STATE OF VENGEANCE

VIRGIL JONES MYSTERY THRILLER SERIES

BOOK 22

THOMAS SCOTT

Copyright © 2024 by Thomas Scott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from both the publisher and copyright owner of this book.

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In loving memory of Rex Horein:

Farmer, Father Figure, Mentor, and Friend.

— Also by Thomas Scott —

Vengeance /ˈvenjəns/

Punishment inflicted or retribution exacted for an injury or wrongdoing.

“Vengeance is justice.”

—Samuel Johnson

“When critics sit in judgment it is hard to tell where justice leaves off and vengeance begins.”

—Chuck Jones

“I can’t believe this has happened again.”

—Murton Wheeler

CHAPTER ONE

In the end it was argued that collective moral ambiguity nearly won the fight against those who believed individual ethics held the upper hand in a battle where, ironically, most people didn’t even realize what was actually happening. But those who did know…the ones, who, in reality, were fighting under a false flag that said newer and better was the equivalent of stating that a rising tide lifts all ships, failed to mention one little nugget of truth: If the tide rises too high or too fast, not all boats will survive the onslaught of troubled waters and cresting waves that would inevitably crash over the bow of their own existence. It was no different than stepping over a hundred-dollar bill to pick up a nickel. Except the land—and the need that went with it—was awash in a sea of nickels, and everybody wanted their share of the bright and shining sun, no matter the cost.

Try putting the brakes to that and watch what happens.

Allen Carr—director of the Indiana Department of Environmental Management (IDEM) tried—even though he shouldn’t have.

The last time anyone saw Carr alive, he jogged down to the end of his driveway, did a few stretches to loosen up before turning left onto the street, ready to start his morning exercise routine. He wore running shoes and shorts, a dark blue sleeveless T-shirt that read Michigan in faded, cracked lettering across the front, and a matching blue ball cap turned backward on his head. It was all caught on the doorbell camera, and Carr’s wife, Susan, watched it over and over again…sometimes with the police, but often by herself. Susan had the ridiculous notion that if she watched the video enough, the events of that morning might change. But in her heart, she knew it was useless. What was she going to do? Run the footage in reverse and have her husband walk back in through the front door?

As far as Susan was concerned, the police had all but given up. They had other footage from different houses that showed him jogging by, but once he was out of the subdivision, the cameras lost him altogether. At first they told her they’d check all the area hospitals. When that turned up absolutely nothing, the Hancock County, Indiana detectives put in a request for assistance from the state’s Major Crimes Unit, who systematically turned Carr’s entire existence inside out. His home was analyzed, his bank accounts were examined, his co-workers at IDEM were interviewed, his wife was politely questioned—then interrogated with a fair amount of vigor—but in the end, Allen Carr, the director of the Indiana Department of Environmental Management, seemed to have jogged through a portal and into another dimension.

That didn’t happen, of course, because portals into other dimensions don’t actually exist. But one other person had seen Allen Carr right before he fell off the map.

It was his killer.

The worst day of Henry Stutzman’s life occurred when he woke to the sound of breaking glass from somewhere inside his Arizona home. The noise most likely came from the kitchen because it was on the other side of the wall of the master bedroom he shared with his wife of nearly forty years. When he thought back on that terrible day—and he often did—Stutzman wished there was a way to erase that sound from his memory. Not because of what had happened, but because of his initial reaction to the sound. It angered him because he knew before he ever got his robe and slippers on that his wife had dropped another dish, or glass, or perhaps even the coffeepot yet again. They’d been through four glass pots—among other breakable things—in as many months, his wife’s arthritis so bad that her hands often couldn’t maintain their grip on whatever she was trying to hold.

As Stutzman walked out of the bedroom and down the hall he noticed that the air conditioner had stopped working again. He knew there was nothing wrong with the unit itself, his diagnostic reasoning twofold: One, the unit had been upgraded less than a month ago, and secondly—as he glanced at the ceiling in the living room—he saw the stationary blades of the ceiling fan, and if Stutzman knew anything after living in Arizona for years, he knew they were experiencing another brownout, the power grid unable to keep up with consumer demand.

He was still silently cursing the power company, not to mention his decision to move to one of the hottest places in the country, when he turned toward the kitchen and saw his wife, Gail, on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass, the handle of the coffeepot still gripped in her arthritic hand, her eyes open, one pupil blown, the other no bigger than the dull, unsharpened tip of a graphite pencil.

Stutzman ignored the broken glass, pulled his cell phone from the charger on the kitchen counter with such force that the cord snapped back and slapped him across his face. He ignored the slap, then got down on the floor with his wife, her head now in his lap as he dialed 9-1-1, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird. A ray of sunlight slipped through the blinds and cut across his wife’s face, and Stutzman thought it made her look like two different people, as if separate photographs had been stitched together by a toddler.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Gail Stutzman was gone, her body already growing cold…even in the ungodly heat of the morning sun. For some odd reason he never really would be able to explain, the whole thing reminded him of a thought he had long ago after the sun baked his Indiana farmland to near dust and had turned lifelong friends and coworkers into adversaries…

The dead season was upon him once again.

The hospital personnel used kind words and compassionate gestures—a pat on the shoulder…a gentle touch here and there on his arm—but Stutzman thought they probably didn’t care as much as they appeared to, the death of an older woman due to a massive stroke was really nothing more than a part of their daily work assignment. They all said the right things, but their statements sounded rehearsed and monotonic in nature, their eyes devoid of any intuitive or empathetic light. They watched but didn’t see; they listened but didn’t hear. And when there was nothing left to do or say, they turned and walked off without looking back…on to the next patient, safe in the knowledge that there never was anything they could have done.

The funeral home driver eventually arrived to transport Gail, and Stutzman rode with him, his wife’s body crinkling the bag on the gurney behind him every time they turned a corner or hit a crack in the pavement. The mortician’s assistant was a bit more polished than the hospital personnel, but not by much. Stutzman thought he simply had a better script to work from. The driver spoke in platitudes…things like God’s plan, eternal light, and the abundant joy that was sure to follow when Stutzman and his wife were reunited as one in the afterlife.

His questions—while not overly personal—went mostly unanswered, Stutzman staring out the side window of the transport vehicle, the desert wasteland sliding by with heatwaves shimmering off in the distance. Finally, just to shut him the hell up, Stutzman turned, looked at the driver, and said, “If this is your version of an altar call, I lost my religion long before I ever lost my wife. Everything you just told me could be summed up by saying, ‘thoughts and prayers,’ which seems to be all the rage these days. Maybe if I give you my phone number you can send me one of them prayer hands cartoons, or whatever they’re called.”

The driver bobbed his head and gave Stutzman a polite grin without taking his eyes off the road. “I think you mean emojis, sir.”

Stutzman stared at the driver until his grin went away, then turned back to the passenger-side window and didn’t say another word.

From the time he woke and heard the glass break in the kitchen until he made it back home, eight hours had passed. Henry Stutzman, still wearing his robe and slippers, crunched over the broken glass on the kitchen floor, opened a bottle of Woodford Reserve, then drank himself stupid trying to remember the last thing he’d said to his wife the night before. Whatever it had been, he couldn’t remember.

When he licked his lips they tasted like salt.

Winter—the dead season—had come and gone, and during those weeks and months, Henry Stutzman grieved his loss and spent the time thinking about his life, his marriage, and all the things he should have said and done but never actually did. And during that time a seed of thought was planted in his mind, and if Stutzman—a former mega-farmer and majority stakeholder in the now defunct Shelby County Co-op—knew anything, he knew this: If a seed is planted, tended to, and treated with care, it would grow to its full potential before the harvest moon sinks below the horizon of the autumnal equinox.

And that’s exactly what happened. Stutzman’s seed of thought took root and grew until the only thing left to do was what he’d done years ago, only this time in reverse. The auctioneer came to his house, set the date, and a week later everything was sold to the highest bidder…every last piece of it, from the furniture right down to the goddamned spoons. The highest bidder took the rest of the items no one wanted, and after that, Stutzman packed his bags, tanked up his truck and headed east, driving headlong into what would ultimately come to redefine the worst day of his life.

A week later he was back home again, in Indiana.

It was one month after Allen Carr, the director of IDEM, went missing.

CHAPTER TWO

At the same time Henry Stutzman was making his cross-country journey back to his roots, a man by the name of Moses Biggatto was quietly surveying farmland in Rush County, Indiana. Biggatto—a frontman and dealmaker for an energy conglomerate out of New Jersey—didn’t tell anyone what he was doing or why…not that anyone actually asked. As far as Biggatto was concerned, that was fine because he wanted to have all his dogs barking just so before he made any more moves. Things were already getting sticky enough.

If history was any sort of marker, the Rush County elected officials wouldn’t be a problem. The county council members rarely opposed the ideas he presented. There was simply too much money at stake. They’d go along with the idea or not, and even if they didn’t, those types of issues could usually be handled with an envelope full of cash, or if need be, more drastic actions could be used…like the blade of a knife or the barrel of a gun. The problem, as usual, was two-fold. The state was growing more and more concerned about land usage rights…something that needed a long-term solution instead of the stopgap measures Biggatto had used before. And the second problem? It was the county residents themselves. If enough people made the right kind of noise, it’d be impossible for Biggatto to go around and pay off or threaten everyone. One or two, yes. But half the county? Forget it.

He’d learned the hard way over the years that there was always somebody willing to take up the fight and try to block his proposal, even if they didn’t have a horse in the race, which most didn’t anyway. Biggatto knew those were the people who could cause him the most trouble…the kind of people who—with nothing better to do—liked to stand outside the courthouse and chant and bitch and moan about an issue of any kind if for no other reason than to be a part of something larger than themselves. Biggatto wondered who had that kind of free time. Didn’t anyone work anymore?

Those were the thoughts going through his head as he turned in to a local diner in Rushville, Indiana to grab a cup of coffee before heading out for the day to continue his survey work.

He was almost done, but time was growing short. The people he worked for wanted what they wanted, and the longer it took Biggatto to work out a deal, the worse off he’d be. Biggatto got a percentage of every transaction, and if the land wasn’t acquired in a timely fashion, his cut—based on a sliding scale—would be reduced until it eventually wasn’t worth his time or trouble.

Biggatto took a seat at the counter, gave a polite nod to the man seated next to him, then opened the menu. It didn’t escape him that the man he’d just nodded at had a gun on his belt, barely visible underneath his jacket.

Tom Rosencrantz had been through the wringer over the last couple of years. As a senior detective with the Indiana State Police’s Major Crimes Unit, he’d been shot, stabbed, beaten up, kidnapped, and had nearly died any number of times. But Rosencrantz had always been a fighter, and in each and every instance he’d managed to escape death and work his way back, ready to tackle another day.

But the one thing he had thought might take him down for good happened during a mass shooting right outside the Indiana statehouse. He’d been in the judge’s chambers with his then-girlfriend, Carla Martin, whom Rosencrantz had plans to marry. They were both making their case against Neil Whitlock, a convicted felon they’d arrested for the sale and manufacturing of methamphetamines. Whitlock had filed an appeal on the grounds that he’d been duped by both federal and state law enforcement officials when he signed an immunity deal, and Rosencrantz and Martin—a former DEA agent turned sheriff for Shelby County—were working to ensure he stayed behind bars, the actual dupe notwithstanding.

Except Whitlock had outsmarted them all and managed to escape during his own hearing, the mass shooting a part of his strategy all along.

Martin didn’t know of Rosencrantz’s marriage plans at the time—or maybe she suspected it because of her pregnancy—but it made little difference. She died in a hail of gunfire, and Rosencrantz had been so distraught over the death of Martin and his unborn child he nearly died of grief, living in a constant state of perpetual despondency.

But, as is often the case, fate, timing, and the universe itself seemed to come together in unity, and in doing so, turned his life around when he met a beautiful young lady by the name of Lucy Hall. Rosencrantz had almost turned her away, but on the advice of someone he deeply trusted, he let Lucy take his hand—both literally and figuratively—as she pulled him from the depths of his own despair. He’d always carry Carla and his unborn child with him—a space in his heart sealed off in perpetuity—but Rosencrantz knew even on the most fundamental level that life is for the living, and it was Lucy Hall who helped paint him a portrait of what happiness looked like…no matter the dark sorrows that stained the canvas of his own past.

And even though he was still sometimes afraid to admit it to himself, despite the lingering power of his loss and the thoughts of what could have been, with Lucy, he was experiencing a happiness that was long overdue.

Lucy was leaning across the diner’s counter on her forearms, her fingers knitted together, her back arched, her skirt riding high on the backs of her thighs, the tops of her breasts slightly visible under her blouse. She smiled at Rosencrantz and said, “Your breakfast is almost ready.”

Rosencrantz gave her a wink and said, “If I keep eating here I’m going to have to go on a diet.”

Lucy was an attractive brown-eyed brunette with a light spray of freckles across her face…something Rosencrantz had found oddly alluring from the moment they’d met nearly six months ago. Now, every time he looked at her, he didn’t see the freckles as much as he saw the woman…though, if pressed, he’d say that the freckles still got his motor running.

“If you stop eating here, you’ll miss me so much you won’t have the energy to make it through your day.” Then without skipping a beat, she turned her head and spoke to the man who’d just entered the diner and taken a seat next to Rosencrantz. “What can I get you?”

A large mirror hung above the opening of the grill window and it was tilted downward just so, giving anyone seated at the bar of view of themselves and the wait staff behind the counter. When Lucy turned her head and spoke to her customer, Rosencrantz naturally looked up and caught the man’s eyes examining Lucy’s backside in the mirror.

The man dropped his eyes, turned to Rosencrantz and gave him a nod, then said to Lucy, “Just coffee, little darling.”

“Coming right up.” Lucy gave Rosencrantz a smile, then moved down to the far end of the counter to start a fresh pot.

The man unashamedly watched Lucy walk away, her ponytail bouncing in step, her skirt swishing side to side, her white socks peeking out the tops of her lace-up boots. He slid one hand off the counter and adjusted his pants just below the zipper, turned to Rosencrantz, and said, “My God, they sure know how to cut the cloth around here, don’t they?”

Rosencrantz touched eyes with the man, kept his voice neutral, and said, “I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“What are you, blind? That’s a fine piece of tail, right there.”

Rosencrantz took stock of the man seated next to him. He was dressed in rugged outdoor clothing and had the build of someone who did physical labor, but his hands appeared soft and free of calluses, a betrayal of the costume he wore. His fingernails appeared freshly manicured, his salt and pepper hair recently barbered.

“What was that?” Rosencrantz said.

“I was making note of that woman’s beauty.”

“While rubbing your crotch in the process.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. She’s a gorgeous woman. What’s the harm?”

“We could probably debate your last statement all day,” Rosencrantz said. “But I don’t think it would do you any good, and I don’t have the time, much less the desire. What’s your name, sir?”

The man lowered his chin to his chest like he’d just spilled the punch bowl, then looked back up. “It’s been my experience that only two types of people ask that question without introducing themselves first.”

“So, you’re wise to the ways of the world. Congratulations. How about you answer me?”

“It’s not for lack of trying. Anyway, as I was saying, the first group are your average ignorants. They’re usually benighted or unsophisticated. You don’t look like that type. That’s a compliment in case you might be wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Rosencrantz said, his voice stiff…almost guttural. “And I’m still waiting.”

The man reached into a glass container on the counter, unwrapped the paper from a toothpick and said, “The second group is actually a little easier to spot. And it doesn’t have anything to do with the gun on their hip, or the badge they keep hidden until they need it, either.” He stuck the toothpick in his mouth and rolled it across his lips without saying anything else.

