by Thomas Scott
After he told him what he wanted, Said was a little reluctant. “It’s a fine idea, except I don’t know who to pick.”
Virgil’s plan was simple enough. They’d take one of Said’s employees, someone he trusted, and temporarily remove them from their position. They’d fabricate a story…death in the family, a serious illness, something, and replace that person with one of their own. Once they had that person inside, they’d watch for indicators that someone was doctoring the records.
“You won’t have to pick one person,” Virgil said. “In fact, we’d like you to pick a handful of people. People you’d trust with your life…your family’s life. Then give the list to us and our researcher will do a deep dive into their history. It’s what she does, and she’ll pick the one who’s the cleanest. Then they’ll get a nice long vacation out of the country, all expenses paid, and our guy will be brought in to take their place.”
Said frowned. “I guess I don’t have to ask who’s paying for this vacation, do I?”
“You can ask,” Virgil said.
“But you already have the answer,” Ross finished the thought for him.
“Okay, okay,” Said said. “But let me ask you something. “If this researcher of yours is so good, why not do the opposite? Why not look at everyone and figure out who’s in a position to be compromised?”
“We already have,” Virgil said. “Everyone came back clean on a basic check. We can’t go any deeper because there are too many people. Going that deep on everyone would take weeks and we don’t have that kind of time.”
Said didn’t like it much, but he went along with it.
Virgil wanted to talk about the shipment. “How big is it?”
“It’s a big one,” Said said. “An entire container is being sent up to Purdue University. They’ll use most of it for research, and periodically distribute the rest to hospitals and other medical facilities as needed. Most people don’t know that…that the universities handle secondary distribution.”
“I take it this shipment is big enough to be cause for concern if it ended up in a bomb,” Ross said.
Said visibly swallowed, then nodded. “I’ll be making arrangements for my family to leave the area until that shipment arrives safely at Purdue, if that tells you anything.”
Virgil shook his head. “I can’t legally tell you not to do that, Mr. Said, but I’m going to anyway. If word of this gets out, the entire state…maybe even the entire Midwest is going to panic. You could start something that might do more damage than the bomb.”
Said pointed a finger at them, his voice tense. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“It isn’t,” Virgil said. “People would die. They’d panic and they’d run. There’d be violence, suicides, accidents, everything.” He walked over and got in Said’s face. He’d been prepared for this type of reaction and knew how to bring Said back to earth. “And that’s the human cost. Think about the financial costs. You’re company is publicly traded, isn’t it?”
Said didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Virgil could see his wheels turning. He knew if he leaked the information and it got out of control, the value of his company would be reduced to nothing. When he finally did speak, his tone was resigned, the fear in his voice real.
“Catch these bastards then. I’ll do what I can. You’ll have the names later today.”
Virgil said they’d be in touch.
Later that afternoon Said sent them the names of five people he said were beyond reproach. Virgil called Becky into his office, gave her the names and told her to get started. She took the list and turned to leave just as Cora walked in, a binder tucked under her arm.
Virgil caught the look in her eye. “What?”
“Mac wants you in Bloomington. The Doyle case.”
“Rosie’s on that.”
“Not anymore. Ron pulled him off. Couple of kids found two decomposed bodies in a quarry down in the southern part of the state, so that’s his. Besides, we need fresh eyes on Doyle. This is a big priority with Mac.”
Becky walked over and stood next to Virgil. “What about Murton?”
Cora chose her words carefully. “He’s operating outside the scope of our department, Becky. It’s been almost a month and not only haven’t we heard from him or agent Gibson, we’ve gathered no logical or credible intel that helps him or us.”
“We have to keep trying,” Becky said, a touch of panic riding in her voice.
Cora looked at Virgil. “We can’t let our personal lives dictate how we do our jobs.” She turned and fixed her gaze on Becky. “Virgil works for me. You’re a contracted agent hired by him. How he allocates his resources outside of this office is not my concern.” She handed the binder to Virgil. “Here’s everything on the Doyle case. This one doesn’t slip through the cracks, understood?”
Virgil said he did.
“Get it figured out. And good luck. I think you’re going to need it.” She was looking at Becky when she said it.
Virgil and Becky were still processing what Cora had told them when she popped back into Virgil’s office and turned on the television.
“What is it, Cora?” Becky said.
She looked at Becky then pointed at the TV. “There’s a riot in progress at Sheridan. So far two inmates have been killed, a guard is in critical condition, half of an entire cell block is on fire and one inmate is missing.”
“Who’s missing, Cora? What’s the inmate’s name?” Virgil asked.
Cora flipped through the channels until she got one of the cable news networks. The network showed an aerial view of the prison facility. The shot was high enough they saw other helicopters circling below. Though no actual flames were visible, smoke was pouring out of the doorways and narrow windows at one end of the facility. A line of fire trucks was positioned outside the perimeter of the grounds. The firemen wouldn’t be able to fight the fire until the prison was properly locked down.
Virgil stood and moved closer to the TV. “Cora, answer me. Who’s missing?”
