by Thomas Scott
“I guess not since you’re only now just mentioning it.”
“How does one o’clock sound?”
“It sounds like you forgot is what it sounds like.”
Becky burst through the back door. She waved a piece of paper at them. “I think I’ve got it…the code. You guys better come and take a look.”
Pate had the cut-down 20 gauge with a pistol grip and Hector had a throw-away .32 fitted with a suppressor. They’d leave the .32 behind, minus the suppressor, of course. They’d worked out the plan—impromptu as it was—on the way over. In a way, Pate was disappointed. He had it in the back of his head that Pearson could be saved, that they could continue working together, except no one had ever screwed him out of three cents, much less three hundred million bucks and Pearson wasn’t going to be the exception.
They walked up to Pearson’s door and Hector gave a polite little knock, the kind a neighbor, or pizza delivery person might make. Tap, tap, tap.
When Pearson opened the door a few seconds later, Hector was on him like a malnourished pit-bull. He grabbed him by the throat, stuck the gun against his forehead and backed him right down the hall. Pate closed the door and followed them in.
“It’s octal,” Becky said. “The code. It was right there the whole time. I just now figured it out.”
“What the hell is octal?” Virgil said.
“It’s a numerical numbering system built on a base eight platform using the digits zero through seven,” Murton said.
Virgil and Becky stared at him.
“What? I’m educated.”
Virgil looked at Becky for verification. “He’s right,” she said. “Boy, that makes me a little wet.”
“Becky…”
“Yeah, yeah. So I was completely stumped at first. I mean, it’s nothing more than a random set of numbers right? So I started thinking, what if the numbers corresponded to map or grid coordinates. Let me tell you, it didn’t take long to figure out that that wasn’t right, unless the meaning of the code had something to do with the Sea of Japan at thirty thousand feet. Then I thought, maybe it’s as simple as the numbers matching up with letters of the alphabet, you know, like the numeral one is equal to the letter ‘A’ and the numeral two is equal to ‘B’ and so on. Except that didn’t work either because there were too many zero’s in there unless you factor in that zero was equal to ‘a’ and one was equal to ‘B’ but that didn’t work out either, so I went back to the basics. Pope was a programmer. A coder, right? So I looked at all the basic coding systems like ASCII, HEX, and octal. ASCII and HEX didn’t pan out, but when I got to octal—”
“Becky?”
She tilted her head to the side and batted her eyelashes. “Yes, Virgie?”
“What does it mean?”
She pointed at the paper and said, “I broke the number sequence down into groups of three. The first three numbers…one, zero, and two? It’s actually the number one hundred and two. In the octal system, that number corresponds to the letter ‘B.’ the sequence breaks down to five letters: B, P, C, o, S.”
Virgil took the paper from her and looked at the letters. “Is that a zero, right there between the ‘C’ and the ‘S,’ or is it the letter ‘O.’”
“It’s the lower case letter.”
“That’s what I thought.” Virgil pulled out his phone and called Pearson’s number.
“What is it, Jones-man?”
“It’s Pearson. Those letters stand for Bradley Pearson, Chief of Staff.”
“How do you know?” Murton said.
“He notices things like that,” Becky said.
Virgil listened to Pearson’s phone ring five times before it clicked over to voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message.
Murton was skeptical. “You know those letters could mean just about anything. Maybe they stand for British Petroleum Community outreach Services. Or, Borrow Plunger, Commode over Stuffed.”
Virgil ignored him and dialed Pearson’s number again. As the phone was ringing he heard him say, “Baked Pretzel Cheese on Side…”
Abby had a full bottle of Bordeaux—the good stuff from the rack, not the cheap kind Pearson kept in the kitchen cabinet—and when she came around the corner and saw Hector holding the gun to Bradley’s head she let out a yelp, dropped the bottle and ran for the back door. Pate said, “Go,” leveled the pistol grip on Pearson and backed him right onto the living room sofa. “If you say one word, make one fucking noise, you will die right here and right now. Look into my eyes and tell me I’m lying. Nod if you understand.”
Pearson swallowed, then nodded.
Virgil looked at Murton. “Let’s take a ride.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “Over to Pearson’s?”
“It’s about five minutes from here.”
“Only three if I drive. That leaves me two minutes to eat my dinner.”
“Murt…”
“Yeah, yeah.” He looked at Becky. “I love him, I really do, but everything’s always an emergency. Get used to it.”
“Be nice,” Becky said. “Besides, it’s kind of exciting. Can I come?”
“No,” Murton said as he stood up.
“Why not? I can handle myself.”
“I’m sure you can. But it’s going to take us three minutes to get there, thirty seconds to see that there is nothing to see and three minutes to get back.”
“So?”
“So I need you to guard my dinner. I’m starving.”
“Can we go now?” Virgil said.
“Yeah,” Murton said. “I’m waiting on you.”