Lucy returned to the counter and set a fresh cup of coffee in front of her customer. She couldn’t help but notice the look on Rosencrantz’s face. “Did I miss something?”

When Rosencrantz smiled there was no light in his eyes. “No, not really.” He grabbed the man’s coffee cup, slid it back to Lucy and said, “Make this gentleman’s order to go, will you?”

“What’s happening here?” Lucy said.

When neither man answered, Lucy shrugged, then went and grabbed a to-go cup. As she was doing that, Rosencrantz turned to the man next to him, lowered his voice, and said, “That woman is my girlfriend. Look at her like that again, or make another disparaging remark, and you’ll be eating through a straw for the next few weeks.”

The man stood from his stool just as Lucy returned with a paper cup full of coffee. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills and dropped a fifty on the counter. He looked at Lucy, tipped his head toward Rosencrantz, and said, “I’d like to buy this man’s breakfast. Keep the change, sweetheart.” Then to Rosencrantz: “My name is Biggatto. Moses Biggatto. Have a nice day, Officer.”

“It’s Detective, actually,” Rosencrantz said.

Biggatto pulled the toothpick from his mouth and dropped it on the counter where it created a little puddle of saliva. Then he nodded slowly, like he’d just received sage advice from a man wise beyond his years. “Well, a rose by any other name, right?”

“You’re closer than you might think,” Lucy said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Biggatto asked, a touch of irritation in his voice.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Rosencrantz said.

Once Biggatto was out the door, Lucy tucked the fifty into the pocket of her apron, looked at her lover, and said, “What the heck was all that about?”

“Give me two seconds,” Rosencrantz said. “I’ve got to check something out.”

“Rosie?”

“Two seconds.” Rosencrantz walked over to the window and watched Biggatto as he climbed into his car. He took out his phone and got a quick profile picture of the man, and then one of his license plate as he backed his vehicle out of the parking space. When he zoomed in on the photo, he noticed the plates were out of New Jersey. He put his phone away, then walked back over and sat down to wait for his breakfast, even though he’d lost his appetite. It didn’t escape him that Lucy was standing in front of his seat, her hands on her hips. “Are you going to explain that?”

“I hope so,” Rosencrantz said. “Got any fresh plastic sandwich bags?”

“Sure.” Lucy reached under the counter, grabbed a baggie, then handed it to Rosencrantz. “What are you doing?”

“My job.” Rosencrantz took another toothpick from the glass container, then carefully scraped the one Biggatto had set on the counter into the bag. Once he had it zipped shut he stuck it in his jacket pocket, then looked at Lucy, and said, “Can you take a quick break?”

“I guess so. What’s up?”

“Follow me,” Rosencrantz said. He took her hand even though she was still on the other side of the counter and walked her down to the end, their hands held high to avoid the items in their path. Then he pushed through the side entrance, spun his girlfriend around, and gave her a long, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled away, he said, “I’m falling in love with you, Lucy Hall.”

Lucy laughed and said, “Too late. In case you missed it, the fall already happened. I’m beginning to wonder if you might have hit your head when you landed. Now, tell me why you got rid of that guy.”

“He was making rude remarks about you while fondling himself.”

“Tom, I get hit on about ten times a day in this joint.” Then with a seductive smile: “What are you going to do? Kick everybody out who’s warm for my form?”

Rosencrantz laughed and said, “No, just the perverts and degenerates. Maybe we should think about getting you a new job.”

Lucy looked at her watch. “Maybe we should talk about it some other time. I’ve got to get back to work. Are you coming? Your breakfast should be up any minute.”

Rosencrantz shook his head. “Can’t. I’ve lost my appetite anyway. Besides, I’m running late as it is. Pay it forward to the next guy.”

Lucy kissed him back. “What if he stares at my ass while I’m doing it?”

“Throw it in his face,” Rosencrantz said. “I’ll see you tonight.” He turned to walk away, but Lucy stopped him. “Hey, Rosie?”

Rosencrantz turned back. “Yeah?”

“I love you too. Be careful...please.”

Rosencrantz promised he would, then climbed into his squad car and headed north to start his day. He didn’t know it at the time, but his day—not to mention his week—started the moment Moses Biggatto walked in the diner.

CHAPTER THREE

Virgil Jones, lead detective with the state’s Major Crimes Unit, was leaning against one of two black Tahoes parked at the intersection of the highway and the gravel road where his house was located, three miles away. Both Tahoes were positioned at an angle, completely blocking the intersection, and no one got through without prior permission. The Tahoes—and the men who went with them—were a compromise, said compromise the result of Virgil wanting a security gate at the intersection while no one else wanted any part of it. The idea of a gate was finally nixed, professional security was put in place, and so far it had all worked out…mostly. Virgil didn’t like to talk about the mostly part.

He was bent over, his hands on his knees, his breath coming in huge gasps, sweat dripping from his hair. He was sweating so heavily that a little puddle had formed between his shoes.

Two men stood next to him—one on either side—and they were dressed identically…black pants and form-fitting T-shirts underneath black sport coats. Their shoes looked like wingtips, but they had thick rubber soles, and, Virgil suspected, they were further protected with steel toe inserts woven into the leather. Not great for running, but vital if someone tried to stomp on one of their feet.

Both men had their arms crossed over their massive chests, their expressions a mixture of amusement and professionalism. Each man carried two .40 caliber Glocks in shoulder rigs mostly hidden under their jackets, with an array of other weapons at their disposal in the Tahoes if need be—chief among them, AR-15s chambered for the highly specialized .458 SOCOM rounds. The .458 is a massive bullet…nearly half an inch in diameter and up to 600 grains in weight—over ten times the weight of a standard .223 or 5.56 NATO round. Not the biggest caliber for an AR-15, but close enough for short-range security work.

Once Virgil had caught his breath, he stood up straight, wiped his face and eyes with the sleeves of his T-shirt, and said, “Either of you guys have any water?”

One of the men looked at the spot where Virgil had been leaning on the Tahoe and said, “You should hydrate better before your run, sir. And not to speak out of turn, but you left an ass-shaped sweat stain on my ride.”

“Get it detailed and put it on my bill,” Virgil said.

“I think that’d be Mac’s bill, sir. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Mac was Hewitt (Mac) McConnell, a former governor of the state and now the businessman who ran Said, Inc., a multi-billion dollar corporation, of which Virgil and his wife, Sandy—a former governor herself—were minority stakeholders. Sandy also currently worked alongside Mac in the corporation as a top executive.

Virgil waved him off. “Six of one. How about it on the gift of life?”

One of the men opened the back of his Tahoe and grabbed a bottle of water, then tossed it to Virgil. “Small sips, or you’ll cramp up on the way back. How’s the ankle, sir?”

Virgil had been injured a number of months ago while apprehending a criminal who’d managed to get his hands on a prototype of a military weapon designed by Said, Inc. The weapon—which no one was really allowed to talk about—had been found, but not before it was fired at the state helicopter with Virgil on board. They were in a rapid descent, no more than fifty feet off the ground at the time, and despite the heroic efforts of Richard Cool—the state’s chief pilot—the weapon worked as designed, and the helicopter crashed. And while both Virgil and Cool survived, they didn’t exactly walk away. Virgil ended up with a couple of cracked ribs and a severely sprained ankle, and Cool took a hard blow to his head.

“Ankle is fine,” Virgil said. “But I’m still a little out of shape because I couldn’t run on the damned thing for months.” He unscrewed the cap on the bottle and took a long drink, ignoring the possibility of cramping up.

One of the men turned his head to the side, then coughed into his hand while simultaneously saying, “Pussy.”

Virgil, who was still mid-swallow, heard the comment and started to laugh, despite himself. But he had a throat full of water, and when he laughed most of it ended up coming out through his nose.

“You guys have got to stop messing with me like that. You practically just waterboarded me.”

“Who said we were messing with you, sir?”

Virgil bent forward, dumped the remainder of the water over his head, then wiped his face again. “I did. Don’t forget, I pay your salaries.”

“I think we’re all in agreement on who pays our salaries, sir.” Both men were trying to hide their smiles. “You said it yourself. Half a dozen the other…to finish your thought, sir.”

Virgil had become friendly with all the guards who protected his home and property, and over the last number of months they’d been in place, a little contest of wills had developed between all the men. He pointed a friendly finger at both guards. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. And listen, how many times do I have to tell you guys? Drop the ‘sir’ shit and call me Jonesy, will you?”

Both men were smiling openly now. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

Virgil gave them both a dry look, tossed the empty water bottle at one of the guards—who didn’t flinch, and simply let the bottle bounce off his chest before it dropped in the road—then turned to start back home. Fucking security guards.

One of the guards shouted to Virgil as he ran away. “That’s littering, sir. I’m authorized to make a citizen’s arrest.”

Virgil laughed and shot them the bone over his shoulder. He did run a little faster, though. Either one of those guys could take Virgil’s head off without breaking a sweat. Not that they would ever try…but still.

Despite being slightly out of shape, Virgil did the three miles back to his house in just over twenty-four minutes. He was about to turn in to his driveway when he saw his adopted brother, Murton Wheeler, pulling out of his own driveway in his squad car. Virgil and Murton shared the same plot of land—roughly twenty acres—their houses separated by a large pond and a helicopter landing pad.

Murton worked for the MCU alongside Virgil as his second-in-command…and Murton’s wife, Becky, worked for them both as an off-the-books research consultant—which was code for computer guru-slash-hacker—through the private investigations firm they ran on the side. The firm had no actual clients other than the state itself, but it was a necessary arrangement that offered a semi-clean layer of plausible deniability between the governor’s office and the methods and actions the Major Crimes Unit sometimes used, should it ever be needed.

As it happened, the need was rather frequent.

Virgil and Murton, along with the rest of the MCU’s detectives, sometimes operated very close to—if not just over—the thin line between doing what was right and doing what needed to be done. In short, they’d had their share of trouble over the years, and since the MCU was tied directly to the governor’s office, the deniability had become increasingly essential.

Virgil turned around and walked over to where Murton had stopped his squad car. He leaned down and said, “Heading into the shop?”

“No. And listen, step back will you? I’m not sure which is worse…the sweat dripping into my squad car, or the stench wafting off your entire person.”

Virgil did as his brother asked, then said, “If you’re not going to work, where are you headed?”

Murton dropped his head, then looked back up. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to work. I said I’m not going into the shop…at least not right away.” Then, before Virgil could respond, Murton said, “Ask you something?”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

“Do you ever check your calendar?”

“Of course. I check it every—” Virgil stopped speaking mid-sentence, then actually face-palmed himself. “Today’s the meeting with Cora regarding IDEM, isn’t it?”

Cora LaRue was the current governor of the state, and the woman Virgil and Murton reported to on a regular basis.

Murton gave his wristwatch a casual glance and said, “That’s the one. And unless you want to be sitting on the hot seat, I suggest you shower, shave, and get over to her office in the next ninety minutes.”

Virgil gave Murton a shrug. “I’ve got lights and a siren, so that means I’ve got plenty of time. Why are you going over so early?”

“Good question. To be honest, I don’t have an answer for you. At least not yet. Baker said she wanted to speak with me about something.”

“She say what?”

“No, but I get the feeling that whatever it is, she wants to keep it quiet. We’re actually meeting in the parking garage.”

“Huh. Well, keep me up, will you?”

“Sure. See you at the statehouse,” Murton said. Then he dropped his car into gear and took off down the gravel road. He’d only gone about fifty feet before Virgil saw the taillights flash as Murton skidded to a stop before backing up to where his brother still stood, a film of dirt and dust now covering Virgil’s sweat-soaked body like a second skin.

“Forgot to tell you…I’m going to take a little under-time later this morning, after our meeting with Cora. Count Becky out as well.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

“Ellie Rae is due for her shots. I want to go to the doc’s office with them. It didn’t go very well last time.”

“No problem,” Virgil said as he tried to wipe some of the road grime from his arms. “Although I think you just added ten minutes to my shower.”

“I do what I can to keep the people clean,” Murton said. “Present company excluded. See you downtown.”

Virgil walked up toward his house, said hello to Sandy’s driver…a kindly gentleman named Arlo Gonzalez, who was waiting patiently for his passenger.

“Good morning, Detective. Enjoy your run?”

“As much as possible, Arlo. Although right now, it looks like all I did was roll around in the dirt.”

“I too have a brother, sir.”

That got a smile from Virgil. When the front door opened, Sandy walked down the porch steps and over to the car. She looked at her husband and said, “What the heck happened to you? You’re filthy.”

Virgil turned his palms up. “Gravel road. What are you gonna do?” He stepped forward to give his wife a kiss goodbye, but Sandy held out her hand and stopped him.

“Uh, no. Look at this dress I’m wearing, Virg. Do you want me covered in residual road grime?”

“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Virgil said. “But I would like a kiss goodbye.”

“Give me your hand.”

“Sandy…”

“This is what’s called one of those take it or leave it situations. If you want a kiss, I suggest you take it.”

Virgil reluctantly stuck out his arm, and Sandy leaned down and lightly kissed the back of his hand. Then, in a very unladylike fashion, she pulled her long blonde hair back with one hand, turned and spat in the grass.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Virgil said. “I’m sweaty and dirty.”

“You left out stinky,” Sandy said.

“I think maybe you and Becky are spending too much time together.”

Sandy got settled into the back seat of the Town Car, closed the door, then buzzed the window down and said, “Or maybe not enough. Who’s to say? Love you, Stinky. I’ll see you tonight.”

Virgil walked inside to an empty house, something that didn’t happen very often…the emptiness, not the walking in. Virgil and Sandy had a live-in nanny, Huma Moon, who not only cared for their boys, but kept the household running as smoothly as possible. Virgil and Sandy’s adopted son, Jonas, was the oldest, and their biological son, Wyatt, was a few years younger—both boys growing up faster than Virgil liked to admit.

Huma and her lover—a devilishly handsome Jamaican man by the name of Delroy Rouche—had a child of their own, a little girl named Aayla, and because Virgil and Sandy didn’t want to lose Huma, they had added onto their house a few years ago, giving Delroy and Huma their own private wing. Delroy was one of Virgil’s business partners at the bar they owned, a joint called Jonesy’s Rastabarian. The other two partners were Virgil’s brother, Murton; and Robert Whyte, another Jamaican who’d come with Delroy to the states years ago to help Virgil and his late father, Mason, run the bar.

Virgil and his father had never counted on the impact that Delroy and Robert would have on the bar’s bottom line. After their arrival in the states, the bar went from an ordinary cop hangout to one of the hottest Jamaican-themed bars in the Midwest. It was also the location of Virgil and Murton’s private investigations office where Becky used the entire upstairs of the building to run that part of the operation.

But, no matter, the house was empty, and that didn’t happen very often. The boys were at school, Huma was most likely at the market, and Delroy would be at the bar. Virgil checked the time, discovered that Murton was right—he was going to be late if he didn’t hurry—so he jumped in the shower, took care of business, then dressed and was out the door twenty minutes later.

When he was about a quarter mile away from the intersection where the guards were stationed, he hit the siren to let them know he was coming through. Both men backed their vehicles out of the way, and Virgil gave them a friendly honk as he turned north and headed into the city to start his workday.

It’d turn out to be the beginning of something he wouldn’t soon forget…if ever.

