by Thomas Scott
Morgan shrugged. “The class was a drag. Some sort of ethical bullshit. She just wasn’t in to it. It was the first time she skipped one of her core classes though. I don’t know if that matters or not.”
“Probably doesn’t,” Virgil said. He wrote it down in his notebook anyway. “So if she skipped her class that day, she…” he let it hang.
Another shrug. “She said she had something she had to get at the post office. And I know she would have gone for a run.”
“Where did she usually run?”
Morgan pinched an eye shut. “Different places. Sometimes through campus. Sometimes around town. Every once in a while she’d drive out to the Yellowwood State forest and hit the trails. She didn’t have a particular route. She just ran. Had one of those apps on her phone that tracked how far she’d gone. Some sort of GPS thing or something like that. So about the time she hit the two or three-mile mark, she’d swing around and head back home.”
Virgil had been writing everything down and suddenly stopped. He thought for a few seconds, then took out his phone and made a call. “Hey Becks, it’s me. Yeah, I’m good. Anything? Well, keep after it.” Then, “Hey, hold on a second.” He took the phone away from his ear and looked at Morgan. Do you know the app? It’s name?”
Morgan shook his head.
“iPhone, though, right?”
Morgan nodded at him.
“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but I need you to go wait outside for a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere. Just wait.”
Morgan rolled his eyes and walked out the apartment door.
To Becky: “Sorry, Becks. Listen, I need two things: Tell Ron…wait, scratch that…ask Ron to get the paperwork in order for a subpoena on Doyle’s iCloud account. She had some sort of GPS jogging app on her phone. There’s a possibility she went missing while doing her daily run. If we can get those records, we might have our first solid lead in this case.”
“I can do that,” Becky said. Virgil thought she sounded awfully tired. “And I will. But if you can get me her username, I’ve got a program that can—well, never mind. Can you get her username?”
“Good question. Hold on.” Then, “Morgan.” He shouted it at the apartment door.
The door popped open. “What was Patty’s iCloud username?”
Morgan smiled in a sad, wistful way. It was ‘SheDigsItIU.’ Capital letters on the S, D, both I’s and the U.”
“Thanks. Don’t happen to know the password, do you?”
“What do you think?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He pointed at the door. “Back outside.” Once the door was closed: “You get that, Becky?”
“Yeah, I got it. Might take a while.”
“Call me if you get something, otherwise I’ll get with you tonight or tomorrow.”
Becky promised she would.
21
That night a Department of Homeland Security Gulfstream G-5 taxied across the tarmac at the Louisville airport and parked near an obscure hangar at the far end of the field. A nondescript sedan with Agent Paul Gibson at the wheel pulled up to the jet as the air-stair door lowered into position. The pilots kept the engines running as the lone figure exited the aircraft. He got into the sedan and the jet taxied back out to the runway, powered up and began its takeoff roll. A few seconds later it disappeared into the night sky.
Gibson drove through the city and a half-hour later parked at the address where Reif and his crew were staying. The men walked up to the house and Gibson used a key on the front door. When they were inside with the door closed behind them, the lights came on and Paul Gibson and Murton Wheeler found themselves surrounded by Reif and his men, each with a shotgun leveled at them and ready to fire.
Wheeler and Gibson were unfazed. Murton took the lead. “They said you’d be expecting us. How about you throttle it back to idle and lose the hardware?”
Reif looked them over for a moment. “How do we know you’re who you say you are?”
The old man they all knew as Ron Weller came around the corner. “Put them guns away. I ought to know who they are.” He pointed at Gibson. “The one that looks like he’s been out in the woods is with me.” Then he jerked his thumb at Murton. “The one with the bald head there…that’s my boy, Michael.” Ralph Wheeler looked at Murton. It was the first time they’d seen each other in almost forty years.
Murton, who spent almost half his adult life working undercover, who was trained not to show surprise of any kind when placed in a compromising position, simply couldn’t help himself. He shot Gibson a quick look. He’d known at some point during the operation he’d be in contact with his father, just not quite so quick…and not now.
He turned his attention back to the other men, then singled out his father. “How’s it going, Pops?”
Ralph Wheeler didn’t answer. Murton could tell by the look on his face they were both thinking the same thing…the words they’d last said to each other the night Murton joined Virgil’s family.
Chase broke the silence. “Hey, I seen you on TV. You’re the one busted out of the joint back in Oregon.” He lowered his gun.
Stone did the same. “Yep, that’s him alright. They’re saying you’re the one killed the guard.”
“I don’t give two shits what’s on TV,” Murton said. “I didn’t kill any guard.”
Reif shrugged, like it made no difference to him. “They’ll still hang it on you if you’re caught.” He turned his attention to the old man. “This was the job? Busting your boy out of the can?”
Ralph Wheeler nodded at him. “Yup. Looks like they done it too.” He shook hands with Gibson, then quick as a cat, even as he still held Gibson’s hand in his own, he turned to Murton and threw a left-handed punch that caught him square on the jaw. Murton staggered back a step and dropped to one knee. He spat blood on the floor and wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. When he stood, his father was right in his face.
