by Thomas Scott
“Do you have it with you? The picture?”
“No, but I can email it to you later today.”
“Do that.”
Miles gave Virgil a defeated look. “Anything else I can get you, or do you now have enough information to solve this case?”
“Hmm, that should do it.” Then, just as quick Virgil thought of something else. “You said you could email me the photo?”
“Yeah, but I have to do it from the office.”
“Send it from your phone.”
“I didn’t know I could do that. It wasn’t covered in the class.”
“Let me see your phone…”
19
So he hasn’t said anything else to you?” Monroe asked. Pearson had a mouthful of toothbrush and didn’t answer right away. He rinsed, spat, rinsed again, tipped his head back, did a little gargle and then spit the contents into the basin. He turned the water off without bothering to clean out the sink. They were at Monroe’s condo.
“It’s been less than a week, Abby, and we’ve had no reason to speak with each other.”
“So you think we’re good? I’m okay in all of this, right?”
“You’ll be fine as long as you keep doing what I tell you.”
Monroe knew she had a problem, said problem being she didn’t quite know how to keep her mouth shut. She had babbled on and on to the cop and that could have hurt her, but it looked like Pearson had fixed that. Except he fixed it by telling him they were sleeping together and she had been ashamed to admit it. Jesus. She had to give Bradley credit though. He said never lie to the cops and then he marched right out there and told the truth.
So given that, after the cop left Abby felt like she had to tell Pearson the truth. She began yammering on and on until the words were pouring out of her mouth like a runaway freight train. She had already told him about Nicky—how they had been sleeping together—and now she told him how he’d had a plan to cheat the lottery system. She even told him of their plans to take the money and run. After she’d confessed everything to Pearson, she thought he’d be furious with her. Instead, he just smiled, put his arms around her and said everything would be just fine. All she had to do was follow his direction. Do what he wanted, when he wanted it.
“You can do that, can’t you, Abby?” he’d asked her.
In the moment she’d been so relieved she almost cried. Now, not even a week later she thought she’d do just about anything to get out from under him, though she didn’t yet know what that something might be. She’d have to figure that out. He couldn’t blackmail her forever, could he? What, she was supposed to be his personal sexual assistant for the rest of her life? Fuck that.
“I want you to come over to my place tonight. Pack a bag too. I’d like you to stay for the weekend. I like having a woman around the house.”
“Oh, Bradley…I don’t know. I’m awfully tired. How about next weekend?”
Pearson smiled at her. “Sure, that’d be fine with me. Do you think you’ll be out of jail by then?”
“Jail? Jail? Now you listen to me you disgusting little—”
“Careful there, Abigail. Wouldn’t want to say anything you can’t take back now, would you? Seems you’ve got a bit of a problem in that area…letting your mouth get the better of you. I know it’s certainly got the better of me on occasion. So, let’s just keep everything nice and friendly, shall we? How does six o’clock sound? And on second thought, don’t bother with the bag. I don’t think we’ll be going out…at all.”
Pearson walked out of Monroe’s condo and dialed Pate’s number. “We should have a conversation.”
“Regarding?”
“A minor complication.” Pearson said.
“How minor?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Does it impact our arrangement?”
“There is some potential for that.”
“I’m at my office.”
“I’m on my way.”
Pate’s office was luxurious. Pearson had been there before, so he knew the way up. The reception area was deserted…Saturday…but Pate’s outer office door was open. When Pearson walked inside he sat down and came clean right out of the gate. Mostly clean, anyway.
“Last time we were together, Bradley, if I’m not mistaken—and I rarely am—you indicated to me that you were not romantically involved with Ms. Monroe.”
“And I’m not.”
“But you are fucking her.”
“Well, yeah. Jesus, have you seen her?”
“Yes, we’ve met a number of times, you know that.”
“Figure of speech, Gus. Listen, none of that matters. In fact, when you hear what I’m about to tell you, you’re going to appreciate my initiative. As it turns out, Abby was having an affair with one of her programmers. Care to guess which one?”
Pate was behind his desk. He swiveled his chair ninety degrees to the left, looked away from Pearson and did a few quick calculations in his head. On Monday the unclaimed lottery money would go into the state’s discretionary fund. Once there, literally within seconds, the money would be transferred to various API accounts—that had been set up for months now, all nicely written into the legislation and the contract Pate held with the state—so no problem there. But…the dead programmer, Pope, he would be a problem. If word got out that Monroe had been sleeping with him, far too many questions would be asked. Questions that Pate wouldn’t want to answer.
“Yoo-hoo, Gus? Anybody home?” Pearson said.
Pate looked at him. What an idiot. Here was someone who was only days away from his share of millions of dollars and he couldn’t keep his pants zipped up long enough to make a bank deposit. Was this all it took to qualify to be the governor’s chief of staff? “I can assure you, Bradley, I am most definitely home, as you put it. I’d like to have a conversation with Ms. Monroe.”