CHAPTER FOUR

Emily Baker was a former military fighter pilot turned state cop, and she had a long-standing position as the primary security officer tasked with both protecting the governor and acting as detail driver whenever the need arose, which, of course, happened on a daily basis throughout the workweek. When Murton turned in to the parking garage, he found Baker leaning against the governor’s Town Car, her feet crossed at the ankles, her butt parked on the front fender.

Baker, Murton thought, had something of an unusual look. She was young, fit, trim, and stood all of five foot six, with short blonde hair that was styled to appear as if she’d just rolled out of bed. It was the type of look that sometimes made people a little uncomfortable. Not because of her hair, but the fact that her entire person had a bit of a seductive quality that never seemed to fully match up with her body language or the way she carried herself. Bottom line? Baker was a tough-as-nails cop…one who could have someone on the ground and in cuffs before they knew what had happened, all with a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes that never quite dimmed. She’d once taken a bullet for Virgil’s wife when Sandy had been the lieutenant governor.

Murton parked his squad car, locked it up, then walked over to where Baker stood. “What’s shakin’, Bake? Everything okay with Cora?”

“Hey, Murt. Yeah, Cora’s good. I locked her in her office for a few minutes so we could talk. Thanks for taking the time.”

Murton smiled. “No problem. But, uh, listen, you didn’t actually lock-lock her in, did you?”

Baker matched Murton’s smile with a lopsided grin and said, “No. Figure of speech. I’ve got one of the statehouse security guards sitting in the anteroom covering for me.”

Murton parked his own butt against the fender, crossed his arms over his chest, then turned his head toward his friend. “So, what’s up with the cloak and dagger?”

“That requires a two-part answer,” Baker said. “The first part is easy. I wanted to talk down here because—and I know you know this—the walls up there are thinner than the ones I had in my first apartment.”

Murton tipped his head to the side. “Are they, though?”

Baker elbowed him in the ribs. “Again, figure of speech. But you know how it is, Murt. You whisper one word in the halls up there, and the next thing you know, half the damned people in the building are talking about something that’s none of their business.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Murton said. “Eyes and ears are everywhere these days.”

“That’s a massive understatement. Anyway, I need to ask your advice on how to move forward with something, and I’d like to keep it between the two of us. Can you do that?”

Murton, who could, and in fact had, kept plenty of secrets over the years, considered the question carefully before he answered. “I can do that, but it comes with a caveat.”

“What’s that?” Baker said.

“A caveat is a noun. It implies limitations or restrictions regarding the subject matter at⁠—”

Baker stopped him before he could go on. “Murt?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you somehow mistaken me for your brother?”

Murton laughed out loud. “Hardly.”

“That’s a relief. Anyway, I’m aware of the definition.”

Murton smiled again. “I know. I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”

“Big surprise,” Baker said, rather dryly.

Murton turned his palms up. “What can I say? Teasing is my love language.”

Baker rolled her eyes like a valley girl. “So, what’s the caveat?”

Murton didn’t hesitate. “I’ll listen to whatever you want to say, give you any advice I can—whether you want to hear it or not—and I’ll keep it between us for the most part. But I don’t keep secrets from exactly three people: my wife, Jonesy, and Small. Can you live with that?”

“Yeah, I guess I can. I trust the four of you more than anyone, although I was hoping that maybe it wouldn’t have to come out until it somehow occurred naturally. That means it wouldn’t really be a secret. It’d be more of a conversational topic…you know, something like, ‘Wow, how about this weather, huh?’”

Murton turned serious. “We splitting hairs now?”

Baker shook her head. “No, not at all. But if my former training as a fighter pilot has taught me anything, it’s this: Timing is everything.”

“What are we talking about here, Em?”

Baker reached into her hip pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Murton.

“What’s this?”

“Open it up and see for yourself.”

Murton squinted an eye and stared at Baker for a few seconds, then did as she asked. When he saw what the envelope contained—Murton, nobody’s idiot—immediately understood. He put the letter back in its place, handed the envelope to Baker, and said, “First of all, congratulations. I’m proud of you.”

Baker gave him a tight smile. “Thanks. But ‘first of all’ implies that there is probably a ‘second of all.’”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Murton said. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“You know I am,” Baker said.

Murton puffed his cheeks, then said, “Okay, as long as we’re asking questions, let me ask you one.”

“Fire away.”

“Why come to me?”

“Why not come to you?”

“That isn’t exactly what anyone would call a great answer,” Murton said.

“I’ll give you that, but it’s still a valid question.”

Murton chuckled. “And they said you didn’t know how to dance. Okay, maybe I asked the question the wrong way. And don’t misunderstand, I’m honored that you came to me, but why not go straight to the source?”

Baker hip-checked herself off the Town Car’s fender, walked a few feet away, then turned and walked back. “Listen, no disrespect to Jonesy, but you know how he is. I’ve seen it time and time again. He’s got a big heart, but it’s his knees that bother me.”

Murton gave Baker a frown. “I’m not getting it.”

“I’m speaking of his knee-jerk reaction to things. Usually it’s the opposite of what people want to hear.”

Murton nodded in thought. “That is often true. But if I know anything about my brother, it’s this: He thinks about things. He’s deeper than most people realize. Smarter too. The knee-jerk is nothing more than a way to give himself some mental wiggle room until he can figure out the best course of action moving forward.”

“Yeah, okay, I can see that. I guess, you know, given the nature of his professional relationships—I’m speaking primarily of Cora, here—that he might somehow think it was disrespectful.”

Murton didn’t hesitate. “Nope. You’re a hero in his eyes, Em. You took a bullet for Small and saved her life. He’d move heaven and earth for you. Point of fact, I would too because other than Becky, Sandy is the single most important adult woman in my life.”

“I take your point, Murt, I really do, but let’s not rewrite history. I didn’t save Sandy’s life…she saved mine.”

“You still took a bullet for her.”

Baker stood quietly for a full minute, and Murton let her. Finally she looked up and said, “So, you’ll do it?”

“Of course, but it’s hard to grease the skids with blinders on. My advice? Let me hit him with it right out of the blue. He’ll huff and puff and do all sorts of Jonesy-like things, but then you know what will happen after that?”

“He’ll think about it?”

Murton tipped a finger at her. “Exactly.” Then: “Listen, I’ve got to get upstairs. Meeting with Cora.”

Baker nodded. “Thanks, Murt. You’re the best.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me. I’m hoping maybe one day I’ll believe it myself.” Then, as if perhaps his last statement had been far too personal: “Give me some time and I’ll get back to you.”

“Fair enough. I appreciate you, Murt.”

“Don’t mention it. That’s what family is for.” When Murton saw the expression on Baker’s face, he stepped forward and said, “Hey, hey, what is it?”

“I guess you didn’t know, but I don’t have any family. I’m all alone.”

“The hell you are, Em.”

Murton turned to walk toward the elevator, but Baker reached out and grabbed his arm. And for just a moment, Murton was surprised by the strength of her grip.

“Hey, Murt?”

“Yeah?”

“Who said I didn’t know how to dance?”

Murton laughed. “Pretty much everyone who was at Tony and Patty’s wedding reception. You ever watch Seinfeld when it was on TV?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t?”

“Well, you had dance moves that would make Elaine blush.”

Baker tried to push him away. “Blow me, Wheeler. I knew this was a bad idea.”

Murton resisted the push and instead pulled Baker close, gave her a hug, then said, “Let me see what I can do, huh?”

Baker nodded, a single tear sneaking out of the corner of one eye. She quickly wiped it away, surprised by her own emotional reaction.

Murton, to his credit, pretended not to notice.

Henry Stutzman turned in to the drive where the Shelby County Co-op used to exist, and he was so surprised by what he saw he had to stop his truck and take it all in for a moment.

Nearly all the old structures were gone…the red-bricked main building, the Quonset hut, the old maintenance shed, and even the silos with their vast array of chutes and augers had been replaced by a modern-looking building with a sign that read: SHELBY COUNTY NATIVE AMERICAN CULTURAL CENTER.

Beyond the cultural center building sat multiple rows of what appeared to be dormitory-style housing, and beyond that, off in the distance, were dozens of drill rigs scattered all around the massive property. The sight of the sonic drilling rigs didn’t surprise Stutzman. He knew of their existence because as a former part-owner of the land, he received a nice royalty check every month from Said, Inc.

He stood on one leg, his body half in and half out his truck, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other resting on the top of the door frame. It was hard to believe the changes that had occurred since he last saw the property. Then he did the math on how long he’d been away, and thought, Well, what did you expect, Hank?

Stutzman was so lost in his own thoughts of the past he didn’t hear the other truck as it pulled up behind him.

The driver of the second pickup gave him a polite little toot-toot to get his attention. Stutzman jumped a little at the sound, then half turned and waved an apology at the other driver. He was about to get back in his truck and get out of the way when he did a classic double take and noticed who had just honked at him. He squinted, held his hand above his brow to shield the sun, then hollered at the other man. “That you, Carl?”

Carl Johnson was heavyset with broad shoulders, and most of his weight was pure muscle. Bald-headed with a white beard, he looked like a bearded Mr. Clean in dirty overalls. He climbed out of his vehicle and walked over to his old friend, a smile painted across his face. “Good God Almighty, Hank. Didn’t think I’d ever see you again until we both reached that big green field up in the sky.”

Stutzman shook hands with Johnson and said, “Yeah, if you believe in that sort of thing, which I don’t, by the way. How’s life treating you, Carl?”

“I got no complaints,” Johnson said. “Other than the fact I just keep getting older.”

“Count yourself lucky, then,” Stutzman said. “I’ve got a mess of grief and nowhere to put it.”

“What’s the matter? They forget to send you your royalties last month?”

Stutzman shook his head. “No, it ain’t nothing like that. The checks come regular, just like you’d expect. But the money doesn’t matter if you don’t have someone to share it with. That’s my way of saying I lost Gail a while back. She suffered a stroke in the kitchen one morning while making a pot of coffee.”

Johnson looked at nothing for a few seconds, then said, “Can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that, Hank. Gail was a fine woman.”

Stutzman nodded. “That she was. Sometimes I think we should have stayed here in Indiana. Arizona’s too damned hot most of the year. I’m pretty sure the heat finally took its toll on her. That, and the fact that the docs had to put a stent in her a few years back. The damned thing looked like a piece of rolled-up chicken wire, you ask me, but what do I know? Anyway, after she died, one of the doctors told me—off the record, of course—the stent probably caused the clot, and when it broke free it hit her brain, jammed up her blood flow, and that was that.”

Johnson wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he simply looked down at his boots and said, “Well, I’ll keep a good thought.”

Stutzman didn’t really want to talk about it any more than Johnson did, so he steered the conversation away by saying, “Pretty amazing how this place has changed so much. You still farming at all?”

“Not really. Still got a few hogs and such, along with a mess of chickens, but I’m not working any land. Virgil’s got me runnin’ the drill rigs out here, so I don’t have time for much else.”

“You actually operate those things?”

Johnson chuckled. “Hell, no. I don’t have the expertise. Those rigs are about as complicated as they come. I just oversee the operators and engineers. They’re the ones who do the real work. I do run the equipment to move the units to their next position, though. That’s a full day’s work to reposition just one of those things.”

“I can believe that. You like it?”

Johnson took off his hat and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t not like it, if that makes any sense. The money is fantastic, so that’s a plus.”

“What’s the other side of the story?” Stutzman said.

“The thing you just mentioned. I ain’t farming no more. That, and the fact that all our old friends are gone. Sort of hard to believe that out of everyone who used to farm this land, you and me are the only ones left.”

“I don’t like to study on it,” Stutzman said. “Tell you the truth, besides to just say hello, I came out here hoping you might be able to help me with something.”

“Sure, Hank. Hell, as long as we’ve known each other, tell me what you need and I’ll do what I can.”

“Was hoping to get back into farming. I ain’t over the hill yet, and I realized something after Gail passed…hell, I guess I realized it long before she died; I miss the work. I miss sitting on a tractor and turning dirt. I got plenty of money, but the problem is⁠—”

“You got no land,” Johnson said.

“That about sums it up. Know of anyone who has some acreage they might want to unload?”

Johnson scratched at the back of his head again. “Nothing comes to mind. Not in Shelby County, anyway. Tell you what, though, I’ve still got that hundred acres to the east...right across the line over in Rush County.”

Stutzman stuck his pinky finger in his ear and rooted around for some wax. “A hundred acres, huh?”

“Yup. Haven’t had time to do anything with it over the last few years…except pay the taxes, of course.”

“Willing to let it go?”

“No, can’t say that I am. You and me might be able to work something out though, if you’d be interested in a lease deal. But, I gotta tell you two things, Hank, and you already know what one of them is.”

“Little late in the year to get started?”

“That’d be one,” Johnson said.

“But not too late if things went my way.”

“Lot of overgrowth out there, Hank. Would I lease you the land? Yes. Hell, I’ll even lease you the equipment to work the field, but it’s going to have to be cut down first before you turn it under. That’s going to take some time.”

“I imagine so. But if I got started soon enough, I could get the winter wheat in, then corn or beans the following year.”

“That’d probably work,” Johnson said.

“How much money are we talking to get started?” Stutzman asked.

Johnson gave his old friend a wicked grin and said, “How much you got?”

They batted numbers back and forth for a few minutes the way farmers do, and once they settled on a price, Stutzman asked how long it would take to make it all happen.

“I’ll get the paperwork started as soon as I get the chance, but I can’t offer any guarantees on the timing of it all. Tell you what I can offer though.”

“What’s that?”

Johnson stuck out his hand and the two men shook on the deal. “That’s good enough for now until the attorneys earn their fee. We’ll split the expenses and any profit right down the middle. You can get started anytime you like. That old barn is still standing empty and it’s as solid as the day it went up. Take a run out there and have a look. Let me know what you need equipment-wise, and I’ll have someone run it out there for you. You can start whenever you’d like.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stutzman said, a peculiar look on his face.

“You okay there, Hank?”

“Nope. But with your help, I aim to be. That’s why I come back. Tell you the truth, never thought we’d be working together again. Hard to believe, when you think about it.”

Johnson turned and looked out across the cultural center land and the drill rigs beyond. “Hard to believe a lot of things these days, ain’t it?”

CHAPTER FIVE

When Virgil walked into the governor’s office, he found Cora and Murton sitting at the small conference table tucked into the corner. Cora glanced at her watch, then said, “Nice of you to join us, Jonesy.”

“Sorry I’m late. I would have been here sooner, but⁠—”

Cora held up her hand. “Jones-man, please, I don’t want to hear it.”

Virgil tucked his chin into his neck and said, “Hear what?”

“Whatever it was you were about to offer up as your excuse for being late.”

“Why not?” Virgil said. “I might have a really good explanation.”

“I already know it isn’t good. In case you’ve forgotten, I used to be a cop myself. That means I know what’s what, especially when it comes to you and Wheeler.”

“Not sure I’m following your thought process,” Virgil said.

“Me either,” Murton added.

Cora let out a moderately heavy sigh, then said, “If the two of you had arrived here together, chances are you’d have taken the same vehicle and walked through the door at the same time. And since that didn’t happen, you obviously drove separately.”

“That is true,” Virgil said. “We did drive over separately. But that’s not why I’m late.”

Cora tipped her head to the side, opened her eyes a little wider and said, “I’m aware. That’s why I don’t want to hear about it, because I know you’re going to somehow blame it on Wheeler, and then he, in turn, will throw it back at you, and before anyone realizes it, we’ll be caught in another one of your endless, painfully dry, brotherly bonding exercises.”

Virgil pulled out a chair and took a seat. “Well, for the record, it actually was his fault.”