Hector followed Monroe out the back, saw her scramble over the neighbor’s fence two houses away and took off after her. He got to the fence just as she was turning the corner next to a detached garage that backed up to an alleyway. When she tripped over a downspout extension and went down, Hector leveled the .32 across the top of the fence rail, aimed in the fading light at the spot where she would be when she stood and waited no more than a half second before he pulled the trigger three times.
Abby stood and when she did she felt the slugs hit her in the back. She didn’t know that she’d been shot, only that something had hit her from behind—hard—pushing her into the side of the garage. Her knees gave out and she slid face first against the siding and when her head slipped past chest level on the way down she saw her own blood, but it didn’t register with her.
A dog began to bark not far away. Porch lights from the house on the far side of the garage lit up. Somebody opened a back door and shouted “Hey!” but Hector was already gone.
“I’m going to allow you to speak now, Bradley. Do not disappoint me with your answers. There may be a way out of this for you. Admittedly, I’m having a little trouble seeing that particular scenario, but I don’t deny the possibility of its existence. With me so far?”
Pearson nodded, his brain working almost as hard as his heart. “Gus, I don’t know what’s happening here. Why are you—”
“Don’t think, Bradley. Thinking right now would be a mistake. I’m going to ask you some very simple questions and you’re going to give me some very simple and truthful answers.”
Hector came through the back door and into the living room. “We’re out of time, Boss.”
“This should only take a moment.”
“We don’t have a moment.”
Pate ignored Hector and kept his focus on Pearson.
“Boss…”
“I said just a moment, Hector. We’re almost finished here.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“Bradley, where is the lottery ticket?”
“What? What ticket? Gus, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pate took the picture from his coat pocket and handed it to Pearson. “This is a security camera photo of you and Nichole Pope leaving a convenience store together just seconds after the winning ticket was electronically verified. Don’t make me ask you again, Bradley. Where is the ticket?”
> Pearson looked at the photo and when he saw the woman on his arm, her smiling face, the way they’d looked at each other for just that split second, he knew he’d been played by the Pope twins. Had she been in possession of the ticket the entire time? How was that possible? Wu would have told him. Ah, Wu. He was with the twins. Jesus, how long had they been working him? He shook his head. Knew he’d never get the answer to that even as he played his last card. What did they call that in Vegas? Going out?
“Nichole has it. She played us, Gus. You and me both.”
Pate gave Hector a quick look. “That may or may not be true, but you know what the difference is between you and me, Bradley?”
“What’s that, Gus?”
“I’m going to live to agonize over it.”
Pate stepped back and when he did, Hector put the gun to the side of Pearson’s head and pulled the trigger.
They took Sandy’s car and headed for Pearson’s house. “Maybe it stands for Bring Pastries. Croissants or Strudels.”
Virgil didn’t answer.
“Bad Puppy Chewed on Sofa.”
“Would you give it a rest, please?”
“I’m just saying, it could mean anything, like, Bug Problem Caterpillars on Screen.”
“I get it. Don’t make me pull this car over. I will let you out.”
“You drive like an old lady. I would have had us there by now. “Maybe it’s Bowel Problems, Can’t order Sushi…”
Pearson was dead on the couch. His body was slumped sideways, like he’d fallen asleep, or passed out drunk, except for the blood and brain tissue splattered everywhere. “Quickly now,” Hector said. “Stand back.” Pate moved out of the way and Hector folded Pearson’s hand around the grip of the pistol, then fired into the wall opposite the sofa. The suppressor worked well. The loudest sound was the cycling action of the gun. He let Pearson’s arm fall to his side. “I am certain the police are already on their way. There was some noise from the woman. Not from the gun, but from when she went down. What have you touched?”
“Nothing. Not one single thing. Wait, that’s not right. I closed the front door. The inside handle.”
“What else?”
“Nothing, I’m sure.”
“The picture. Leave it or take it?”
Pate thought for a moment. “Leave it. It points away from us. Adds confusion.”
Hector took a cloth napkin from the table and wiped the photo then let it fall to the floor. “Let’s go then. Right now. Do not touch anything on your way out.”
“This isn’t my first party, Hector.”
“Still, touch nothing.” Hector wiped the door handle, first inside and then after pulling the door shut, the outside. He tried turning the knob to make sure the door was locked—it was. They walked to the car, got in and drove away. They saw no one and no one saw them.
“We may need alibis, just to be safe,” Pate said.
“It is already taken care of.”
“We have to find this woman, Hector. This Nichole Pope. And it has to happen before Monday morning.”
“Yes, Boss. I’m taking care of that, too.”
Virgil pulled the car to a stop in front of Pearson’s house and saw that there were a number of lights on inside. It looked like he was home. He heard sirens in the distance. Murton looked at the clock on the dash and did the math. “Seven and a half minutes. I should probably call Becky. She might be getting worried.”
“You’re a regular riot sometimes, you know that?”
“Sometimes?”
They got out of the car and made their way up the sidewalk. Murton said, “Tell me more about this shindig you’re having tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s not a shindig. It’s just a little get together with friends.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Big Party Coming on Sunday.”
Virgil thought, dear God.