Cora didn’t have to. The aerial shot on the screen was replaced with a picture of Murton. His head had been shaved and he was dressed in an orange jumpsuit. The caption on the screen identified him as Michael Weller.
Virgil looked at his boss. “Cora?”
Cora turned up the volume on the television and said, “Look.”
A reporter was standing outside the fence, his hair and jacket and tie blown sideways by the wind. He was in mid-sentence when Cora raised the volume.
“…have learned the corrections officer who was injured during the escape has died. The officer, Jack Grady, was a rookie at the facility, originally from Louisville, Kentucky. Doctors have told us he died only moments ago from what they’re calling a TBI—a traumatic brain injury. We’re also being told that while heroic efforts were taken by the surgeons to reduce the swelling of his brain, their efforts were unsuccessful and officer Grady died on the operating table. No other information is available regarding the escaped felon, Michael Weller, however authorities have informed us that when captured, Weller will face additional charges of first degree murder of a law enforcement officer, which carries a mandatory death sentence if convicted on those charges.”
Becky looked at the TV for a long moment before turning to Virgil. She moved her lips, but no words came out of her mouth. Virgil stood and moved toward her, but she shook her head and walked out of the room.
Because Becky worked as a contracted agent for the MCU, she didn’t have an office at the new building. When Virgil went looking for her he wasn’t surprised to discover she was no longer there. He made it back to his office where he tried to concentrate on the information contained in the Doyle binder, but no matter the speech Cora had given him, he found he wasn’t up to the task. He took out his phone and called Delroy.
“Yeah, mon. Just a little while ago. She seemed upset too. What you do now, you?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t let her leave.”
&nbs
p; “How I do that, me?”
“Probably by not telling her I’m on my way.”
“Yeah, mon. Dat might be the first good idea you’ve had lately.”
Thirty minutes later Virgil was at the bar. He spoke with Delroy for a few minutes, then went up to the office. “It could be part of the plan, Becks. The escape. He was sent out there to get the attention of the right people. It looks like he may have done just that.”
Becky was sitting on the edge of her desk. “At what cost, Jonesy? You heard what they said. Jack Grady is dead. It doesn’t matter what they were doing or how they planned to do it. Murton is going to be on the hook for the murder of a police officer. Even if it all comes out that the whole thing was an undercover operation, which you and I both know it won’t, he’ll still be charged and convicted of murder.”
Virgil leaned against the desk and put his arm around her, but she pushed him away. “This is your fault, Jonesy.”
“Me? How is this my fault?”
She punched him in the chest with the sides of her fists. “You’re his brother. You promised me nothing was going to happen to him, remember?” She punched him again. “I told you not to make promises you couldn’t keep, but you wouldn’t listen. You could have stopped him from getting involved in all this but you didn’t, and now not only is he gone, he’s being hunted for the murder of Jack Grady.” She punched him some more until Virgil wrapped her up in his arms and held her tight.
He didn’t know what else to do.
20
Virgil was up early the next morning, sleepy-eyed after a long night of reviewing the Doyle book. He was making a fast run to Bloomington in hopes that he might be able to break something loose. He wasn’t hopeful, but he had to try. Since he lived close to highway 37, the main stretch from Indy to Bloomington, the trip wasn’t that bad. He used his flashers and siren when the traffic was heavy and made the trip in thirty minutes.
Rosencrantz had been working alone in his search for Patty Doyle, running his investigation apart from the Bloomington Police Department. Despite what Rosie’d told him a few weeks ago, Virgil thought the Bloomington guys had and still were doing everything they could to find the missing woman. Rosencrantz had made the hot tip remark out of pure frustration. The truth of it was, Virgil thought, the detectives assigned to the case were doing every single thing there was to do. In addition, they freely shared every scrap of information with Rosencrantz. When Virgil went over those scraps as a whole, he couldn’t figure out what they might be missing. He’d have to start over. Look for something out of the ordinary if he was going to find her.
Then he revised his own thought process. Given the amount of time that had passed, he was all but certain his efforts wouldn’t end up with Patty Doyle returning safe and sound, back to her young life and normal routine. In all probability the work would amount to recovery of a body and prosecution of a suspect should one be captured and charged.
He hung his head and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, the grimace on his face a stark contrast to what he hoped to find, measured against the hard reality of what he thought he probably would.
He was at her apartment. It was a small, two bedroom unit less than a half mile from campus. Though it was the last place she’d been seen, the Bloomington Crime Scene technicians had long ago ruled out the apartment itself as the scene of the crime.
Virgil knew the history of the university and missing young women was not a good one. The university, and by extension, the city of Bloomington had something of a problem with young women falling prey to kidnapping and murder. Spend any amount of time in the cold case files of the Bloomington Police Department and all the information is readily available. The cases, both cold and solved added up to a grisly array of murder, mayhem and tragic mystery.