Murton made a rude noise with his lips. Cora ignored them both and retrieved a binder from her desk, then sat back down. “Look, I know this is sort of an unusual request, but I need to make a decision about IDEM, and I don’t have enough information to do so. I’m hoping the MCU might be able to help me…uh, gather what I need to move forward.”

Virgil looked directly at Cora and said, “If I’m not mistaken, the director serves at the pleasure of you and your office.”

“You’re correct,” Cora said.

“So what’s to decide?” Murton asked. “Pick someone, and if he or she isn’t getting the job done, bounce them and get someone else.”

“I will if I have to,” Cora said. “But this is a bit more complicated and I’d like to make an informed decision before I do anything. I don’t want to end up in the same type of situation we had before with the Department of Natural Resources.”

“Start at the beginning, Cora,” Virgil said. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Cora closed her eyes in thought, then said, “I’m not sure where the actual beginning is. The entire problem has been one of the slowest moving train wrecks I’ve ever witnessed. So slow, in fact, that I’m not exactly sure when the locomotive went off the rails. It was long before Allen Carr, the current director of IDEM, went missing, I can tell you that. What’s the latest on the investigation into his disappearance, by the way? It’s been over a month.”

“The MCU has been looking at every scrap of information we can get our hands on,” Virgil said. “His wife checks out—we simply can’t find any involvement there—his cell phone, wallet, and IDEM keycard were still in his house, his car was in the garage, none of his employees have heard from him, and his bank accounts are dormant, other than purchases made by his wife.”

“You’re sure the wife is clean? What’s her name again…Susan, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Murton said. “And to answer your question, we’re as sure as we can be. Becky ran her through the system, and every last bit of information came back clear. Their credit is stellar, their taxes are in order, and every single person we talked to told us that they were happily married.”

“Sometimes marriages look different behind closed doors,” Cora said. “You’re speaking of him in the past tense, by the way.”

Murton raised a single shoulder…a half-shrug of defeat. “I’m not sure what else we can do. He’ll turn up or he won’t.”

“He’s right, Cora,” Virgil said. “Not only did Murt and I interview her, but Mayo, Ortiz, Ross, and Rosencrantz all took a run at her as well. If she knows something, she should move to Hollywood and take up acting. It is very unlikely that Susan Carr had anything to do with her husband’s disappearance. We’re all but positive. Bottom line, he either took off, or somebody grabbed him.”

“That presents its own little problem,” Murton added. “It’s pretty hard to take off without your ID and some cash or a credit card or bank card, so that probably didn’t happen. Not only that, but there was no sign of a struggle at his home. Chip and Mimi went through the place with every tool at their disposal—all with Susan Carr’s permission, no less—and didn’t find one single piece of evidence that suggested someone took him against his will. We’ve got a BOLO out on him, but so far nothing has turned up.”

“What’s your gut say?” Cora asked.

“Dead,” Virgil and Murton said at the exact same time. They weren’t trying to be glib…they just answered the question as directly as possible.

“Okay,” Cora said. “I was hoping you’d have something by now, because the legislature is leaning on me to act, but I don’t want to give the guy’s job away if he somehow turns up.”

“Probably not going to work out that way, Cora,” Virgil said. “Something happened to the man, but whatever it was, I don’t think you’re going to find him stumbling out of the back seat of an Uber in his own driveway with a drunken grin on his face. He’s gone. I hate to say it, but it happens. You know that as well as we do.”

They sat quietly with that for a minute or so, then Murton looked at Cora and said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“What?”

“You’ve got the assistant director running IDEM right now. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Carmen Bates.”

“Is she qualified?”

“She’s…competent,” Cora said.

“Why the hesitation?” Virgil asked.

“You interviewed her, Jonesy,” Cora said. “I read your report.”

Virgil nodded. “You’re concerned about her husband.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am. Congressman Nathan Bates took over the 6th district of our state after the accident that killed his predecessor. And his staff—both here and in DC—are leaning on the state legislative body to get her in place permanently, and they want it done as soon as possible.”

“Let’s set Carr aside for a minute,” Murton said. “Help me understand where your hesitation comes from.”

Virgil and Murton sat quietly without saying anything, waiting for the governor to answer. Both men knew that Cora had to get to it in her own way.

Finally she looked at them both and said, “Let me lay out some basic facts for you: State-wide, Indiana is made up of just over 23 million acres. Of that, nearly two-thirds—approximately 15 million acres—is tillable farmland. We are the ninth largest farming state in the country, and the seventh largest agricultural exporter in the nation. Farming revenue contributes over fifty billion dollars to Indiana’s economy on an annual basis.”

Murton looked at Virgil and said, “Those are impressive stats. Maybe you should have held onto your two thousand acres.”

Cora pointed a finger at Murton. “You’re not too far off the mark, Wheeler.”

Murton didn’t understand, and said so. “In what way?”

“When Bates took the congressional seat, it wasn’t long before some very heavy hitters came into his district and started throwing their weight around. And by weight, I mean money.”

“Did they throw the money directly at the congressman?” Virgil said.

Cora shrugged. “Who’s to say? But you know as well as I do that some of the money must have gone into his hip pocket.”

“How do you make that leap?” Murton said.

“Because Congressman Bates acts as the chair for the sub-committee that approves and oversees operations of the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. And the commission is throwing money at our state like they’ve got their own personal printing press in the basement.”

“And that’s a problem…why, exactly?” Virgil said. “The money, I mean.”

“The money isn’t the problem, Jonesy,” Cora said. “It’s what they’re doing with it. The money is simply symptomatic of a larger issue. IDEM is in charge of everything that affects our state’s environment. They can issue or deny any permits needed to complete a project if that project will have an impact on our environment in any way whatsoever.”

“I’m aware,” Virgil said. “I went through the whole process with Rick Said when he set up the sonic drilling operation in Shelby County.”

Cora pointed a finger at Virgil and said, “That’s why I said Wheeler wasn’t too far off the mark. Look, your own reports on Carr suggested that the most likely reason behind his disappearance was related to his position with the Indiana Department of Environmental Management.”

“That is true,” Murton said. “But we could never find anyone at IDEM who had an axe to grind. Everybody loved the guy.”

“Maybe not everyone,” Virgil said. “Rick once told me that trying to get a permit out of that guy’s office was like pulling teeth. He moved so slow on our permits in Shelby County I thought Rick might abandon the whole project. If Mac hadn’t stepped in at the time and had a talk with Carr, I don’t think any of it would have happened.”

“But here’s the rub,” Cora said. “Since Carr went missing, the special interest groups out of DC are having a field day, and IDEM has approved more permits during the last month than they did all last year. Some permits have been granted for projects that aren’t even out of the initial planning stages.”

“And you think Congressman Bates is using his wife’s position at IDEM to channel the money?” Virgil asked.

“I do. The timing is very suspect.”

“What kind of projects are we talking about?” Murton said.

“Solar farms,” Cora said. She pushed the binder across the table. “It’s all detailed in that report.”

Virgil pulled the binder closer, but didn’t open it. “Look, Cora, we’ll read the findings, but Carr’s disappearance aside, what do you have against solar farms?”

“On the surface, nothing. Except if you look at the numbers through a certain lens, it doesn’t take a math genius to notice something: Those 15 million acres of tillable farmland I spoke of? Over one million is dedicated to huge industrial solar farms.”

“People do like their electricity,” Murton said.

“They also like to eat,” Cora said. “And even if you put that aside, at the rate IDEM is passing out permits, Indiana is set to be the next power plant for nearly every state east of us.”

“And that’s bad because…” Virgil let his statement hang.

“Read the report, Jonesy. It speaks for itself.”

“I will,” Virgil said. “But I don’t understand what the big deal is. If Rick Said hadn’t come along with his sonic drilling idea, instead of being rich, I’d be bankrupt right now. To tell you the truth, I don’t know how the farmers make ends meet anymore. I had the Shelby County Co-op farm my land for one year before we sold it, and we never brought in more than a couple hundred bucks per acre. After expenses, we barely broke even.”

“Yes,” Cora said. “But what would have happened if someone came along and offered to lease the land from you for as much as twenty thousand dollars per acre, per year?”

Murton leaned close to his brother, put the back of his hand against the side of his mouth and said, “That’s forty million per year.”

Virgil gave him a blank stare. “I can do the math, Murt.”

Murton laughed. “Well, it’s been my experience that⁠—”

Cora cut her eyes over to Murton and said, “Can it, Wheeler.”

Virgil tapped the table with his index finger. When Cora looked at him, he said, “To answer your question, I’d have taken the deal. Who wouldn’t?”

“And that’s the problem,” Cora said. “We’re losing too much land that feeds not only the residents of our state, but the world. Carr knew that, and he was keeping the energy companies in check. But the Bateses have farmers lining up so far and wide they can’t get the permits out the door fast enough. There’s a big difference between working your back to the bone and pulling a few hundred bucks per acre a year out of the land—before expenses, mind you—or sitting back and doing nothing and raking in twenty grand per acre.”

“I can’t argue that point, Cora,” Virgil said. “Mainly because that’s essentially what I did with the sonic drilling operation. It wasn’t that much money, of course, but the end result was the same.”

“I understand that,” Cora said. “But the Shelby County deal was balanced out by other factors.”

Murton cleared his throat and said, “What, exactly, do you want us to do?”

“Three things.” Cora ticked them off her fingers as she spoke. “One, read that report. Second, get with Cool and have him fly you around up north…St. Joe County in particular. They’ve got enough solar farms up there that it’s starting to look like the place is made of mirrors. Third, do your jobs. That means I want Carr found. If he’s alive, our problems might go away. If he’s dead, figure out what happened and why. Follow the money. Do whatever you need to do to figure this thing out. We have so much dirty money floating around our state right now we’re going to be known as the Louisiana of the north, and as governor, that is not going to be my legacy.”

“I think that was more than three things,” Murton said. Then quickly, before Cora could respond: “Investigating a member of Congress is not exactly an easy thing to do. Feathers could get ruffled.”

“Then start ruffling, because this whole affair is about to leave an ink stain on the map of our state and I’m not having it.” Cora glanced at her phone, made note of the time, then said, “What I will have are your backs, no matter whose feathers get ruffled. I’ve got another meeting in three minutes. Get moving, and get me some answers.”

CHAPTER SIX

Stutzman drove over to the town of Shelbyville, the county seat, and found a decent motel to live out of for a week or two…or however long it would take him to find suitable housing to either rent or buy. Renting, Stutzman thought, was probably going to be his best option. As he’d told Johnson, he wasn’t that old, and he had plenty of money, so why bother with a mortgage? Besides, without Gail at his side, building equity at this point in his life seemed a little foolish. He’d find a place eventually, and let the landlord take care of the insurance, taxes, and mortgage.

Once he had all his belongings stashed in the motel, he stopped at a gas station to tank up, then, as he went inside to pay, he grabbed a real estate magazine from the stand. He’d look at it later that evening and start making calls as early as tomorrow. Right now he wanted to get out to the field and take a look at the land Carl Johnson was going to let him farm. Three years of overgrowth on one hundred acres would probably take a lot of time to clear. It all depended on what the overgrowth consisted of. If any trees had sprouted, he’d need a bulldozer—or at the very least, an excavator—to pull the rootballs out of the ground. But, with a little luck, there’d be nothing more than grass and weeds, all of which, Stutzman knew, could be handled with a hay cutter and a rotary rake.

Either way, it didn’t escape Stutzman that if his idea of clearing the field and getting it prepped for winter wheat was going to pan out, he didn’t have much time.

As it happened, he was more right than he thought.

As they were walking to their vehicles in the parking garage, Murton told Virgil that he’d see him after Ellie Rae’s doctor appointment. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so…if they’re running on time, that is.”

That got a chuckle out of Virgil. “Yeah, like that ever happens.”

Murton made a snick noise, then said, “Actually, our pediatrician is pretty good, time-wise. We’ve never had to wait very long. I think they like to get the kids in and out as fast as they can. Anyway, it’ll take Becky a little longer because she’ll have to run Ellie Rae out to your place and drop her with Huma.”

Virgil unlocked his Range Rover and said, “No problem, but have Becky come to the shop instead of the bar when she’s finished. I’d like to get her started on some background with the Bateses.”

“Going to look at them both?”

“Might as well. It’s a place to start.”

“Are we going to fly up north this afternoon, or push it?”

“Don’t know yet,” Virgil said. He wiggled the binder Cora had given them, and finished with, “We’ll want to do it at some point, I’m sure, but I want to read through this thing first.”

“Good enough,” Murton said. “If you could get me a copy, I can give it a read on the flight up…if we go.”

“That’ll work. It’ll be on your desk by the time you get back.” Then with no segue at all: “What’d Baker want, by the way? When we walked out of Cora’s office, I had the feeling she was trying not to look at me.”

“Everyone tries not to look at you, Jones-man.” Then Murton pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Let’s talk about it tonight, if you don’t mind. You and Small are still coming over for dinner, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Virgil said. “Looking forward to it.”

Murton clapped his brother on the back and said, “Sounds good. Be careful.”

“You too,” Virgil said. Then he climbed into the Range Rover, fired up the engine, and drove away.

Thirty minutes later he arrived at the Major Crimes Unit facility, walked inside, and found Sarah Palmer—the MCU operations manager—sitting behind her horseshoe-shaped desk. Sarah was Ross’s live-in girlfriend, and together they were raising Sarah’s daughter, Olivia, whom everyone called Liv.

“Morning, Sarah,” Virgil said. “Anything I need to know?”

“Hi, Jonesy. Nothing to report, really. Becky is going to be out for a while, but she should be in after lunch.”

Virgil nodded. “I’m aware. Murt filled me in. He’s going with her, so mark him out for the rest of the morning, if you would. Everyone else here?”

“Yes, except for Ross. He was at the firing range earlier this morning, but he should be back any minute now. Rosie is in the forensics lab with Chip and Mimi. Oscar and Rafael are in their offices.”

Virgil set the binder on Sarah’s desk and said, “Would you make copies of this thing? Probably wouldn’t hurt to digitize it as well. I need one copy for everybody, including me. I’ll want you to hang onto that one as the master. I got it from Cora and forgot to ask if she needed it back.”

“Sure, that’s no problem.”

“What’s Rosie doing with Chip and Mimi?”

“I’m not sure. He didn’t say. He did ask me to let him know when Becky was available though.”

Virgil filed that tidbit away for later, then said, “How’s the knee?”

Six months ago Virgil had been partially responsible for breaking Sarah’s knee. It hadn’t been one of his better moments, but the whole thing eventually got whittled down to two words: Accidents happen. Virgil still felt bad about it, but it really was a freak, isolated incident that could have been avoided had everyone been paying better attention. Except they weren’t, and Sarah slipped on a brochure Virgil had dropped, and when she did it blew out her knee so badly that she needed a full replacement. Doctor Julia Evans—an ortho doc who happened to be Cool’s girlfriend—did the surgery, and everything turned out just fine. But total knee replacements didn’t come without their challenges, and Sarah’s was no different. The recovery and the physical therapy that went with it hadn’t been easy.

“It’s doing well,” Sarah said. “Still a little stiff in the mornings, but Julia said that will pass as time goes on.”

Virgil nodded and said, “I know about stiff in the morning.”

Sarah tried to cover her laughter by placing her hand over her mouth, but it didn’t work. When she could finally get the words out, she said, “That’s the kind of comment that will have the Office of Professional Responsibility breathing down your neck.”

