by Thomas Scott
“If you’re being set up, and they wanted to do it properly, they wouldn’t only take something.”
Murton finished the thought. “They might have left something.”
“Exactly.”
“Man, Becky is going to kill me.”
Virgil clapped him on the back. “We knew that eventuality was a foregone conclusion out of the gate though, didn’t we?”
Murton finally broke a smile. “I guess. Not a bad way to go, if you think about it.”
It took them the better part of two hours, and in the end, Murton, deciding it might be something subtle, was the one who found it. He shined the flashlight behind the closet door. Virgil couldn’t tell what he was looking at. “What, they planted dust? Christ, when was the last time you ran the vacuum?”
“It’s not dust…and I vacuum once a week like everyone else,” Murton said.
“Only once a week, huh?”
“The traffic areas, anyway. Would you give it a rest, please? I guarantee, behind the doors at your house are exactly the same.”
“Well, they’re not, but whatever. What are we looking at here?”
Murton pulled at Virgil’s jacket sleeve. “Over here…the same thing that you’ll find in my closet, inside my shoes.” They went to the closet and looked in Murton’s shoes. Virgil got right down on his hands and knees and looked closely.
“What is it?”
“It’s silage. From the Shelby County thing. Except I wasn’t wearing those shoes. Just the ones I’ve got on now.”
“You know where else they’re going to find that same silage, don’t you?”
Murton’s eyelids drooped. “Yeah, the thought already occurred to me. It’s going to be all over Pam’s house, isn’t it?”
Virgil took out his phone again. “Only one way to find out. Lou’s going to love me.”
“Quit giving away dinners at the bar, will you? Our profit margins are thin enough as it is.”
“Says the guy with a couple grand in his dresser drawer and, what did you call it…some minor jewelry? You want to give away a few meals or have your permanent address listed as the Super Max pen down in Terre Haute? That’s where they hold all the terrorists these days, you know. I heard they hand out free prayer rugs and your own personal copy of the Quran. If you convert, maybe you’ll get one of your own. You and all the post 9/11 boys will have a great time together.”
“You’re a laugh a minute. Anyone ever tell you that?”
Lou, the crime scene tech answered before Virgil could respond.
“Yeah, Yeah, Lou, I’m sorry, but this is important. I’m going to need you to read me the entire list.” A pause. “That’s what I said, Lou, the entire list. No, I can’t tell you what I’m looking for. That’s why I need you to read the entire list. What’s that noise in the background? Okay, okay. None of my business. I’ve got it. Are you going to read me the list or not?”
Virgil winced at the sound the phone made, then glanced at Murton. “He’s getting the list back out.”
“I gathered that.”
When Lou came back on the line, Virgil listened. Fortunately—and to Lou’s relief—he didn’t have to listen very long. “Okay, thanks, Lou. That should do it for now. Yeah, yeah, drinks and dinner.” Another pause. “For two? Jesus Lou, you’re killing me here. Besides, I didn’t think you were the type. What’s his name, anyway? Uh huh, right, right. Sure Lou, whatever you say. Hey nothing to be ashamed of these days.”
After he’d ended the call, Virgil saw the look on Murton’s face. “What? Just a little cop humor.”
Murton shook his head. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“Know what?”
“About Lou.”
“What about him?”
“He is gay.”
Virgil didn’t believe him. “Lou? No way.”
“Yep. And you just insulted the hell out him.”
Virgil put his hands to his face and rubbed his cheeks. “Ah, that’s bullshit. He’s been in the bar dozens of times, all with the same woman.”
“Ever take a close look at her?”
“Yeah…she’s a handsome woman.”
Murton raised his eyebrows. “Interesting choice of words.”
Virgil finally got it. “You mean she’s a—”
Murton cut him off. “Careful. Use the wrong word and I’ll be forced to write a report.”
“Jesus Christ, I was just kidding around with him.”
“Can’t do that kind of thing anymore. Didn’t you read the employee manual that H.R. handed out?”
Virgil didn’t answer.
“Well, you should. You can get fired for that type of thing. Who knows, maybe we’ll be cell-mates. I heard you get your own prayer rug if you—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Then: “She really is sort of attractive. I mean, it’s always sort of dark in the bar and I’ve never looked closely, but, jeez…with the hair and the make-up and the heels and everything.”
“Caught your eye, did she?”
Virgil held up his hands in shock and horror. “No, no, no. I’m just saying it’s getting harder and harder to tell sometimes…”
Murton was nodding slowly, his eyes opened wider than normal. “Thus the employee manual.”
“Maybe I should call him back. He sounded pretty offended.”
“I’ll bet. And I wouldn’t. Relax Jones-man. I’ll smooth it over for you. And leave the cop humor to the professionals, will you? So, what’d he say?”
Virgil puffed out his cheeks. “He said they found trace evidence of silage at Pam’s house. There was practically a trail of it from the front door all the way back to the bathroom.”
