part, right now, this period of a few days after surgery. They say that’s always the worst. But you’ll get through it. Look at what we’ve got ahead of us, Virgil. It’s all going to work out beautifully. Hey, you know what I’m excited about?”
“What?”
“Excited and a little scared too.”
“What?”
“Getting to know your dad. I don’t have any preconceived notions about it or anything, but in the back of my mind I’ve got this idea that he’ll be able to help me fill a gap I’ve been carrying around with me for a long time.”
“You know what? I’m sure my dad would want that, but he’s not the easiest guy in the world to get along with sometimes. He doesn’t really open himself up that way. At least with me.”
“It’s probably hard for him too. You’re his child, Virgil. No matter how old you are, or how grown up you are, you’ll always be his child.”
“I think in many ways, my dad could give you what you’re looking for. All I’m saying is he’s the kind of guy that gives on his own terms and not necessarily the needs of others. I just don’t want to see you get hurt because of an expectation you might have that he’s not willing to fulfill.”
“Your father could never hurt me, Jonesy.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You’re probably right.”
“Probably, he says. Hey, did you hear yourself a minute ago? You said ‘our place?’”
* * *
Sandy and I said goodbye to each other, but as soon as I set the phone down, it rang yet again. Christ.
“Hey Bud, I was wondering if I could borrow your truck today. I’ve got to run over to the lumber store and buy a few pieces of board for the bar top. Don’t think I can fit them in my car.”
“Sure thing, Pops. Door’s open, just come on in.”
Twenty minutes later I heard the front door open, then close. “That you, Dad? I’m in the kitchen.”
My father came around the corner just as I was moving away from the sink. “Hi, Virg. Looks like you’re moving around pretty good.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to get the hang of these things,” I said, and wiggled a crutch in the air. “Still hurts pretty good, especially in the mornings.”
“I’ll bet. I put my car next to the garage, out of the way. Sure you don’t mind letting me use the truck?”
“Naw, it’s fine,” I said. “But listen, how about I go with you? This just sitting around the house is driving me nuts. Sandy’s downtown and I could sure use a change of scenery. I’ll sit at the bar and keep you company while you work.”
He looked at me, the skepticism clear upon his f
ace. “Gee, son, you sure you’re up to it? I’d hate to get all the way over there then have to turn around and bring you back.”
Well that sounded about right I thought. I let out a sigh. “I just need to get out, Dad, okay? Sandy will be done in a couple of hours or so. I’ll leave her a message and she can probably swing by and bring me back here.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure, Dad. Let’s go, huh?”
“You bet. Hey, I’ll pull the truck around to the front. Shorter walk, right? You want some help getting out there?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
* * *
We rode together in silence for a few miles, a routine that was familiar to us both. After the stop at the lumber store—I waited in the truck—we headed for the bar. “Which boards need to be replaced?” I said.
“Aw, you know, the ones on both ends that butt up against the cross-members, just above the sinks? They’re fine on top, but they’re getting soft underneath. All the water that splashes up there is taking a toll. I thought since I was going to sand and refinish the top, now would be the time to swap them out.”
“Yeah, probably right,” I said. “So, uh, how’s things with you and Carol?”
He shifted his eyes from the road without turning his head. “Okay, I guess,” he said. “Why?”
I shook my head and let out a little huff. “What do you mean, why? I was just asking. Making conversation, you know?”
“You pissed at me or something?” Mason said.
“Naw, Jesus Christ,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s these fucking pills they’ve got me on. For the pain. I’m snapping at everyone.”
Mason nodded. “You’ll be alright, son.” After that, neither of us spoke for the rest of the ride over to the bar.
Way to go, Jonesy, I said to myself.
* * *
My dad helped me into the bar, then went back outside to bring the boards in from the back of the truck. I hobbled over to the juke box and put some music on, then hobbled back to the bar and sat on one of the stools and let my leg hang down below the brass railing underneath. It felt good to get the weight off of it. I looked at the clock above the back of the bar and checked the time, thought close enough, and took a couple more pills.
My dad placed the boards on top of the bar and set about prying the old ones from their mount, so I took a sanding block and began to sand the area in front of where I sat. Stevie Ray Vaughn’s ‘Lenny,’ from his Texas Flood album played in the background, the bluesy, soulful melody a fitting backdrop to an otherwise unbroken silence, my father and I communicating the way men often do, not with words, but by working together.
* * *
Later, while we were taking a break, I picked up the phone and called Sandy to let her know where I was and to see if she’d pick me up. For some reason, I thought she might be a little upset with me for leaving the house. I expected her to say something, but instead, she just said, “You boys having fun?”
“Oh yeah. Nothing better than bar upkeep. Think you could swing by and pick me up when you’re finished?”
“Sure,” Sandy said. “but I thought I’d stop and pick up something to eat. You think maybe the three of us could have dinner tonight?”
“Hold on,” I said. “I’ll check.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and said, “Hey Pops, Sandy wants to cook for the three of us tonight. What do you say?”
Mason wiped the sweat from his brow. “Aw, geez Virg, I don’t know. I think—”
I put the phone back up to my ear, but kept my eyes on my dad. “He says he’d love to.” I listened for another minute, then said goodbye and set the phone down.
“Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” I said. “She wants to cook for you.”
My father let out a sigh, then went back to work.
I did too.