Virgil felt his face turning about ten different shades of red. “No, no, no. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Uh-huh. Well, what Julia said still applies, no matter what you meant. Your stiffness will pass with time. There will probably come a day when you miss it.”

Virgil shook his head. “I was speaking of my ankle.” Then before Sarah could give him any more grief, he quickly added: “I still can’t quite adequately express how bad I feel about the whole thing.”

Sarah tipped her head slightly, let her eyes rest at half-mast, and said, “And I still can’t quite seem to get through to you that it wasn’t your fault. So let’s drop it once and for all, okay?”

“If you say so,” Virgil said.

“Good. It’s finally settled, then. Now let me get to work on these copies. You and Stiffy probably have things to do.”

Virgil turned to walk away, but instead came face to face with Ross, who had walked in just in time to hear Virgil’s comments. Ross gave him a blank stare and said, “What’s this about Stiffy? Are you hitting on my girl again?”

Virgil started inching away backward, his hands held out in front of himself for protection. “I have never once hit on Sarah. She’s like a daughter to me. I was simply acknowledging that I’m aware of what stiffness feels like in the morning. You know…because of my ankle and all.” Virgil kept backing up until he bumped into the water cooler and almost knocked the jug from its stand. He spun around and steadied the container, but he’d knocked into it hard enough that some of the water spilled right across the front of his pants, making it look like he’d just wet himself.

Ross and Sarah laughed until Virgil made his way upstairs and into his office, closing the door behind him. Then he picked up the phone, hit the button for the intercom and said, “Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“Tell Mayo and Ortiz to come into my office, will you?”

“Of course,” Sarah said.

“And see if you can you find me a blow dryer or something. I’m soaked up here.”

Sarah went and found a blow dryer, then took it up to Virgil’s office. She set it on his desk, gave him a wink, then walked out.

Virgil plugged the unit into the wall outlet, then started drying his pants by pointing the blowdryer at his zipper. He was ten seconds into it when Mayo and Ortiz walked in.

Ortiz looked at his boss and said, “You know, back in my day, if a guy wanted to get blown…”

Virgil turned off the dryer, pointed a finger at him and said, “Don’t start. This isn’t what it looks like.” Then, like a dope, he said, “I was talking to Sarah and the next thing I knew my pants were soaked because I⁠—”

“I’m not sure I want to hear any of this,” Mayo said. “It sounds highly personal. Have you considered adult diapers? I’ve heard they really are very slim-fitting.”

“Have you considered a different line of work?” Virgil asked.

“Only on a daily basis,” Mayo said. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“I want the two of you to go back out and speak with Susan Carr.”

“Unlike your pants, that’s a dry well, boss,” Ortiz said.

“You’re probably right, but I want to make sure we haven’t missed something. She’s not a suspect. Everyone knows that.”

“Then why are we talking to her?” Mayo asked.

“Because I think there is a real possibility that there might be something she knows, but doesn’t know that she knows it.” Virgil mentally cringed at his own sentence structure, but both of his detectives let it go.

“Like what?” Ortiz said.

Virgil shrugged. “I can’t answer that. Ask her about her husband’s work, who he played golf with, what kind of beer did he drink…like that. Ask her everything and anything we didn’t ask before but probably should have. In short, I want you guys to paint me a picture of this guy, and I want it done well enough that we know him inside and out.”

Mayo got serious. “We can do that, Boss, but we’ve painted a pretty good picture already. I don’t know what else we can get.”

“It’s all we’ve got to work with for now,” Virgil said. “So give it your best shot. Something might break loose.”

Mayo cleared his throat and said, “I take it we don’t want to offer up our opinions on his, uh, current state of aliveness.”

Virgil tipped a finger at his detectives. “No, we definitely don’t want to do that until we know his status for certain.”

Mayo and Ortiz said they’d give it their best, then walked out of the office. Once they were gone, Virgil went back to drying his pants. He’d just gotten restarted when Rosencrantz walked in. He stopped, leaned a shoulder against the door and said, “I’ve heard it’s lonely at the top, but come on, man.”

Virgil had to explain yet again what had happened downstairs, then pointed at a chair and said, “Have a seat. This will just take a minute.”

Rosencrantz sat, and Virgil spent five minutes getting his pants dried off. Once that was accomplished, he took a seat, then brought Rosencrantz up to speed on the meeting with Cora. He finished with: “I’ve already spoken to Mayo and Ortiz. They’re going to have another chat with Susan Carr and see if we missed anything.”

Rosencrantz was underwhelmed. “Empty hole. The guy is dead, Jonesy. You know it, I know it, and so does everyone else.”

“I can’t really argue that point, Rosie, but dead or not—even though he probably is—we’ve still got to try to catch his killer.”

“Not an easy task. No body means no crime.”

“You’re starting to sound like a lawyer,” Virgil said.

“It is exactly what most prosecutors would say.”

“Not our problem, Rosie. If we can tie Carr to someone, then take a look at that person or persons, we’ll be able to say we’ve done our part, no matter what the prosecutor says.”

Rosencrantz bobbed his head around in a circle and said, “Yeah, okay. I get it. Where do you want me and Ross?”

“Nowhere, just yet,” Virgil said. “Sarah is running copies of the report Cora gave us. I want you guys to read through it, then give me your impressions and recommendations on how to move forward.”

“Have you looked at it yet?” Rosencrantz said.

“I haven’t. I think Murt and I are flying up to St. Joe County this afternoon to look at some huge solar farms they’ve got going up there. Not exactly sure what we’ll find, but we’ll have time to read the report on the flight up and back.”

Rosencrantz slapped his thighs, stood, and said, “Good enough. We’ll get started right away. Listen, have you seen Becky? I was hoping she could do a background on someone for me.”

“She’s with Murt. Ellie Rae is at the doctor’s office getting her shots.”

“Got it. I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

“Do you have something cooking?” Virgil said. “When I got here, Sarah told me you were in the forensics lab with Chip and Mimi.”

Rosencrantz gave Virgil a lazy shrug. “Not sure yet. They’re doing a rapid DNA test on a guy I ran into this morning.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“He said his name was Moses Biggatto.”

“Why are you looking at him?” Virgil said.

“Because he was drooling all over Lucy at the diner earlier today. There was something off about him.”

“Off how, exactly?”

“I’m not sure I can adequately explain it. He had an attitude like he couldn’t be touched. Made me for a cop in about two seconds. Not the hardest thing in the world to do—I’ll grant you that—but you know as well as I do that someone who can pick out a cop better than anyone else is usually one of two things.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Either another cop, or a crook.”

“Yup.”

“If you’ve got his name, why bother with the DNA?”

“Didn’t see any ID…mainly because I told him to take off, but I did get his plates. He’s out of New Jersey. I’ll tell you something else…he offered up his name like he didn’t have anything to hide.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Virgil said.

Rosencrantz had to concede the point. “That could very well be, but the DNA can’t hurt. No such thing as too much information, right?”

Virgil tipped his chair back and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Hard to argue your point, but you’re going to have to put it on the back burner for now.”

“Mind if I have Sarah run the plates?”

“No, I don’t, but let’s keep the allocation of resources in check, huh? We need all our efforts focused on Carr…and Congressman Bates.”

Rosencrantz was confused, and said so. “Why are we looking at Bates?”

“It’s in the report. Grab a copy from Sarah, take it to your office, close the door and start reading. Tell Ross to do the same.”

Rosencrantz said he would, then headed for the door.

Virgil stopped him for just a second. “Hey, Rosie?”

Rosencrantz turned back. “Yeah?”

Virgil smiled and said, “How is Lucy?”

Rosencrantz simply smiled and nodded at his boss, then walked out.

Virgil was happy to see it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Henry Stutzman left his hotel room in Shelbyville and headed out to Carl Johnson’s field to have a look at what he was getting himself into. He knew the location of the plot of land, and had, in fact, worked it once before, years ago when the Co-op was still operational. He’d done it strictly as a favor to a friend and fellow farmer, mainly because Johnson hadn’t been part of the Co-op back then…not yet, anyway, and Stutzman was, which gave him some extra time and latitude to do as he liked.

He took Highway 44 to the southwest, and—not surprisingly—found the field exactly where it used to be…one hundred acres of farmland right at the dividing line that separated Rush and Shelby counties. The field was just south of Deer Creek, and as he made the drive, Stutzman remembered that the creek itself had always been a bit troublesome…the drainage never quite right. It was either too dry or too wet, and neither of those options were ideal because they led to either soil erosion or drainage problems.

Something else: If memory served—and Stutzman’s memory was just fine—the land had been used for growing the organic corn and beans that Johnson sold to local markets. The organic part wasn’t a problem, but it meant that in order to be certified as such, Johnson couldn’t use pesticides of any kind on the land, which was both good and bad.

It was good because organic is always better, both for taste and, more importantly, a healthy lifestyle. And it was bad because years of neglect on soil that hadn’t seen any chemicals was simply begging for anything and everything to grow…and grow fast.

Once Stutzman arrived, he parked his truck on the dirt lane that led back to the barn, then got out to walk the field. He could have driven straight back to the barn and the creek that sat behind it, but as a long-time farmer with decades of experience, Stutzman knew that the best way to see what he had to work with was to walk the land, as opposed to giving it a casual glance from the cab of his truck.

He stood for a moment and surveyed the land, a small measure of disappointment washing over him. He knew right away that his idea of getting winter wheat planted probably wasn’t going to work out. The field was overrun with nearly everything Mother Nature had to throw at it. Small trees were scattered across the land, with weeds of all kinds, wild sawgrass, bushes, and even a mixture of beans and the occasional corn stalk here and there covering nearly every inch of the acreage. It would take an entire team of men and equipment to clear the fallow cropland in time to get the wheat planted, and even then, with the amount of overgrowth, repeated cultivations would be necessary to kill the perennial plants and destroy the weed seeds. All this was required to reduce plant competition when the field was eventually replanted in the spring.

So, Stutzman decided right then and there that he’d have to change his plan. He would forego the wheat, and prep the field for planting next year. It didn’t really bother him all that much. He wasn’t doing it for the money. He was doing it because farming was in his blood. It was all he knew.

Stutzman bent over and dug through the weeds until he got down to the topsoil. He kicked at the dirt until he’d cleared a small area no bigger than a shoebox, then scooped up a handful of soil. He gave it a sniff, and even took a dab of dirt and put it on his tongue.

He didn’t realize it, but he was smiling for the first time since Gail had died. He also didn’t know that someone was watching him from the road, nearly a quarter mile away inside a car with New Jersey plates.

The watcher was using high-powered binoculars, and he sat comfortably in his automobile, his rugged clothing a stark contrast to his perfectly manicured fingernails and freshly barbered salt and pepper hair. He watched the man taste the dirt, then followed him with the binoculars as he walked toward the back of the field, occasionally losing sight of him between a few areas of taller overgrowth.

It was a problem, and Biggatto knew it. If the man, whoever he was, decided to go inside the barn at the back of the field, he’d have to be dealt with. Biggatto reached into the glove compartment of his car and pulled out a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson model 642 and set it on the passenger seat. Then he dropped his car in gear and started creeping closer to the dirt track where Stutzman had parked his truck.

Stutzman pulled out his phone and called Carl Johnson. Once he had him on the line, he hit the Speaker button, tucked the phone in his breast pocket, and said, “I’m standing at the back of your field as we speak.”

“How’s it look? I haven’t been out that way in quite a while.”

“Like it’s trying to reclaim itself. I’d say it’s doing a pretty good job of it, too.”

“Figure out what you need?” Johnson said.

“Yeah, I have. Gonna want a brush hog for sure, and eventually a side cutter and rotary rake. But right now what I really need is an excavator. Looks like some of the overgrowth has pretty deep roots, and the creek has a couple of places where the ditch needs to be shored up.”

“You fixing to start today?”

“If you can get an excavator out here I will.”

“How’s half an hour sound? I’ve already got it loaded on the lowboy. One of my guys can get it out there for you.”

“Perfect,” Stutzman said. “I’ll be waiting. If you don’t need the lowboy, tell him to unhook right up by the road. I can get it unloaded.”

“That’ll work,” Johnson said. “He’ll be out shortly.”

After Stutzman ended the call, he took one last look at the creek, then started toward the barn. As he got closer, he began to smell a foul odor. It didn’t really surprise him because he knew that if a field was neglected and isolated—and this one was—somebody had probably been using the land as their own personal hunting ground. He’d likely find a gut dump somewhere close to the barn, and maybe even a carcass or two inside the building itself.

When Stutzman pulled the barn door open, the smell hit him like a punch in the gut. He gagged, turned his head, spat in the dirt and weeds, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth and nose. When he saw the man’s decomposing body on the dirt floor of the barn, his head wrapped in plastic, he either thought or said, ‘Holy mother of Christ.’ If asked later if he’d actually spoken the words aloud, Stutzman wouldn’t have been able to say.

He turned to get out of the barn as quickly as possible, already reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. That’s when he saw someone he’d never seen before, standing in the doorway, a gun in his hand, his expression fixed…almost quizzical in nature.

Stutzman stopped and said, “Wha⁠—”

It was the last sound he ever made, the noise of the gunshots loud enough to cover whatever words he was going to say. Not that it mattered. The bullets entered Stutzman’s chest and tore his organs to shreds. Somewhere in the back of his dying brain, Stutzman’s final thought was the taste of dirt on his tongue.

A farmer right to the very end.

Biggatto had heard the phone conversation between Stutzman and Johnson, so he knew he didn’t have much time. He got the barn closed up, then ran back to his vehicle and drove away. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind…he simply knew he couldn’t be seen by whoever was going to drop off the excavator.

The barn, he thought, had been the perfect place to dump Carr’s body. It was isolated, the field had been neglected for years, and, Biggatto thought, by the time anyone found Carr’s remains—if they ever found them at all—he’d be back on the east coast, or on to the next job.

But now he had a problem. One body in the barn was manageable. Two was not. As he drove the country square a few times, waiting for the equipment to be dropped off, he had a thought and decided it was a good one. Risky? Yes. But if he pulled it off, he’d be in the clear.

Mike Grey had worked for Carl Johnson ever since he was a kid. By the time he was fifteen, he could run any type of equipment ever designed for farming, and even drive a semi when Johnson needed him to. Now, at almost twenty-four years old, he had long orange hair that looked like it might have been stolen from a scarecrow, and a full mountain-man-style orange beard that fell across his upper chest…a way to hide his unfortunate receding jawline. Grey wasn’t lucky enough to be born with good looks, but what he lacked in appearance was overshadowed by his work ethic. He could work with the best of them, and by the time Grey had started his third decade of life, Johnson had come to rely on his skills and dedication to farming so much that he put Grey in charge of his operation, and also used him to help out when it was time to reposition the sonic drill units.

Grey took care of Johnson’s hogs, his chickens, the single dairy cow…and even helped the barn cats get through the winter months by making sure they had enough food and water. In short—his unusual appearance aside—he was the single most dedicated worker Johnson had ever met. So when Johnson told Stutzman the excavator would be delivered in half an hour, Grey made sure it happened.

He backed the lowboy trailer onto the dirt path, making sure to leave enough room for Stutzman to get his truck out when it was time to leave. Once the trailer was unhooked, Grey held up a hand to shield the sun from his eyes and looked at the barn off in the distance. He thought about walking back and saying hello to Mr. Stutzman because he hadn’t seen him in years, but decided he didn’t have enough time. He’d catch up with him in a day or two, but right now he had a sow that was about to give birth, and he needed to be there when that happened. He did take the time to unload the trailer though…a gesture of goodwill toward a man he’d always looked up to.