Murton’s mood changed. “That’s it, then. My gun, and traces of silage from the Shelby County scene? I’m surprised SWAT hasn’t rolled up here already.”
“Nobody works that fast, especially state government.”
“They’ll get to it soon enough though. You know they will.”
And they might have, except Virgil and Murton caught a little break.
Murton’s phone rang. He answered, listened for a full minute, told the caller he owed him and he’d let him know, then ended the call.
“Who was that?” Virgil said.
Murton smiled. “My new best friend. Metro Homicide has already started running the dog. They’ve traced it back as far as the guy I bought it from. That was him. He was calling to give me a heads up.”
“That doesn’t leave much time.”
“It gives us as much time as we need. A week should do it though, I think.”
“I don’t get it.”
“He’s on vacation…down in Marco Island. He’s got a place down there. When it starts to get cold up here, he takes off for the season.”
“They’ll just search his place up here and take the records, Virgil said.”
“Won’t do them any good. He’s licensed to sell in Florida too. All his records are on his laptop, and he’s got that with him. He said Homicide wouldn’t tell him which record they needed because it’s an ongoing investigation. They want to see all his records, which they have a right to do under the law, and he’s even willing to cooperate.”
“So how does that help?”
“This isn’t his first records request. The paperwork has to come through the ATF. He says it’ll be at least a week because the feds don’t have a central database of gun sales.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true,” Murton said. “Federal law prohibits the ATF from maintaining an electronic database.”
“Jesus Christ, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. The branch of the federal government that’s responsible for firearms isn’t allowed to have computers? Who thought that up?”
Murton wagged a finger at him. “I didn’t say they don’t have computers. I’m sure they do. They just aren’t allowed to maintain a computerized database of gun owners at the federal level. And to answer your question, it was probably the
NRA. I’m considering membership right about now.”
“So you’ve got a week.”
“Yup, at least” Murton said. He clapped Virgil on the back. “Don’t sweat it, Jonesy. We’ve been in tighter spots than this before. It’ll all work out.”
Virgil turned and looked at him. “Uh, listen, I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic to your situation, and you know I’d do anything for you, but what, exactly, do you mean when you say ‘we?’”
“Did Cora mention to you that I’m not to go near the Donatti investigation?”
“I haven’t spoken with her since Sandy found Pam,” Virgil said.
“You know her better than I do. Does that sound like her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if she really didn’t want me involved in an ongoing investigation that will either convict me or clear me and tells me that to my face, does it seem logical that she doesn’t say anything to you?”
“You’re suggesting that she’s trying to have it both ways?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
Virgil thought it over. Cora had always known how to play the political aspect of any given situation. “I guess I could see it, but what I can’t see is why.”
“Me either,” Murton said. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. She’s probably just watching out for Mac-Daddy. That is her primary job.”
Virgil rubbed his temple. “Please tell me you’ve never called him that.”
Murton ignored him. “Either way, I got a call while I was waiting for you to get here. You know that janitor you were yammering about?”
Virgil gave him a look. “Yammering isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”
“I know. That’s the sort of thing that sets us apart. That and your wardrobe. Did you find him?”
“No.”
“Well, guess what, hotshot? I did. Crime Scene lifted a set of prints from the cart he was pushing around. No other prints in the hospital room, the door handle, the monitors, nothing. But he either wasn’t thinking or simply made a mistake, because he left prints on that cart. Maybe things didn’t exactly go as planned and he got the gloves on a little late. I don’t know. But I got the call while I was waiting for you to get here. They ran the prints and got an immediate hit.”
Virgil’s face lit up. “You are one hundred percent shitting me.”
“I one hundred percent shit you not, Jones-man. Remember Captain Attitude from the Shelby County crime scene?”
“Decker? You’re saying Decker killed Martha Esser?”
“I’m saying I left instructions to have the janitorial cart included as part of the scene at the hospital before Cora called me away. I’m saying Decker’s prints were on that cart. I’m saying you noticed something about that janitor—though it pains me to say it, you really don’t miss much—and I’m also saying that it doesn’t take a very big leap of imagination to conclude that if Decker killed Martha Esser, he’s probably responsible for Charlie Esser as well. Given the current situation I’m in, it also doesn’t take much of a leap to include Pam. Either way, it’s time to look up Decker and get some answers.”
Virgil shook his head. “We can’t do that, Murt.”
21
“What? Of course we can,” Murton said. “That’s what we do. We find the bad guys, lock them up, and let the prosecution do their thing.”
Virgil pointed at him. “That right there is why the Feds have the lowest prosecution rate of any law enforcement agency in the country. Think it through, Murt. We’ve got one piece of evidence against a guy we know nothing about. Could we go pound on his door, cuff him up and take him downtown? Sure. But you know what his lawyer is going to say? Burden of proof is on the state. He’s going to say Decker was at the hospital. No crime there. He’s going to say he grabbed the handle on the cart…to move it out of the way or for some other reason—there are about fifty different scenarios where his prints get on that handle that mean absolutely nothing—no crime there, either. Then the whole thing gets tossed out.”