“She’s at her condo right now. I just came from there.”
“Not now. Tonight. Can you make that happen?”
“Sure. She’s coming over to my place at six. Why don’t you stop by after that? We’ll be there all night. You know where I live, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. I’ll see you tonight.”
After Pearson left the office, Pate took out his cell phone and made a call. “Where are we with our side project?”
“I’m heading out there now,” Hector said.
“We can’t afford any mistakes at this point.”
“There won’t be any.”
“We also have to pay a visit to Mr. Pearson and Ms. Monroe. Pick me up tonight at home. Eight o’clock. Come prepared.”
“Eight o’clock,” Hector said.
Pate ended the call without saying anything else. Hector knew the drill.
20
Virgil showed Ron how to access his email from his cell phone then had him send the picture. The first time he sent it the picture wasn’t attached, so he had to repeat the process before it came through. Once he had it, Virgil sent it directly to his printer.
“How do you do that?” Ron said.
“I took a class. Listen…let me get to work on this.”
“What exactly are you going to do?”
Virgil smiled. “I’m going to let my researcher handle it.”
Miles shook his head. “That’s just wrong.”
“Says the guy with my old job.”
“Speaking of your old job…tell me more about this discretionary budget. No one said anything to me about it…”
Nichole Pope stood at the back of the mini-mart, near the candy and chips and bottled soft drinks. She had a clear view of both the parking lot outside and the front counter. She looked in the cooler like she was trying to decide which type of drink she wanted. A little girl pulled her father along by his hand and they stopped right next to her. They were smiling and laughing and teasing each other and as Nichole watched them she realized she felt nothing at all. She had no memories of those types of interactions with her father before he’d been
killed. There was no frame of reference. There had never been any smiling or laughing or teasing for her. There’d been nothing, really. Just the basics, like food, shelter, clothing. There had been a lot of fighting with her mother. She remembered that. It hadn’t been all bad, though. There was that one good birthday when she’d gotten a bicycle…
The man had been speaking to her and she’d missed it. “I’m sorry, Miss, would you excuse us please? I’d like to get in the cooler right there for a bottle of water.”
Nichole stepped back out of the way.
“Are you okay, Miss? You look a little—”
“I’m fine,” Nichole said. “Thank you.”
“You bet. Have a nice day.”
Nichole smiled at the little girl, then looked at the man. “It’s far too easy for a father to break his little girl’s heart. Those types of wounds take a long time to heal. Sometimes they never heal at all.”
The man gave her an odd look, scooped up his child and walked away.
Nichole was so lost with thoughts of her father and the childhood she never really had that she almost missed Pearson. He’d already parked his car and was walking into the store. Her timing would have to be perfect here. She waited until he’d filled a cup of coffee, grabbed a newspaper from the rack and walked up to the counter to pay. When he took out his wallet she started moving to the front of the store, her head down. Didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. Not this close.
Pearson paid for his items and stuck the change in his pocket. He had a newspaper in one hand and a hot cup of coffee in the other as he moved toward the door. His hands were full so he turned himself around to push the door open with his ass. Just as he turned a young woman stepped up to the door and said, “Here, let me get that for you.” She pushed the door open, stepped outside and held it for him as he walked through. Pearson told her thanks, then he tucked the newspaper under his other arm and reached into his pocket for his car keys.
Nichole held the door for Pearson as he stepped through. She saw him tuck the paper and reach into his pocket. The entire performance was going to last about five seconds. She turned and walked right with him, stuck her hand in the crook of his elbow and said, “Why, it’s my pleasure, sir.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled. “Anything for a handsome devil like you.”
Pearson was so shocked by the woman’s behavior he stopped and turned toward her. “Do we know each other?”
She smiled even brighter and laughed out loud. Then she placed her other hand across his chest “Nope. I’m just a happy girl. Smile with me. You’ll feel like a million bucks.”
Pearson thought what the hell is this? But he smiled right along with her, it was just that unusual of a moment. Two seconds later he was laughing as well. Right after that the young woman let go of Pearson’s arm, told him to enjoy his life and walked away.
After Ron left, Virgil drove over to Murton’s house, walked up the front steps and knocked on the door. Becky answered a few seconds later wearing nothing except one of Murton’s white T-shirts.
“We’re in the kitchen. Come on back,” she said. She walked ahead of him and Virgil couldn’t help but notice that the shirt was barely long enough to cover her butt.
Murton was at the stove. He had two pans going, one filled with bacon, scrambled eggs in the other. Becky walked up behind him, stood on her toes and kissed the back of his neck. When she did, the shirt rode up on her ass.
Murton turned and looked at Virgil. “When was the last time you ever knocked on the front door before walking into this house?”
“That might have been a first,” Virgil admitted.