Once that was done, he climbed into the cab of the semi, gave the handle of the airhorn a tug to let Stutzman know he’d dropped the excavator, then turned onto the road and headed back to Johnson’s place.

Biggatto had never actually operated an excavator, but he was smart enough to figure it out. Once Grey was gone—Biggatto had watched him drive away from the field—he climbed into the cab, got the big CAT fired up, then spent a few minutes studying the controls. Everything was labeled with pictograms, and he manipulated the joysticks and pedals a few times as he drove the excavator back toward the barn. By the time he got there, Biggatto had it figured out well enough to get the job done. He wouldn’t win operator of the year, but that didn’t matter. Right now he had a hole to dig, so he picked his spot—an area between the back of the barn and the creek—and got to work.

His original plan was to simply dig a hole big enough for both bodies—a couple of scoops from the big bucket would be plenty deep enough—but then he had a different idea and kept right on digging. The excavator made the job as easy as it could be, but the sun was beating down on the cab and shining through the windows, and by the time he was done digging the hole, Biggatto was starting to sweat.

He hopped out of the CAT, ran back up toward the front of the field, then drove Stutzman’s pickup truck over to the barn and parked as close as possible. He found a pair of gloves in the cab of the truck and slipped them on. Biggatto wasn’t worried about fingerprints because he wasn’t on file anywhere…and hopefully never would be. The gloves were required because he didn’t want any of Carr’s bodily fluids on his hands. He wrapped the body in a blue plastic tarp he found inside the barn, then dragged it outside and rolled it into the CAT’s bucket. He did the same with Stutzman—minus the tarp—then got back into the cab, raised the bucket, swung the machine around, and very unceremoniously dumped both bodies into the bed of Stutzman’s truck.

With that done, Biggatto climbed down from the CAT, hopped into the pickup, and backed it down the ramp he’d dug and into the deep end of the hole.

By the time he’d gotten the hole filled back in, nearly three hours had passed, but Biggatto knew he wasn’t quite done yet.

The excavator had a blade attached to the frame at the front end, just forward of the tracks. Biggatto lowered the blade and made multiple passes back and forth next to the barn, ripping away the vegetation. Once he had enough, he used the bucket to pile most of it behind the barn and right on top of the hole he’d just filled in. It wouldn’t fool a seasoned crime scene crew, but, as his father—miserable prick that he was—used to say, it was good enough for government work. And in a way, that’s what he was doing. The thought made him smile.

Biggatto took a few extra minutes inside the barn and used a dirt rake to cover the area where Carr’s bodily fluids had accumulated, then did the same thing where Stutzman had bled out. Then, just to play it safe, he broke open a bale of hay and spread some around, covering the areas he’d just raked. He took one last look at the scene, then out loud, said, “Fuck it,” before tossing the gloves in the dirt and pulling the door closed behind himself. He grabbed the key from the ignition in the excavator, then tossed it into the creek, where it made a tiny splash before sinking out of sight.

As he walked toward the front of the field, Biggatto pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call. “Our former problem has been handled.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then the voice said, “I thought it already was handled...a month ago.”

“There was an issue regarding proper disposal.”

“And that issue has been resolved?”

“It has,” Biggatto said. “And I’ve got our next spot picked out. You couldn’t ask for a better location…close to a substation, with a nice flowing creek at the back of the property for water access, and a sturdy barn large enough to house the power inverters. The permit has already been filed, and hopefully I’ll speak with the owner by the end of the day.”

“Good. Get it done,” the voice said before ending the call.

Biggatto stuck the phone back in his pants pocket, popped the trunk of his automobile, then stripped out of his sweat-soaked shirt, dropped it in the weeds, pulled a fresh T-shirt over his head, then got into his car and drove away. On the way back to his hotel in Rushville, he thought about the pitch he was going to make to Carl Johnson. He also wondered who the man was that he’d just killed. Biggatto knew it wasn’t Johnson, because the people he worked for were very thorough, providing him highly detailed documentation—complete with photographs—on every person he was required to contact. He hadn’t bothered to check the man’s driver’s license or vehicle registration, though he did notice that the truck had Arizona plates. It might have been a mistake, but the more Biggatto thought about it, the more convinced he became that the man was a nobody. And, if he was from Arizona, surely no one would be looking for him in Rush County, Indiana.

I’m good, Biggatto thought. Gonna need a shower, but I’m good.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Susan Carr was sitting at the desk in her home office, printing out full-color flyers with a photo of her husband, front and center. The picture she used for the flyers was the most recent she had, taken straight from her cell phone. Above the picture was the word MISSING in big block letters, and at the bottom of the flyer was her cell phone number, and the main line for the MCU. She’d been stapling them to poles, and taping them inside every retail window she could find in hopes that someone might have knowledge of what happened to her husband, or at the very least be able to say they saw him at some point after he’d gone missing.

So far she’d gotten nothing…unless you counted the pranks, offers of a good time, or suggestions of comfort in her time of need—no strings attached.

No, thanks.

She was in the middle of changing out the ink cartridge when her doorbell rang. When she heard the chime, two thoughts went through her brain simultaneously: Allen is back—which she knew wasn’t really the case—and, Thank God I didn’t put our address on the flyers.

She left the printer’s cartridge bay hanging open, then went to answer the front door. When she saw who was standing outside, she didn’t know if she should be happy or not.

“Please tell me⁠—”

Mayo held up a single hand, palm out, and quickly shook his head. “We have no new information regarding your husband, Mrs. Carr. But we would like to have a word with you. May we come in for a few minutes?”

When Susan heard what Mayo said, she nearly lost her composure. She closed her eyes, took five seconds and gathered herself together, then said, “If that’s the case, then why are you here instead of out searching for Allen?” She wasn’t sure if she kept the annoyance out of her voice or not.

Mayo caught the tone and said, “Every single police officer in the state, from the troopers right down to the local municipalities, is aware of your husband’s disappearance, and they are actively searching for him.”

“You mean passively, don’t you?”

Ortiz took a half-step forward and said, “What my partner is saying, Mrs. Carr, is that law enforcement officials in all ninety-two counties are aware of what’s going on and they’re keeping an eye out. If Mr. Carr is still in the state, someone will spot him eventually.”

“What about the hospitals? Have all of them been notified?”

“May we come in, ma’am?” Ortiz said.

“Answer my question, Detective.”

“We will,” Mayo said. “I promise. If we could sit down and chat⁠—”

This time Susan Carr didn’t try to hide her emotions. “Chat? You want us to chat? You make it sound like we’re planning an ice cream social. Yes, by all means, please come inside and we’ll chat. Don’t forget to bring your innuendos with you. Last time you and your other detectives were here, every single one of you all but accused me of killing my own husband.”

Then, before either Ortiz or Mayo could respond, Carr turned from the open door and walked away…a silent statement that said come in or don’t.

Mayo looked at his partner, let out a sigh, then both men walked inside the house, closing the door softly behind them.

Carr sat on the edge of her living room sofa, her body language conveying a message that was hard to miss. Her back was stiff and straight, her knees pressed together, her hands balled into fists on top of her thighs. Mayo and Ortiz both took chairs across from her on the other side of the coffee table. Carr got them started.

“I hope this won’t take long. I’m in the middle of printing out more flyers, and once they’re ready I’ll be going out to distribute them wherever I can, which, by the way, seems to be more than either of you are doing.”

Mayo took out his notebook and said, “Mrs. Carr, please…we’re all on the same side here.”

Carr leaned forward and bared her teeth a bit. “Are we? Because it sure didn’t feel like it last time you were here.”

“A necessary evil,” Ortiz said.

“What in the hell does that mean?”

“It means that when something like this happens…when someone goes missing or is killed, the investigation that follows starts with the people closest to the victim. Through the process of elimination, we can narrow our focus.”

Carr lifted her hands and let them flop back on her legs. “Here we go again. How many times do I have to tell you that Allen’s life insurance policy will be just enough to bury him? And that’s if you find his body. If there is anything left over, it might be enough to buy a week’s worth of groceries.”

Ortiz dropped a little cop into his voice and said, “Mrs. Carr, listen to me. Myself, my partner, and the entire Major Crimes Unit are on record with my next statement. You are not a suspect in your husband’s disappearance.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t feel that way,” Carr said.

Ortiz looked away for a second, then responded by saying, “Look, you can sit there and pretend you’re the victim in all this, but you’re not. Your husband is. My partner and I have been tasked with gathering as much information from you as we can in hopes that it might lead us to him. We need your help. It’s as simple as that.”

Carr pointed a finger at Mayo and Ortiz. “But I am the victim too. Don’t you see that? Is Allen the one who’s missing? Yes. But he’s my husband, and if something drastic has happened to him, that means I’ve suffered a loss as well.”

Mayo kept his voice calm. “We understand, Mrs. Carr. I promise you, we do. And for the record, I believe what you just said. You’re a victim in this too.”

“My partner is right,” Ortiz said. “I misspoke. I hope you’ll forgive me. I was simply trying to convey that our sole focus is on your husband.”

Ortiz’s statement seemed to calm Carr down a bit. She took a deep breath, and forced herself to relax. When she sat back, her body language spoke again, but this time it was free of malevolence, and her tone of voice was more civil. “I’m…well, I’m sorry. You have no idea what it’s like to go to bed every night and stare at the ceiling, wondering if your spouse is dead or alive. It’s been over a month since he went for a run and never came back.” Carr rubbed her face with both hands, then said, “I think that’s the first time I’ve said that aloud. I’m wasting my time with the flyers. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“We don’t know,” Mayo said. When he spoke again he chose his words with care. “But I do know this: My partner and I, along with the rest of the Major Crimes Unit, are operating under the assumption that he is out there, and we’ll continue to do everything we can to find him.”

They all sat in silence for a few seconds, then Carr said, “What about the hospitals? You never answered my question about that.”

“You’re right,” Ortiz said. “Let me do that right now. When your husband left to go for a run, he didn’t take any of his personal belongings with him.”

“That’s correct,” Carr said. “But what does that have to do with the hospitals?”

“Every single hospital in the entire United States has the same protocol in place if they encounter an unidentifiable patient. If Mr. Carr were to turn up at a hospital—and you’ll have to forgive me here—in any condition at all, and was unable to tell them who he was, the authorities would be notified, and pictures and fingerprints would be taken. That information then immediately goes into a national database where it is matched against missing persons. It is a highly effective system.”

Carr asked the question even though she already knew the answer. “And that hasn’t happened with Allen?”

“No ma’am,” Mayo said. “I’m afraid it has not.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

Ortiz leaned forward slightly and said, “We’d like to talk about that. More specifically, we’d like to talk with you about your husband as a person…his likes, his dislikes, his social life, who he’d go to the bar and have a beer with, what are his political and religious beliefs, and anything you can think of that might not seem like it matters. In fact—and I know this won’t be easy—but we’d like you to tell us everything you can about your husband as if he wasn’t missing. Show us some pictures, tell us about his golf game, tell us about your marriage…things like that.”

“Why?” Carr said, a little bite creeping back into her voice. “So you can put me back on the suspect list?”

Mayo shook his head, and thought, Here we go…

Mayo and Ortiz spent three hours with Susan Carr, poking, prodding, listening to her stories, and in general peeking behind the curtain of a man they were both convinced was dead.

They got nothing useful at all.

As they stood to leave, Ortiz walked over to the fireplace mantle and looked at a framed photo of the Carrs. The picture showed the two of them standing together in a semicircle with a small group of other people. Allen Carr was looking directly at the camera, his eyes heavily lidded, his smile slightly lopsided as if maybe he’d had a few too many drinks. His arm was draped lazily over his wife’s shoulder, his fingertips resting lightly on the upper arm of another woman, who was also smiling. In fact, Ortiz noticed, everyone in the photo was smiling at the camera…except for Susan Carr.

She had her head turned to the side and was looking directly at her husband’s fingertips on the other woman’s arm.

Mayo was speaking with Carr, who had her back to him, so Ortiz took out his phone and snapped a quick picture of the photo. Then he picked it up, turned around, and said, “This is a nice picture. Where was it taken?”

Carr stepped over and said, “That was our last vacation together. It was a little over a year ago. Last March, I think. Yes. It was at the end of March. We flew down to the Caymans with friends.”

“I’ll bet that was fun,” Ortiz said. “Looks like a great beach. Who took the photo?”

“Excuse me?” Carr said.

“The picture. Who took it?”

“I don’t know,” Carr snapped. She removed the photo from Ortiz’s hand, placed it face down back on the mantle, and said, “What does it matter? This is ridiculous. I’m wasting my time here. I think that statement is probably going to sum up the rest of my life moving forward. Wasted time. I’d like to be alone now. I’ll let you show yourselves out.”

Once they were back in their squad car, Ortiz started the engine, then pulled away from the curb. He glanced at his partner and said, “Clearly she’s reached the anger stage of her grief.”

Mayo laughed without humor. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Virgil was in his office reading through the report from Cora when his cell phone buzzed at him. He pulled it from his pocket, checked the caller ID, and answered by saying, “Let me guess. You’re pregnant again, the ultrasound shows it’s a boy, and you want to name him Virgil.”

Murton sighed and said, “Here’s two things of note: First, that’s anatomically impossible, and second—even though I find it hard to believe—your humor is somehow getting worse instead of better.”

“I thought you were Becky,” Virgil said. “At least that’s what my phone told me.”

“Left mine in the squad to charge. Battery was getting low.”

“Huh.”

Murton knew he’d regret asking, but he did so anyway. “Huh, what?”

“Nothing. I just think it’s sort of funny that you’re using the charger in your Charger to charge your phone.”

Murton sighed again and said, “Virgil, stop. I thought we were making significant progress on your sense of humor, but clearly we’re not.”

“Who said I was joking?”

“You did. You said it was sort of funny, which implies a joke. Anyway, I’m calling to let you know that it’s going to be a while before Becky and I can get back to the shop.”

Virgil got serious. “Is everything all right with Ellie Rae?”

“You know, humor…and your grilled chicken aside, you’re a hell of a good brother. Ellie Rae is fine. But the doctor got caught up in some sort of emergency delivery and is running behind schedule. It’s going to be another couple of hours, at least.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Virgil said. “Cool is on his way over as we speak. I’ll take a quick run up north with him, see what there is to see, and fill you in tonight over dinner. Want me to have Sarah mark you guys out for the day?”

“Yeah, at the rate we’re going, you probably should. I’ll catch you tonight.”

“Good enough,” Virgil said.

“Fly safe, huh? Last time you were on board the helicopter with Cool, it didn’t go very well.”

“Wow…thanks for the reminder,” Virgil said. Then he hung up before Murton could respond, but he did it with a smile on his face.

CHAPTER NINE

Virgil had no sooner hung up on Murton when he heard Cool touch down on the MCU’s helipad. He punched the Intercom button on his desk phone and said, “Sarah?”

“Yes, Jonesy?”

“Would you mark Murton and Becky out for the rest of the day? Myself as well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No problem. Fly safe.”

Virgil chuckled into the receiver. “Everyone keeps telling me that, but it isn’t up to me.”

“Well, keep your seatbelt fastened, at least.”

“I’ll do that.” Virgil grabbed the report, took the stairs up to the rooftop, and met Cool at the door. They shook hands, and Cool said, “Hey, man, good to see you again.”

“You too,” Virgil said with a smile. Then he looked over Cool’s shoulder toward the helicopter. “So that’s the new bird?”

Cool turned and looked at the helicopter as well. “Yup. It’s an Airbus H145. Pretty nice, huh?”