“But it was a crime to kill Martha Esser and we were right there, minutes…maybe even seconds after it happened.”
“I know. You’re right about that. But as soon as we take Decker into custody the game changes. If we can’t or don’t charge him, he walks. And unless we get a confession out of him, that’s exactly what will happen. If we try to charge him without a confession his lawyer will rip our evidence to shreds and that will only serve to magnify the evidence he planted against you. We need more, because if Decker is our guy, he not only killed Charlie and Martha Esser, but he’s set you up to take the fall for Pam.”
Murton knew Virgil was right. “It’s a risk, you know. What if he goes after someone else?”
“I don’t think there’s anyone else to go after. Charlie Esser was killed because he wouldn’t take the deal. All the other farmers wanted it, so they’re probably safe.”
Murton was shaking his head. “Can’t make that assumption, Jonesy. Martha wanted the deal and she’s dead too. Why is that?”
Virgil didn’t have a direct answer to that question. “You’re saying the other farmers are in danger?”
“I don’t know. What I am saying is this: We’ve got two people on opposite sides of the same deal and they’re both dead. The fact that they were married to each other may or may not be a factor.”
They talked it around, looked at it from every angle they could think of and ended up right back where they started. “Here’s what I don’t understand,” Virgil said. “Why Pam? And why go to the trouble to set you up for her murder?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Murton said.
Virgil smacked his forehead.
“What?”
“I just remembered something,” Virgil said. “When we were out at the fracking site, right as Decker was leaving, Cora called me. Remember that?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“She asked me if I knew who Decker worked for. I blew it off at the time…said something like, ‘I’ll leave the politics to you, Cora,’ but it’s not what I said that matters. It’s what she said right before that.”
Murton made a twirling motion with his hand.
“She said Decker worked for Kreg Gordon.”
“The sub-committee guy?” Murton asked.
“Yup.”
Murton stared at nothing. “This is getting worse by the second. At least we know why he’s setting me up for Pam’s murder.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“C’mon, Jones-man. How do you think this is going to play out? Decker works for Gordon, a guy who is demonstrably going after the governor in one of the most public ways possible. As if that isn’t enough, Decker is a wounded war veteran, and a member of the Indiana National Guard. You know what I’ve got? I’ve got a dead woman who was suing me over the death of her husband, and the people I work for are holding evidence that shows I killed her and did it either for my own gain to make the lawsuit go away, or on behalf of the governor to end the strike and everything behind it.”
“That’s a pretty short-sided outlook.”
“How’s that?”
“You forgot to mention the one thing you’ve got that they’ll never have.”
“Which is what?”
Virgil clapped him on the back “You’ve got me.”
The next morning Virgil brought in three veteran ISP Troopers, put them in plain clothes and told them what he had in mind. “I want you to sit on Decker around the clock. We don’t want to get too close and spook him, we just need to keep an eye on him. So keep it loose. If he even get’s a sniff of one of you guys, we’re toast.”
“Three of us is a little thin,” one of the troopers said. The other two nodded in agreement.
They were right, and Virgil knew it. “I know. But right now I want it wide and casual. We know where he lives and where he works. Basically I want one of you to take him to work, and the other two to cover his off time and put him to bed. One of y
ou can cover as a janitor in the building where he works, one of you can float through his off time, and we’ve set up a short term watch point in an empty double-wide in the trailer park where he lives. You can divide it up any way you like.”
One of the other troopers cleared his throat. Virgil looked his way, expressionless.
“How sure are you that this is your guy?”
“We’re not to one hundred percent yet.”
“What percentage are you at?”
Virgil let the corners of his mouth turn down, thinking it over. “Ninety…maybe ninety-five. He looks extremely good for one of three murders.”
All three troopers were leafing through the notes Virgil had provided them. The youngest of the three…and the most eager, said, “Martha Esser?”
Virgil nodded at him. “That’s right. There’s almost no question regarding her. I was right there and missed it, and I’m pissed about it. But this whole thing has a deeper level that we’re not seeing…at least not yet. So we want to know where he goes, who he talks to, and all that. I’ve already got the paperwork started for his phones, so leave that to me. Get pictures if you can, but be careful. That’s the main thing. This guy is a nut. I had a run in with him down in Shelby County and he left me with the impression that it doesn’t take much to set him off. He’s former military and is active with the guard, so he’s trained and he knows his weapons.”
They all nodded. The young guy again: “What if we see him—”
Virgil cut him off. Knew where he was headed. “Unless you see him with a weapon pointed at someone or have reason to believe he is about to take action that could lead to the injury or death of another, you are to remain at a distance and disengaged. Are we clear on this?”
They were. “One more thing,” Virgil said. “No disrespect, okay, but try not to look so…coppish. Every one of you guys look like you might as well have ISP tattooed on your foreheads.”
The older trooper laughed. “Regulations, Jonesy. You used to be uniformed. You know the drill.”
“Yeah, yeah, just…I don’t know, try to look a little more—”