Murton knocked on the door with the side of his fist, a cop knock. They waited a few minutes then knocked again but no one answered. Virgil tried the knob, but it was locked. The sirens they’d heard a few moments ago were now much closer, less than a block away. Then, abruptly, they stopped. Virgil walked around to the side of the house and saw the blue and red flashers bouncing off the houses where the backyards met. Pearson’s kitchen window was right next to him, just above a flower box filled with weeds. When he peeked into the kitchen window he saw the broken wine bottle on the floor. The rest of the kitchen looked normal, but he was getting a bad feeling. The layout of the house prevented him from seeing into any of the other rooms. He went back around to the front and saw Murton trying to look through the front window, his gun in his hand. “What is it?”
“Pearson’s either the worst housekeeper on the planet or those are the filthiest sheer curtains I’ve ever seen. I can’t see inside so I’m not sure, but that looks like blood spatter on the drapery.”
“We’ve got to find a way inside,” Virgil said.
Murton took a giant step backwards, raised his right foot and kicked the door. Hard. The door splintered and swung inward and when it did he looked at Virgil and said, “Found one.”
Virgil pulled his gun and they entered the house. When they turned into the living room Virgil saw Pearson’s body on the couch, the gun still in his hand. “Ah, shit.”
Murton looked at Pearson, then Virgil. “Bradley Pearson, Chief of Staff.”
28
Two city squad cars were the first to arrive, followed by Metro Homicide, then three more city cars, along with paramedics, the coroner and the crime scene investigators. Miles, Donatti and Rosencrantz showed up somewhere in the middle of it all. They separated Virgil and Murton for questioning, which was standard procedure. Donatti took Murton’s statement and Rosencrantz took Virgil’s. When they were finished, Miles came out of the house, asked them a few repetitive questions and then went back inside for a few more minutes.
“Where’s Cora?” Virgil said to Rosencrantz.
“Hell if I know, dude. Miles said he hasn’t been able to reach her.”
“Saturday night.”
“Yeah.”
Virgil tilted his head toward Miles. “How’s he doing?”
Rosencrantz thought about the question. “I’ll tell you something, Jonesy, he’s a fine investigator. He really is. But the political aspects of the position might be a little more significant than what he anticipated. Culture shock I’d say.”
“I know the feeling. Would you excuse me for a minute, Rosie? I’ve got a couple of calls to make.”
“You bet. Tell her I said hello.”
“Say, listen, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow afternoon, you and Donatti should stop by my place around one. Tell Ed to bring his wife and kid.”
Virgil called Cora but she didn’t answer. He left her a message and asked her to call him back, or preferably Ron Miles as soon as possible. He didn’t say why and did his best to keep the tension out of his voice. Then he called Sandy. “I love you, Small.”
“Hi, Baby. I love you too. How are you?”
“Missing you, that’s how I am.”
“Do you pine for me?”
“You have to ask?”
“Nope. Just like to hear it.”
“I do. I am. Pining. Listen, how long would it take you to get packed up and ready to go?”
“Wow, you really do miss me, don’t you?”
“I do, but—”
“I’m already packed, Virgil. We leave at six tomorrow morning. The governor’s got some sort of prayer breakfast or something he needs to be back for.”
“Yeah, okay. Where’s the governor right now, do you know?”
“He’s in his room. I just talked to him. What’s up?”
“Okay, listen, out of respect for the governor I’m going to ask you to do something for me…for him. I want you dressed and ready to go. Unless I’m mistaken, you’ll be coming back tonight.”
“Oh Virgil, what’s happened?”
>
“It’s Pearson,” Virgil said, and he then told her the rest of it. “What I’d like you to do is wait two minutes, then go knock on his door. He may need your…support, your guidance.”
“Are you and Murt okay?”
“That, Small, is why I love you. Yes, I’m fine. Murton’s fine. We’re all good. Two minutes, Sandy. And I’ll see you later tonight.”
The governor answered almost immediately. “If you were to ask me what I’m doing right now, Jonesy, I’d have to lie to you, so don’t ask.”
“I won’t, but now I am going to wonder.”
“Oh, what the hell, I’ll tell you. But you’ve got to promise that you won’t tell anyone. It’ll destroy my tough guy image. I’m ironing my boxer shorts. Well, not just my boxers. I’m ironing everything. Shirts, pants, the works. Even my socks. I’ve been doing it for years, actually. It’s something of a meditational process, I think. I know I enjoy it. I always have. I’ll tell you something else; I do not think that makes me weird, no matter what my wife might tell you.”
“Governor, in about thirty seconds or so, Sandy is going to knock on your door. I asked her to. I thought you might need some…support.”
“Support? Support for what?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, sir…” In the background, Virgil heard the knock on the governor’s door.
The governor opened the door and once Sandy was inside he put the phone on speaker and set it on the table in the corner of his suite. The two of them sat down, the governor took a breath then said, “Tell me.”
He said the words ‘tell me’ and suddenly Virgil didn’t quite know how to say it. In the brief pause that developed the governor said, “It’s Pearson, isn’t it?”