“That might be an understatement,” Virgil said. The helicopter was very impressive looking. It was all blue, with the exception of the tail rotor section, which was painted in bright red, and it had the Indiana state seal on the side. Virgil naturally walked closer and said, “I like the fact that the tail rotor is enclosed.”

“Me too,” Cool said. “It’s called a Fenestron anti-torque system. Safer for people on the ground, and has reduced vibration while in the air. I’ll tell you something else…with twin turbine engines and five rotor blades instead of four, you actually end up with a bigger cabin area but an overall lower footprint for landing in tight spaces.”

Virgil felt like the conversation was about to go into some sort of aviation overdrive—which he really wasn’t interested in—so he said, “Was it really necessary to go to France to get this thing?”

Cool smiled. “Gun to my head, or a couple of fellas talking trash?”

“Trash talk.”

Cool turned the corners of his mouth down. “It wasn’t necessary at all. But if you tell Cora that, I may have to crash you again.”

Virgil let out a snort. “Your secret is safe with me. But really, if it wasn’t necessary, why’d you go?”

“Julia wanted to. So did I, if I’m being honest with you. We got a hell of a nice tour of the Airbus plant, and spent some time in a beautiful country…all on the state’s dime.”

Virgil ran his hand along the side of the craft and said, “Is that where they build these things? In France?”

“Some of them, yes. But this one came out of their Grand Prairie, Texas manufacturing facility. After we got back from France, I had to do a few weeks of ground school and simulator training out in Denver, and after I finished all that, I went to Texas and flew this baby back to Indy.”

Virgil leaned his back against the passenger door of the helicopter, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “Just out of curiosity, how much do these things go for?”

Cool barked out a laugh. “Well, they aren’t cheap, that’s for sure. Insurance covered most of it, though.”

“How not cheap are they?”

“This one came in at almost ten mil.”

Virgil quickly stopped leaning against the side of the craft, then turned around to make sure he didn’t leave a scratch, which, he was happy to note, he had not. “Holy smokes. Ten million bucks?”

Cool wasn’t fazed. “Who cares? It’s not like it came out of our pockets.”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, ready to take her on the first mission?”

“Sure. Where are we headed?”

“Up north. St. Joe County in particular. We probably won’t even be landing anywhere, but Cora wants me to get a look at some of the industrial solar farms up there.” He wiggled the report in the air, and finished with, “I’ve got the locations right here.”

“Good enough.” Cool popped the door for Virgil, who didn’t climb on board. He simply stood there and looked at the interior. Finally Cool said, “Are you going to get in, or not?”

“I’m still deciding,” Virgil said. “I was just reminded that last time you and I were on board a helicopter together, it didn’t go very well. You put a whole new turn on the phrase, ‘stick the landing.’”

Cool held up his index finger and swished it back and forth like a windshield wiper. “That, my fellow law enforcement officer, is entirely inaccurate.”

Virgil tucked his chin. “Really? Because the way I remember, we sort of crashed. And not to put too fine a point on it, but you can take the words ‘sort of’ out of my last statement.”

Cool gave Virgil a thoughtful nod and said, “It was a series of rather ill-timed and unfortunate events, I’ll grant you that. But, due to my superior aviation skills, we survived to fly another day. C’mon, get in already. There is absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“The more you tell me there’s nothing to worry about, the more worried I become.”

“Gotta get back on the horse at some point, Jonesy. Besides, your first crash is always the worst.”

Virgil stuck his tongue in his cheek, looked Cool in the eye and said, “You know how Murton is always giving me grief about my sense of humor?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“He’s been talking to the wrong guy.”

Moses Biggatto crossed the line into Shelby County and followed the nav unit in his car straight to Carl Johnson’s farm. When he turned in to the drive, he wasn’t quite sure where he’d find the man, so he started with the house. He rang the bell and knocked on the door, and when no one answered, he turned and headed toward the barn. That’s where he found Mike Grey, who was on his knees, next to a huge pig that was lying on its side, its breath coming in short, rapid snorts.

Grey saw Biggatto walk up to the pen and said, “Whatever it is, I can’t help ya right now. This sow is in trouble and I need another set of hands. You ever helped birth a litter of piglets?”

Biggatto swallowed and said, “I’m, uh, looking for Mr. Johnson.”

“Carl ain’t here right now, which I pretty much just done told ya in a certain particular set of words if you was listening, which I guess you weren’t. Have you ever helped, or not?”

Biggatto wasn’t used to being talked to the way Grey was speaking, but he was so out of his element he answered anyway. “Do I look like a pig farmer?”

“Pig farmers don’t have no particular look,” Grey said.

Biggatto let the double negative of Grey’s statement slide and said, “I meant no offense. To answer your question, no. I have exactly zero experience with swine.” Then he thought about what he did for a living and who he worked for, and decided his own statement wasn’t entirely accurate.

“It ain’t that hard. Just do as I say. See that big box of gloves over by the gate?”

Biggatto looked at the gate and knew he was getting roped into something he wanted no part of. And even though his mind was screaming at him to leave, he said, “Yeah, I see it.”

Grey looked at him like he was a moron. “Well, you just going to stand there, or what?”

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”

“For starters, pay better attention. Grab one of them gloves right quick, and get over here. You’re just in time.”

Against his better judgement, Biggatto did as he was told, then got down on the ground with Grey. “Why are the gloves so long?”

“So you can get it all the way up past your elbow. Roll up your sleeve, put one on, and get right behind her.”

“How about maybe I come back another time?”

“Come back whenever you like,” Grey said. “Just don’t leave yet or I might lose this sow and her entire litter. Come on, get the glove on. Can’t you see how distressed she is? If we can get the first one out, the others will follow.”

“What are you going to do?” Biggatto said as he slipped the plastic glove on and then up over his elbow.

“I’m going to hold her down. She’s a mean momma, and she ain’t gonna like you poking around in her female nether regions.”

“I don’t think I’m going to like it, either,” Biggatto said.

“You ever wrestle a hog before?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s what I thought,” Grey said. “You got the easy part. Just stick your hand in there…gently, mind you, and feel around for the sack.”

Biggatto swallowed again. “Sack? What sack?”

“You’ll know it when you feel it. Hold her tail with your other hand, then once you’re in, you’ll need to rupture the sack with your fingers. After that, gently pull the first little fella out, and like I said, the others will follow.”

Biggatto looked at Grey like he was from another planet, all the while wondering where he’d gone wrong in his life. What turn of events had led him here…inside a hog pen, taking orders from an orange-headed kid who looked like something out of a hillbilly comic strip?

Nevertheless, when Grey said to go, Biggatto closed his eyes and slid his hand inside the sow.

Virgil rode up front with Cool, and once they were airborne he discovered that any uncertainty he had about getting on board had vanished. The helicopter was perfect, the weather was good, the air was free of turbulence, and all in all, the flight up north went off without a hitch. But something was nagging at the back of Virgil’s brain. He felt like he was experiencing déjà vu. He turned to Cool and said, “I know this helicopter is brand new, but I can’t help feeling like I’ve been on board before.”

“That’s because, in a sense, you have,” Cool said. “Remember when we went down to Jamaica to rescue Delroy and Huma?”

“Of course. That one is a little hard to forget.”

“The Pope crew’s helicopter is the corporate version of this model.”

“And you knew how to fly it,” Virgil said. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course.”

“Then why did you have to go to flight training for this one if it’s essentially the same?”

“Insurance requirement,” Cool said. Then he pointed out the front window and said, “One o’clock, about two miles out.”

Virgil looked out the front window and saw the solar farm up ahead, just south of the Indiana toll road. He flipped to the proper page of the information Cora had given him and said, “According to this report, the entire farm is a little over two hundred acres, and consists of almost sixty-thousand photovoltaic solar panels, able to generate 20 megawatts of energy annually.”

Cool frowned behind his aviator shades and said, “I’m positive I don’t know how much energy that is.”

Virgil held up a wait-a-minute index finger and kept reading. “This says it’s enough to power an average of nearly three thousand homes.”

Cool got permission from air traffic control, then descended down to about a thousand feet off the ground. He circled the entire facility twice, then held them in a hover on the south side of the array. He engaged the autopilot, then looked at Virgil and said, “You know what’s weird?”

“What?”

“All the panels are facing east. You’d think they’d be pointed to the south. Southern exposure, right?”

Virgil nodded while checking the index of the report. He flipped to the proper page, read it for a few seconds, then said, “This says that it has something to do with inverter clipping—whatever that is—and time of use rates.”

“Well, I don’t know what any of that means,” Cool said. “Doesn’t look like anyone is here. You want to go check out the other one? It’s about ten minutes to the west if they don’t divert us too far around the South Bend airport.”

“Yeah, let’s go take a look,” Virgil said. He flipped through to the glossary section of the report. Inverter clipping, and time of use rates? What the hell was all that? Virgil was a cop, not an electrical engineer.

Much to his surprise, Biggatto managed to help bring the litter of piglets into the world. They got them all, except for one that was stillborn. As Biggatto stripped out of the glove, Grey took the dead piglet and without saying a word, quite unceremoniously tossed it into another pen across the aisle. As soon as the dead piglet hit the ground, it was ravaged by the other hogs in the pen.

“Why’d you do that?” Biggatto said. He was blinking the moisture from his eyes when he spoke.

“What’d you want me to do?” Grey said. “Call the undertaker? Why are you misting up on me?”

“I suffer from allergies,” Biggatto lied.

Grey knew a lie when he heard one, but he let it go, mainly because the man had helped him. That, and the fact that he looked like the kind of guy who’d take your head off just to see what the inside of your neck looked like. “Hogs will eat anything,” Grey said. “Ain’t you ever watched Deadwood?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Biggatto said.

“It’s a TV program. Old West kind of thing. They’ve got this Chinaman…his name is Wu. Anytime they needed to get rid of a body, they’d take it to Wu and he’d feed the body to the hogs. This ain’t no different.”

“Yeah, well, it seems cruel, you ask me,” Biggatto said. “You got someplace I can wash up? I’m covered in pig shit…and other things I’d rather not think about.”

“There’s a hose out back. Help yourself. I’ve got to stay here and watch these little ones for a while and make sure they take to the teat. Don’t believe I never did get your name.”

Biggatto thought if he heard one more double negative from the orange-haired goon he might scream. “My name is Moses.”

Grey smiled. “Moses, huh?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Nothing. It’s a right proper name for a man who just brung some piglets into the world.”

“We didn’t save them all though, did we?”

Grey shrugged. “It happens. I ain’t gonna lose no sleep over it.”

Biggatto shook his head and thought, Fucking baby pig. What do I care? I eat bacon for breakfast.

When he looked at Grey and saw him smiling, Biggatto wanted to knock his teeth down his throat.

CHAPTER TEN

At the same time Virgil and Cool were looking at the solar farms in St. Joe County, Rosencrantz was in his office reading the report from Cora.

Sarah went upstairs, knocked lightly on the side of the open door and said, “I ran that plate out of New Jersey like you asked.”

She wiggled a piece of paper at Rosencrantz, who stood and said, “C’mon in. What’d you get?”

“I’m not exactly sure.” She sat down, then looked at the paper she held in her hands. “The vehicle is registered to a company out of Wyoming. I think we’re going to need Becky if we want to dig any deeper. I’ve got a pretty short shovel when it comes to this kind of thing.”

Rosencrantz sat back down and smiled at Sarah’s analogy. “If the guy had plates out of New Jersey, why is the car registered in Wyoming?”

“No, no, that’s not what I said. At least I don’t think I did. The company that owns the car is registered in Wyoming, but the car itself is registered in New Jersey.”

Rosencrantz opened his mouth…a silent, Ah. “Got it. What’s the name of the company? The one in Wyoming?”

“Brightstar, LLC. Funny thing, though.”

“What’s that?” Rosencrantz said.

“They have exactly zero presence on the web. Or maybe they do and I just couldn’t find anything. But I looked pretty hard and came up empty.”

“Did you check with the Wyoming Secretary of State’s office?”

Sarah tilted her head and gave Rosencrantz a bemused look. “I said I had a short shovel…not a spoon. That’s my way of saying, yes, I did. The address goes to a post office box in Cheyenne.”

“What did the postal people say?”

“The box is rented by a corporate agent…also with no web presence. I did manage to get a phone number for the agent, a lawyer, also out of Cheyenne.”

“How’d you manage that if they aren’t on the web?”

Sarah’s face reddened slightly. “I may have mentioned to the postal employee that I was a law enforcement officer with the Wyoming State Police.”

Rosencrantz grinned. “Atta girl. What’d the lawyer say? I assume you called him, or her, as the case may be.”

“I did. I also tried to use the same line I used with the post office. I figured if it worked once…”

Rosencrantz smiled, mainly because he suspected Sarah’s ruse had failed. “Did it?”

“Hardly. The woman who answered the phone sounded like she was screening calls for the president. She refused to answer any of my questions, and right before she hung up on me, she mentioned that pretending to be a state trooper out of Wyoming while calling from an Indiana phone line was a criminal offense.”

Rosencrantz raised his eyebrows. “She actually said that?”

“Well, she didn’t use those exact words, but that was the vibe, if you know what I mean.”

Rosencrantz’s smile turned into a laugh. “Don’t sweat it. Jonesy is good for your bail money and I’ll throw in for your extradition expenses if it comes to that.”

“Very funny,” Sarah said. She set the printout on Rosencrantz’s desk. “Anything else?”

“Nope. That should do it for now. I’ll get Becky started on this when she gets in. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” Sarah said. “But Becky won’t be in until tomorrow.”

Rosencrantz gave her a rapid nod. “Yeah, I saw that on the board. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take it from here. Ross in his office?”

“Yes, he is. He’s doing the same thing you are.”

“I hope not,” Rosencrantz said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was just sitting here thinking about how Lucy and I are going to spend our evening.”

Sarah let her eyelids droop. “I meant he was reading through the same report you are.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just messing with ya. By the way, did you know that the sun produces sufficient energy to provide enough electricity to⁠—”

“Rosie, please. You’re the best, and I love you, but I don’t want to hear it. In fact, here’s the extent of my knowledge when it comes to electricity: If I flip the switch up, the lights come on. If I flick it down, the lights go out. That, and don’t drop your hairdryer in the bathtub.” She stood to leave, and finished with, “Give Lucy my best, will you?”

Rosencrantz said he would, and went back to the report.

He felt like his eyes were about to bleed.

Ten minutes later, Ross walked into his partner’s office. “Okay, I read, I studied, and I now know more about both the advantages and disadvantages of solar power as it stands in the country, and more specifically, our state. It’s either going to save the planet, or destroy modern civilization as we know it…depending on who you believe.”

Rosencrantz looked at Ross like he’d been drinking on the job. “I guess you’re further along in your studies than I am. How exactly is it going to destroy civilization?”

“Beats me,” Ross said. “But you know how these things go. On one hand, you’ve got your basic sun-hugging tree lovers⁠—”

“I think you got that backward,” Rosencrantz said.

Ross waved him off. “You know what I mean. It’s always something with these groups. Who has time to join a group, by the way? Some people need to get a life. Anyway, it’s always something…like, nuke the whales, or to hell with all the turtles because someone needs another straw, or whatever…and don’t get me wrong, I’m all for saving the environment, but whoever put this report together seemed a little unwilling to take a central position or come to a definitive conclusion.”