* * *
Sandy got to the bar a little earlier than I expected and when she walked in she smiled and kissed me hello. “Thought you were going to the store,” I said.
“Well, I was going to, but I thought I’d stop by here first and see what sounded good to you guys. Any suggestions? Hi Mason.”
“Hi little darling,” Mason said. “You know how to make a meatloaf?”
Meatloaf? Oh boy.
“I sure do,” Sandy said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got a meatloaf recipe that’ll make you love me forever.”
Mason laughed. “Won’t need a recipe for that Missy. All you’ve got to do is take care of my baby boy, here.”
I thought, huh. Felt the love in his words.
* * *
Sandy excused herself to the ladies room. “That’s one you don’t let get away, Son.”
“I know, Dad. I know. This one’s going to work. Meant to be, you know?”
“That I do, Son,” Mason said. He was marking a series of cut lines on the boards with a carpenter’s pencil. He didn’t look up when he spoke, but it didn’t stop the words. “You know, Virg, you and I, sometimes it sort of seems like neither one of us has the right words to say to each other. You ever feel like that?”
“Yeah, I guess sometimes I do, Dad.”
Mason put the old board on top of the new one and traced the cut points out. “My dad, your grandfather, he wasn’t much of a talker. I used to get mad at him when I was a kid because he wouldn’t say anything to me except to correct me when I did something wrong. It wasn’t until you were born that I finally figured out how much he loved me. Wasn’t until he died that I figured out how much I loved him, faults and all.”
I sat there with that for a minute and in the silence Sandy came back out and stood next to me. Then, as if she could sense the conversation, her eyes met with mine. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” she asked.
Neither my father or I had a chance to answer. The front door of the bar opened and someone stepped inside, just past the entryway. My dad looked up. “Bar’s closed for renovations,” he said. “Be open again next week.”
I heard my father say we were closed, but when I turned to look behind me at whoever was at the door my foot slipped a little on the brass railing under the stool, then got caught there between the railing and the bar. I cursed, then gently tried to twist my leg back into position. Just as I did, I heard my father say the last words that would ever come out of his mouth.
“Gun!”
When I turned my head toward the sound of his voice I saw Sandy reach for her weapon, then felt myself being pulled to the floor.
* * *
Sandy had grabbed the back of my shirt collar and pulled me toward her and onto the ground. Later, she would tell me she yelled something, but could not remember what it was. I never heard the words she spoke, but I did hear the gunfire right next to my ear. Sandy fired twice, but Amanda Pate managed to get one shot off.
And one was enough.
* * *
I couldn’t hear anything, the sound of the gunshots booming in my ears. The cordite from the spent shells assaulted my nostrils like someone had stuffed fire ants in my nose. I turned on the ground and the pain in my leg made the room swim out of focus for a moment, but I saw Sandy kick a gun from Amanda’s dead hand, then saw her move back toward me. She was yelling something, I don’t know what, but when our eyes locked and she saw I was okay, she ran right past me to the other side of the bar. I tried to get up, but my leg was caught in the railing, the cast wedged in tight. I finally managed to pull it free and when I did, I felt something pull loose and a wave of pain swam through me and everything seemed to turn gray, as if I were watching an old black and white film.
I could hear Sandy on the other side of the bar. She kept repeating, ‘no, no, no,’ over and over. I called out to her.
“Virgil……Virgil, I need you back here.”
“Sandy?” I yelled back.
“Virgil, hurry. You better hurry.”
I hopped and slid along the bar, my bad leg trailing behind me. When I turned the corner I saw Sandy was covered in my fat
her’s blood, his head in her lap. The bullet had caught him squarely in the chest at the bottom of his rib cage. The color had drained from his face, and blood ran from both corners of his mouth. Sandy had one arm wrapped around his body, holding him in place, her other hand pressed tight over the gaping wound in his chest. I could see his blood as it burst between her fingers with every beat of his heart, and from the time it took me to move from the end of the bar to where they lay, he had lost more blood than I thought the human body capable of containing.
I already had my cell phone out. I punched in 9-1-1, shouted our location into the phone and let it slip from my hand. I got down at my father’s side and put my hand on top of his wound as well. “Hang in there, Dad. You’re going to be alright. You’re going to make it. Help’s on the way, you hear me?” His eyes glanced off mine and I felt his hand reach out and grab my wrist. He tried to say something, but when he did, he choked on the blood that ran from his mouth and no words ever came. He took my hand and held it to his heart, then placed Sandy’s hand on top of mine, his gaze held firmly to hers. I watched him stare at Sandy and as I did, I saw his eyes go out of focus and felt the silence in his chest.
I looked at Sandy who held my father in her lap and knew she grieved in ways I would never be able to know. For her, it was summer again from long ago, and this was yet another goodbye of a father figure she would never have the chance to know or love.
After a while, I slid sideways and sat down next to her and ran my fingers through my father’s hair. The three of us sat there like that for a long time, but for how long, I was never really sure.
EPILOGUE
The sun was out, suspended high in the miracle of another day and it felt like everything was fresh and destined to live forever. I walked with a cane, a handmade hickory stick Sandy bought for me when the doctor removed my cast and said I could go without the crutches. When we walked across the still wet grass of an overnight rain, the tip of my cane sank into the ground in various spots and Sandy had to hold my arm to help steady me along.
Voodoo Daddy (A Virgil Jones Mystery) Page 23