“That’s for getting caught. I ought to take you out back and give you a proper welcome.”
Gibson got right between them and pushed the old man back. “That’s enough. No one is going to do anything. He’s out and we’re here. Let’s all settle down. We’ve got work to do.”
Murton looked at Gibson. “Fuck you and your work. I’m out of here. Thanks for the ride.” Then to his father: “And fuck you too, old man. The first one was free, mostly because you’re right. I shouldn’t have been caught. Try it again though and see what happens. Should have used that hammer when you had the chance.”
“Jesus Christ you sure know how to hold a grudge, don’t you?” When Murton didn’t answer Ralph Wheeler laughed, then lunged forward and wrapped Murton up in a hug. When he released him he grabbed his son’s face and kissed him on the forehead. “Goddamn me to hell, it’s good to see you boy.”
Murton turned his head and spat more blood on the carpet. “Yeah. Whatever you say, Pops.” He looked at Gibson. “I’m not screwing around. I meant what I said. I’m out of here.” He moved toward the front door. As soon as he did Gibson had his weapon out. The sound of the slide ratcheting into place stopped Murton in his tracks.
“You’re not going anywhere. You knew the cost of busting you out. It’s time to earn your keep.”
Murton turned back and looked at Gibson. “Pull the trigger. See if I care.”
Reif laughed. “Jesus Christ, boy, you sound just like your old man.”
Murton slowly turned his head and looked at Reif. “Insult me again and I’ll rip your wiring out.” Then, after a few seconds he took a deep breath and let his body relax. “Where’s my room?”
Reif tipped his head. “Right down the hall. C’mon, I’ll show you.” He looked at both of the men he thought were named Weller. “Families…never had any use for them myself.”
Ralph Wheeler gave Murton a hard look, then left the house.
Reif followed Murton into the bedroom and closed the door. Murton unzipped a duffel and ignored him. He went through the contents of the bag G
ibson had prepared for him. He saw the guns at the bottom of the duffel and moved them to the top.
“What’s the story between you and your old man?” Reif asked him.
Murton was ready for the question. Gibson had briefed him on Reif…and the fact that Ralph Wheeler was working as a confidential informant for DHS under the name of Ron Weller. “It’s long and it’s sad and I’m tired. Ask me some other time.”
Reif stepped closer. “I’m asking you now.”
Murton turned and faced the other man. “They told me you’re the type who likes to think he’s in charge of everything. I get it. I’ve spent my entire life around assholes like you.”
Reif took another step toward Murton, a Beretta now in his hand, resting against his thigh. “What’d you just call me?”
Murton shook his head. “Great. An asshole who’s hard of hearing to boot. Look—”
Reif brought the Beretta up and pointed it at him, exactly as Murton expected he would. Reif had been so offended by the remarks he hadn’t noticed Murton moving into a fighter’s stance, his body turned slightly sideways, his feet spread, his weight perfectly balanced.
When Reif brought the gun up, Murton was in a perfect position to use Reif’s momentum against him. He wrapped his left arm inside Reif’s and put a hold on the barrel of the gun, twisting it back toward the other man, his wrist collapsing against the pressure. He put his other hand inside the crook of Reif’s elbow and pushed. Reif ended up against the wall with his own gun pointed at his chest, his wrist about to break against the pressure Murton applied.
“Don’t ever point a gun at me again,” Murton said. He put more pressure against the wrist and when he did, Reif winced in pain. Murton released the magazine from the gun and clicked the safety to the on position. He then jacked the slide, ejected the round from the chamber and caught it, all with his free hand. When he let go and stepped back, Reif was holding an empty gun. The entire encounter lasted about three seconds.
“I used to do this shit for a living,” Murton said. “I’ve got a resume that’d make a Navy Seal look like a school girl at the prom.” He picked up the magazine and sat down on the bed and stared at Reif, who was sweating and massaging his wrist.
“They told me you were good,” Reif said, some color coming back into his face. “I was testing you, is all.”
Reif was trying to save some face, so Murton let him. He nodded. “I figured as much. I’d have done the same thing,” he lied. He looked at the magazine he was holding. He needed to let Reif have his dignity back or they’d have an ongoing problem. “So, we good?” Murton asked. The question gave Reif what he needed—the allusion of power and control.
Reif nodded at him. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Murton tossed him the magazine and laid back on the bed, put his hands behind his head and used the duffel as a pillow. He had one hand wrapped around the butt of a handgun inside the bag in case Reif wanted to test him a little more.
But Reif was done. He slapped the magazine in the gun and slid it back in his belt. “I really would like to know about you and your old man.” He said it in such a matter-of-fact way that Murton almost answered him.
“I’m tired, I just busted out of the joint and flew more than halfway across the country. We’re all on the same team here. They said you needed a demolitions guy so here I am. I’ll tell you the story when I get it straight in my own damned head. Close the door on your way out.”
After a few nights on the hard surface of the floor, Patty put the cot back together. The days crept on and eventually turned into weeks. The chemical toilet was approaching the limits of its capacity. The toilet paper was almost gone. She’d been rationing her food supply, but she was dangerously low. Empty water bottles were everywhere. If the men didn’t come back soon, she’d die a slow death, not from sexual abuse as she initially feared, but from starvation and dehydration. She almost wished they’d return. Maybe they’d bring her more supplies.