A young college student goes for a bike ride and never returns. Three years later her remains were discovered in a swampy thicket in nearby Morgan County. An evening stroll through downtown Bloomington takes you past several well-known places—a popular bar, an upscale apartment building, a row of townhouses—all of which happened to be the last stops of another young female college student. When she turned the corner behind the row of townhouses she disappeared forever, never to be seen or heard from again. No body was ever recovered. A national campaign was mounted, her story appearing on the national news and prominent television programs like America’s Most Wanted. But the case was never solved and few legitimate tips ever materialized. Or what about the hotel in Bloomington where yet another young female student partied with her friends the night she died? At some point the party ended and she left for home. Her body was later found off a narrow country lane right outside the city limits.
Drive around long enough and you’ll find memorials marking the spots where young female victims have been found. Flowers, cards, hand-made crosses, and withered balloons lie faded and deflated, much like the people they attempt to honor and memorialize. Those were the thoughts running through Virgil’s mind as he looked around the apartment. He opened the binder, found the number he needed and pulled out his phone. When the whiny voice of Nate Morgan answered the call, Virgil told him where he was and what he wanted.
“I can’t right now,” Morgan whined. “I’m about to walk into class.”
“Which class?”
“Biology. I’ve got an exam we’re prepping for.”
“Thanks for the info. Here are your choices: Get over to Patty’s apartment right now, or I’ll personally come over there and drag your sorry ass out of class in handcuffs.”
“What? What? You can’t do that. I didn’t do anything. I’m not guilty of any wrongdoing. Nobody wants to find her more than I do.”
“Just as soon as you’re all prepped for your test, though, right?”
“Hey, that’s not fair.”
“Yeah, it sucks to be you, Nate. You know who else it sucks for right now? Patty Doyle. And I didn’t say you were guilty. I simply said get over here.” He put some gravel in his voice. “And I mean right now. If I don’t see you inside of thirty minutes, I will personally make your last semester of college a genuine shit show. Are you hearing me on this, Nate?”
Nate Morgan didn’t like it, but he showed up. He brought some attitude with him and Virgil had to hand it to the kid, whiner or not, at least he had his balls out.
“This is bullshit, man. I don’t know what college was like for you, but for me it’s a job. I’ve got to keep my grades up or I’ll lose my scholarship. If that happens, I’ll never get accepted into med school. Do you know what that would do to me?”
“No, I don’t. And guess what? I don’t care. I didn’t go to college. I served in the military. Stop making assumptions with people you know nothing about. And lose the attitude because if you don’t, here’s how this is going to go: You were the last person we know of that saw Patty Doyle prior to her disappearance. No, no, let me finish my thoughts here because you see, Nate, I don’t think you’re guilty. But it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what the public thinks. If I don’t get some cooperation from you starting right now, you won’t be prosecuted in a court of law, but you will be convicted in the court of public opinion. How do you think that might look if you get through med school? Think anyone will want to hire a doc with a questionable history regarding another missing female I.U. student? I doubt it, but then again, I could be wrong. It’s happened before.”
Nate Morgan sat down on the sofa. “What do you want from me? I already told the campus cops, the Bloomington police and that other state guy, Rosepetals or whatever his name is—”
“That’d be Detective Rosencrantz.”
Morgan waved it off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I told Rosencrantz, the Bloomington cops, and the lie detector woman everything I know. I passed the lie detector by the way. With flying colors. Those are the words she used.”
“Yeah, I see that. It’s right here in the binder.”
“I know,” Morgan said, a
little annoyed now. “That’s my point. I don’t have anything else to offer.”
Virgil didn’t say anything. He simply stared at him.
After a full minute, Morgan said something that surprised him. “We were just about finished anyway.”
“Finished? What do you mean, finished? With school?”
Morgan shook his head. “No. Well, yes…with school, but that’s not what I’m talking about. She and I were just about finished with our relationship. She was starting to get a little bored. I could tell. She was getting a lot of looks ever since she got in shape and I think she sort of enjoyed it or something. I mean look at me. I’m no prize and she turned out to be pretty hot. It was only a matter of time before she sent me on my way.”
“That make you jealous? Maybe a little angry?”
Morgan turned the corners of his mouth down and let his head rock back and forth. “Nah. I liked her better when she needed me. Who wouldn’t? No one wants to be around someone who doesn’t want or need them, am I right?”
Morgan’s denial of anger and jealousy was so matter of fact, Virgil believed him. “Was she seeing anyone else that you know of?”
Morgan was emphatic in his response. “No, absolutely not. She wouldn’t do that. Not to me or to herself. She simply wasn’t like that.”
Virgil rubbed the bottom of his nostrils with his index finger. “So what was she like? What was she passionate about?” Morgan took so long to answer Virgil thought, no wonder she was going to break it off with him. He doesn’t know.
When Morgan finally did answer, the information was basic. “She liked two things, man. Her work—the study of archeology—and running. She ran five miles every day, rain or shine.”
Virgil made a mental note that Nate had just referred to Patty in the past tense. He turned to a particular page in the binder. “If she loved her work…her studies so much, why did she skip a three hour lecture on the day she went missing?”