“Make sure it’s the last.”
“It’s your house now Murt, not some place out of the past.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it can.”
“Well, my house means my rules. No knocking for the guy who grew up here.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
The three of them looked at each other for a few seconds, before Virgil said, “So you guys, are…what?”
Becky winked at him. “Hungry. Have a seat.”
Murton brought two plates of bacon and eggs with buttered wheat toast over to the table. He set one plate in front of Becky and the other in front of his chair. Once they were seated, the two of them began to eat. After a few seconds Virgil cleared his throat.
“Yeah, like I need that kind of grief,” Murton said with a mouthful of eggs. “Small would hang me by my colon from a meat hook. You’re supposed to be juicing. The Gerson thing, remember?”
Becky looked at Virgil. “He’s right. And let me tell you this: You can stare at my ass all you want. I kind of like it. Most women do. But if you keep staring at my eggs like that I will punch you again. You’ve single-handedly redefined the term eyeballing. It gives me the willies.”
When they were finished eating, Becky got up from the table, dug through her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here’s what it’s going to take, if you want to do it right.” She looked at the list for a moment, nodded once to herself then read them the items. “A high speed Internet connection. And I’m not talking about one of those low budget high-speed deals like Comcast is always trying to sell you. What is that, three megs? A three meg line might be good enough to occupy a neglected second grader while mommy humps the pool boy, but it won’t cut it for what I do. Also, let’s talk cell phones. I suggest you go with Sprint. They’re about the only ones who really do give you unlimited data anymore. Wait, I take that back. They are the only ones. You want to know about computers? Okay. I’m going to need two of the 12-core Mac Pro’s. They’ve got twelve gigs of memory and a one terabyte hard drive each. They’re a little pricey, but worth every penny.”
“Why do you need two?”
“One for here, and one for the office at the bar.”
“How much will all that cost?” Virgil asked.
“Hmm, somewhere between six and eight should do it.”
“Thousand?”
Becky let her eyelids droop. “No, cents, Sherlock. But like I said, that’s if you want to do it right.”
“How much to do it sort of right?”
She thought about that for a minute. “Short term, about half that amount. Long term, about three times as much.”
Murton rolled onto his left hip, pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed Becky his Amex card. “Do it right.”
She hopped up from the table, kissed Murton and took the card. “I always do. I better go get dressed.” Then she wiggled the card in front of us. “Hey, what about my hair? I was thinking about getting it cut anyway…”
They watched her walk out of the kitchen and Murton said, “Boy, she’s a pistol, huh?”
Fifteen minutes later Becky was dressed and ready. “I just emailed you a photo that the crime scene techs took at Pope’s apartment,” Virgil said. “Ron gave it to me. Can you take a look at it? You know, research it?”
“The one with the code? I’ve seen it,” she said. “Ron already gave it to me.”
“Were you able to figure anything out?”
“Hadn’t even started on it yet.”
“Let’s make that our priority, okay?”
“I’ll get to work on it just as soon as I get my gear set up.”
“Do that.”
“Say, shouldn’t we hammer out my salary and bennies?”
Virgil gave her a slow blink. “We’ll match whatever you were making at the state. I’ll let you and Murton work out the, uh, bennies.”
Becky frowned. “So, a lateral move then, huh?”
Murton: “Hey, now.”
In Virgil’s truck. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
Murton set a small duffle by his feet. “I guess I’m not sure what you’re asking me, Jonesy. Are you asking about Becky the researcher, or Becky the girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“To be perfe
ctly honest, I’m basing her research abilities on what you’ve told me. I’m basing her other abilities on firsthand knowledge of the situation as it has been presented to me.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, when did that presentation begin?”
“About a month and a half ago. Boy, you have been out of it, haven’t you?”
Murton was right. Virgil was beginning to notice some of the things he’d missed over the last few months, the medication dulling his awareness and his desire to care. “I guess I have. It looks like she’s all but moved in.”
“We’ve been living together at her place for a couple of weeks now. After I found out your dad had left me his place, well, we decided since we were already living together we might as well take the house. A lot more room, that’s for sure.”
“Seems kind of fast, if you ask me.”
“I don’t and I’m not…Mr. Small. Besides, my house, my rules, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Fucking partners.
Virgil dropped the truck in gear, but held his foot on the brake. “So, where to?”
Murton took a slip of paper from his pocket and then entered an address into the truck’s navigation system. “Thirty-two minutes…if you drive the speed limit.”
Virgil looked at the route displayed on the screen. “That’s in Hendricks County.”
“Yep.”
“What is it?”
“Abandoned warehouse.”
“And we’re going there why?” Virgil asked.
“Because it’s going to catch on fire this morning, or more precisely, someone is going to set it on fire. Probably about an hour from now. Come on, man, take your foot off the brake. We don’t want to be late.”