Her thoughts kept returning to one single issue: Why? Why had she been taken? She was nobody. Her mother and her real father were both dead, and the pitiful excuses for step-fathers her mother had chosen had all abandoned her. None of them had money. Every last one of them were alcoholic, low-rent losers. Why? Why? Why? She couldn’t get the thought out of her head. She’d thought about it for weeks.
Then suddenly one day she did know. Knew like she’d been slapped in the face with it. It was a ransom demand. She knew who was on the hook, and she even thought she knew why. Not exactly why, but close enough, given the nature of what was at stake. But even if the demands were met, the men would never give up her location. Why would they? She’d seen their faces.
Patty wondered which would go first…her mind, or her body. Now that she had an idea of what was happening and why, she was betting on her mind. She was down to a dozen packages of tuna and a few bottles of water. Like that mattered anymore.
22
That night Huma got the kids fed and in bed, then decided to take some time for herself. She’d yet to experience Jonesy’s bar and informed Virgil and Sandy it was high time she did just that. Virgil told her to enjoy herself and gave Delroy a quick call to let him know she was on her way.
“Yeah, mon. Send her down. About time she have a little fun, no?”
“You bet. And listen, her money stays in her pocket, okay?”
“Of course. Respect, mon.”
With that done, Virgil and Sandy were alone on their back deck, sitting next to each other on a love seat. They were quiet for a beat, comfortable in the silence the way happily married couples often are. Then Sandy said something and it didn’t really surprise Virgil. “It feels like we’re moving in different directions lately.”
Virgil looked at her. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you. So are you, boyfriend, but don’t try to misdirect the conversation.”
He grinned at her. “I’m not. I promise. I simply needed to say it out loud.” Then, “What’s on your mind?”
“I think I already told you.”
Virgil thought about it for a moment. “I understand. If I’m being honest with you, I sort of feel the same way.”
“You haven’t said anything about it.”
Virgil massaged his forehead with the flat of his palm. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. You know that. I’m back at work, doing my thing, doing what I love and you’ve not only survived a horrific incident, but our lives have been completely turned around. We went from a financially stable working couple with no children, to a family of four with a live-in nanny, and two thousand acres that could bleed us dry. If we don’t get a good season out of that land, we’ll be in a real bind.”
“That’s all true,” Sandy said. “But you’re sort of doing what you accuse others of.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re circling the main issue and expecting me to fill in the gaps. The real issue isn’t the land, or our finances. The real issue is us, and how we’re parenting our children.”
“I think we’re doing okay. It’s on-the-job training.”
“That’s true. What’s also true is you’re missing a lot of class time. You’re hardly ever here, Virgil. Half the time you’re gone when I get up in the morning and the other half you’re home after the kids are asleep. I know Wyatt’s just a baby, but he still needs his father. He needs your touch. And in case you haven’t noticed, Jonas is practically begging for it. I love Huma, and quite frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without her right now. It feels like she’s already a part of our family. But she’s not a substitute for you…for your presence here, as the man of our house.”
Virgil looked out toward the pond. Sandy was right, of course. She usually was. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to help Murton in any way I can and I’m failing at every turn. We have absolutely no information to work with. None. And this young woman in Bloomington? It’s been weeks. If she’s not dead yet she will be soon, I just know it. She didn’t take off. Somebody grabbed
her and that’s that. Another young female I.U. student is gone and she’ll never be back. A year from now she’ll be a footnote in the local historical records…a file in the cold case drawer that no one wants to think about, much less look at. And this is someone’s child, Sandy. It’s tearing me up.
“Delroy told me our family is coming apart at the seams. He indicated that I’d be put in a position where I’d have to choose. I’m starting to believe he’s right. So…I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better. Nothing is more important to me than you and the kids. You know that, don’t you?”
Sandy took his hand and held it tightly. “Virgil, I’m not questioning you or your loyalties to your family or your job. I know you’re doing the best you can right now. And I know how hard it is. Murton is a part of our family too. Don’t lose sight of what matters. Try to find a way to make room for us. And by us, I mean you and me. I know our family is changing…has changed, but at the core of it there has to be room for what got us here, otherwise what’s the point?”
Virgil felt himself start to relax, like a knot inside his being was beginning to unwind. He put his arm around his wife, took a deep breath and let his head tip back. He closed his eyes and said, “I don’t know what to do next. I can’t even think.” He was talking about his work.
Sandy knew he was, but she wasn’t having it. She threw a leg over and straddled his lap. “I could think of a thing or two.”
Then his phone rang.
They ignored the phone and let it go to voice mail. As it turned out, Sandy was quite the thinker.
Afterwards, with all the heavy thinking complete, they showered together and that got them thinking again. When the water started to run cold, they hurried out and got dressed. Sandy went to check on the boys and Virgil went to check on his phone. When he brought up the recent call list he saw it’d been Becky who tried to reach him. He punched in her number.