“I hear ya. I did manage to get that far. One side wants as many of these solar farms as they can get, and the other thinks they’re going to somehow destroy democracy, cause the collapse of capitalism, and have all of us boiling old shoe leather for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Admittedly, I missed the part about nuking the whales, and coke-snorting turtles.”

“That last part was a figure of speech,” Ross said. “And I never mentioned cocaine. Is there something you’d like to share?”

Rosencrantz held up an index finger. “Ah…but you implied it. Anyway, want to take a ride?”

“Sure,” Ross said. “Where to?”

“Rush County. According to the report, they’ve already got one solar farm, and they’re looking to put in another. I’d like to see the new location up close and personal.”

Ross gave his partner a particular look and said,“Would that be the only reason we’re going to Rush County?”

Rosencrantz stood and headed for the door. “You ask too many questions.” Then, as if he’d not heard his own statement, he said, “Are you coming, or not?”

After Biggatto had washed up as well as he could, he went back inside the barn and asked Grey if he knew where to find Carl Johnson.

“He’s probably at work,” Grey said.

“I thought he was a farmer.”

“He is. But he also works for the Shelby County Cultural Center.” Then Grey paused, an odd look on his face.

Against his better judgement, Biggatto asked another question. “What’s with the expression? You look like you just took a mental vacation.”

“Well, I was thinking that what I just done told you ain’t exactly right. He don’t actually work for the cultural center. He works for them drillers on the same piece of land where the cultural center is at. He’s the foreman. Helps them move the equipment around and such.”

“And he’s there now?” Biggatto asked.

Grey was busy with the piglets and didn’t bother to look back up when he spoke. “Can’t say that he is, and I can’t say that he ain’t. All I know is you won’t find him here right now.”

Biggatto saw a pitchfork leaning against the railing of the pen. Enough of the orange-haired huckleberry routine, already. He grabbed the pitchfork by its handle and moved closer to Grey, then saw how gentle he was, and how much care he was putting into helping the newborn piglets. “Are the rest of them going to make it?”

Grey’s back was hunched over the sow and her piglets. “Not up to me. I got work to do here now.”

Biggatto stared at Grey’s back for a full minute without speaking, his hand gripping the pitchfork with such intensity that his knuckles were white. When he unlatched the gate and started to pull it open, Grey said something that probably saved his life.

“My name is Mike Grey. I appreciate your help, Moses. You did a right proper job.”

In the moment, Biggatto didn’t know how to handle the compliment. He leaned the pitchfork against the rail and walked out of the barn without another word. When Grey heard the car door close and the engine start, he reached down into the straw between his knees and dusted off his knife blade, then replaced it in its sheath on his belt. His movements were steady, but his heart was pounding in his chest like a jackhammer.

After Carl Johnson finished moving the last drill rig and helped the operators get it dialed in, he was done for the day. He was going to go back to his farm and check on the sow that was struggling, but then he had two separate thoughts: Grey was just as capable as he was when it came to birthing piglets, so he’d let him handle that. The other? He wanted to go out to the field in Rush County and check on Stutzman’s progress. He knew he wouldn’t be very far along in the process of clearing the field…that kind of thing didn’t happen in a few hours. If anything, it’d take Stutzman weeks to prep the land.

When he turned down the dirt lane that led to the back of the field, he saw the lowboy trailer sitting empty, off to the side of the path. He could see the barn at the back of the field, but at nearly a half-mile off in the distance, he couldn’t make out the excavator. Still too far away.

He drove down the lane and found himself surprised at how much overgrowth there was, and how quickly the land had reclaimed itself. When he parked next to the barn and got out of his truck he saw something that didn’t make sense.

Stutzman had apparently cleared an area around the barn, which wasn’t really too unusual, but he’d piled the overgrowth in a heap between the barn and the ditch, and then parked the excavator on top of the debris. And something else: The area that had been cleared looked like it had been done by someone who wasn’t quite sure what they were doing. The ground was gouged deep in some areas, and smaller piles of dirt were clumped together as if a hole had been dug.

Johnson looked around for Stutzman’s truck, but didn’t see it. He took off his faded John Deere hat, scratched at the back of his head, and wondered where Hank had gone. Then he had a thought: The excavator hadn’t been used in a while, and it was possible that it needed fuel. When he climbed into the cab, he saw that the key was missing from the ignition. That didn’t make sense either. Very few people would steal an excavator, and fewer still could get away with it. Stutzman knew that just as well as Johnson did, so why take the key?

He pulled out his phone and tried to call his lifelong friend and fellow farmer, but the call failed before it ever went through. When Johnson checked the screen on his phone, he saw that the reception was fine. He tried to call again, but the result was the same. He stuck the phone back in his pocket, not willing to test the definition of insanity. Instead, he climbed up and stood on one of the tracks, then popped the latch for the engine compartment. Once he had it open, he pulled out a spare key from a magnetic holder tucked under the cowling, then crawled back into the cab. When he powered up the excavator, the fuel gauge showed nearly a full tank. When he turned the key to the Start position, the engine fired right up.

Johnson tried all the controls, and everything worked exactly as it should. The tracks were operational, the hydraulics for the boom and bucket worked just fine, and the swing drive unit spun the cab back and forth the way it was meant to. Bottom line? There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the machine.

Johnson shut everything down, then climbed from the cab and replaced the spare key in its magnetic holder before buttoning up the engine compartment. With that done, he walked back to his truck and sat in the driver’s seat, the door hanging open, one leg dangling out of the cab. He took out his phone again and this time called Mike Grey.

“Mike, it’s Carl.”

“Howdy, Mr. J. I’ve got some good news for you.”

“I’ll listen to good news anytime it comes my way. I take it that sow finally decided to follow Mother Nature’s advice?”

“You might say that,” Grey said. “We had to help her along some. Got us a nice litter of piglets, and we only lost one.”

“Good enough, Mike. But listen, that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh, okay. What’s up?”

“Wait a minute,” Johnson said. “You just used the word ‘we.’ Twice, if I’m hearing you right.”

“That’s because someone come along right when I needed him. I thought I was gonna lose the sow and her piglets, but some fella came out here looking for you. He helped me with the birthing.”

“This fella…what’d he want?”

“He didn’t say. That might be mostly my fault. I didn’t really give him a chance to explain. Things was happening pretty fast right when he pulled up.”

“He give you a name?”

“Yes, sir. Said it was Moses.”

“I don’t know any Moseses,” Johnson said. “With a name like that, maybe he was trying to spread the good word.” Then, before Grey could answer, Johnson asked him if he’d talked to Stutzman when he took the excavator out to the field.

“Nope, I never did. I seen his truck, though.”

“Well, I’m looking at the excavator as we speak, and Stutzman isn’t out here.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you, Mr. J. Maybe he went to get hisself something to eat. But listen, what you just said about that Moses fella?”

“What about it?”

“He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d be spreading the good word.”

“How did he strike you? Hey, Mike…are you still there?”

“I am. I’m just trying to answer in a way that won’t make you think I’m crazy.”

“It don’t matter. What makes you say I’d think you’re crazy?”

“It’s like there were two different people living inside his skin. He was upset that one of the piglets didn’t make it. Then he was even more upset when I tossed it into the other pen.”

“How does that add up to two different people living in the same shell?”

“That’s the crazy part,” Grey said. “Right before he was fixing to leave, he took hold of a pitchfork and started to open the gate. I seen him do it out of the corner of my eye. I had this sick feeling in my stomach like he was about to try and kill me.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ross and Rosencrantz spent the latter part of their drive down to Rush County talking about Jim Wilson, who’d left the MCU to take a position working for Jon Mok at SWAT. Wilson had filled in for Rosencrantz while he was recuperating from the injuries he’d sustained after being kidnapped and nearly beaten to death on a previous case.

“I didn’t get a chance to really work with him much,” Rosencrantz said. “But he seemed like a pretty good guy.”

“He is,” Ross said. “I really miss having him around. As partners go, a guy couldn’t do much better…present company included.”

“I’m sure the word you were looking for there was ‘excluded.’”

Ross tried not to grin, but couldn’t help himself. “Was it? By the way, you’re about to miss your turn.”

Rosencrantz hit the brakes…maybe a touch harder than he needed to, and Ross had to throw his hands against the dashboard.

“Okay, okay, I was kidding,” Ross said. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it’d be like if I had to partner with someone else on a permanent basis.”

“You better be kidding,” Rosencrantz said.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because there’s a waiting list of highly competent and well-qualified applicants who would love nothing more than to partner with an experienced law officer such as myself.”

Ross decided to play along. “Huh. How big is the list?”

“Bigger than you might think. It’s enough to fill a filing cabinet.”

Ross actually laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?”

“That list you’re speaking of…they must have used a really big font.”

Like that, all the way out to Johnson’s field.

Carl Johnson wasn’t quite sure what he should do…if, in fact, he should do anything at all. Stutzman was a grown man, a long-time farmer, and completely capable of taking care of himself. Just because they’d made a deal on working the land didn’t mean Johnson had to babysit the man. If anything, it was the opposite. He should probably leave Stutzman alone and let him work the field his own way, and on his own schedule.

He was about to drive away when he noticed the barn door wasn’t closed properly. Not the worst problem in the world, but if a storm came through and the door wasn’t latched tight, the wind could do some serious damage. He got out of his truck and walked over to the barn’s door, and the closer he got, the slower his steps became.

An unmistakable odor hung in the air, one that Johnson didn’t want to consider. He thought about going back to his truck to grab the rifle he kept behind the seat, but then decided it wasn’t necessary. Whatever had died in the barn was already dead. What was he going to do…shoot a carcass?

Johnson reached for the handle and swung the door open. When he saw the interior of the barn he didn’t go inside. He stepped back, pulled out his phone, and made another call.

Virgil and Cool had flown over to the western section of St. Joe County and repeated the process of viewing another industrial solar farm. It was virtually the same as the last one, only much larger in scale. They circled the area a couple of times, and Virgil took a few pictures for the file. Finally, he looked at Cool and said, “Let’s head back, huh? There are plenty more of these things to see…one over in LaPorte County, but if I’m being honest with you, this is sort of a waste of time.”

Cool took them out of their hover, then climbed back up to his cruising altitude. Less than an hour later they were just north of Indianapolis when Virgil’s phone buzzed at him. After he checked the screen, he tucked the phone between his headset and his ear, and said, “Hey, Carl. What’s going on? Everything going okay out at the field?”

“Depends on which field you’re talking about,” Johnson said.

“Not sure I understand. We’ve only got the one. It’s big, I’ll grant you that, but unless Mac expanded our operation without telling me, then⁠—”

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?”

“Just listen for a second, will you?” He practically shouted his question.

Virgil and Johnson had known each other for years, and during all that time, Virgil had never heard or seen the man lose his temper. “Go ahead, Carl. What is it?”

Johnson took a beat to calm himself, then said, “It sounds like you’re flying in that whirlybird of yours.”

“Well, I don’t personally own it, but yeah, me and Cool are on our way back to Indy. We’re just about there.”

“You know that acreage I’ve got over in Rush County…right across the Shelby line?”

“Sure,” Virgil said. “That’s where you were growing organics, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not. That’s the one. Think you could head that way? I’m standing next to the barn as we speak.”

“I can if it’s urgent, Carl. But what the heck do you need me for?”

“Virgil, I’m three things, in no particular order: A farmer, a foreman, and a pretty decent human being in general. That’s my way of saying I ain’t a cop. But I’d bet my next royalty check that I’m standing here looking at a crime scene.”

Rosencrantz turned his squad car onto the dirt lane, then stopped. He looked at Ross and said, “This can’t be right. According to the report, this is the field where the next solar project is going to go.”

“Why can’t it be right?”

“Hang on,” Rosencrantz said. He reached behind himself and grabbed the report from the back seat. He spent a few minutes looking at the permit applications that were attached with the report, then said, “Huh. That’s what I thought.”

“What’d you think?” Ross asked.

“According to the coordinates, this field belongs to Carl Johnson. It’s where he used to grow his organic corn.”

“So...”

Rosencrantz gave his partner a half shrug and said, “It just seems odd to me that Johnson would sell this land to put in a solar farm and not tell anyone, especially Jonesy. He works for the man.”

“Nothing wrong with having a side gig,” Ross said. “Who are you calling?”

“Who else?” He put the phone on speaker so Ross could listen, and when Virgil answered, he said, “Hey, Jones-man. Rosie here. Listen, I need to ask you something.”

Virgil ignored everything Rosencrantz said and replied with, “Where are you right now?”

“Down in Rush County with Ross. You’re on speaker, by the way. We came down here to scout out one of the properties listed in Cora’s report.”

“Okay, but look, I need you to get over to Carl Johnson’s field. It’s the one where he used to grow his organics. I just got off the phone with him, he’s there now, and he thinks there’s been some sort of crime. Cool and I are in the air and on the way. We should be there in about two minutes.”

“That’s exactly where we are, Boss,” Ross said. “We just turned onto the lane that runs back to the barn.”

“Head back there right now,” Virgil said. “See what’s going on. I’ll be right behind you.”

Rosencrantz said they would, and ended the call.

Johnson moved away from the barn and over to his truck. He pulled the rifle from behind the back seat, checked to make sure it was loaded and the safety was engaged, then lowered the tailgate and sat down with the rifle in his lap. Off in the distance he could hear the helicopter as it made its approach. At the same time, he saw an unmarked state police squad car coming toward him on the dirt lane. When he saw who was in the vehicle, he set the rifle aside in the bed of the truck and hopped down.

Ross and Rosencrantz got out of their vehicle and walked over. “Hey, Carl,” Ross said. “Jonesy told us you think there’s been a crime out here.”

“How’d you get here so quick?” Johnson asked.

“We were already in the area,” Rosencrantz said. He turned and looked back, the helicopter now hovering about fifty yards away. Cool landed on the dirt lane, got everything shut down, and then he and Virgil jogged over to where the other men stood.

Virgil gave his detectives a quick nod, then turned to Johnson. “Carl. Good to see you. Tell us what’s going on.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. That’s why I called.”

“Start at the beginning,” Virgil said.

Johnson glanced over at the barn before he answered. “Did you know that Hank Stutzman is back?”

Virgil caught the glance, looked at Ross and Rosencrantz, then tipped his head toward the barn. Both men started that way, their hands resting lightly on their holstered weapons. Cool, who was simply curious, decided to follow.

Virgil looked at Johnson and said, “No, I wasn’t aware that Hank was back. What’s he have to do with whatever is going on out here?”

Johnson shook his head. “Don’t know that he does, but you asked me to start at the beginning, so that’s what I done.”

“Why’d he come back?”

“I guess you don’t know this, but his wife, Gail, passed not long ago, and Hank never did like living out in the desert, so he packed up and came home. Said he wanted to get his butt back in a tractor seat.”

“Sorry to hear about Gail,” Virgil said. “But that sounds like Hank, all right.” Then Virgil—nobody’s dummy—said, “You’re going to let him work this field?”

“That’s right,” Johnson said. “Ever since we started the drilling, I haven’t had time to do much farming, plus, what with the royalty checks and all, I don’t need the money. So we shook on a deal, and I agreed to lease him the land. Tell you the truth, I just think he needed something to do to take his mind off his troubles.”

Virgil nodded in thought. “I can see that, and it sounds like a generous offer between friends. Where is he, by the way?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Johnson said. “He came out and looked at the field, then asked for an excavator to get started with the clearing. I had Mike Grey—you remember Mike…”

“I do,” Virgil said.

“Well, I had Mike bring the excavator out so Hank could get started. I’d have done it myself, but I had to get one of the drill rigs repositioned, so Grey handled the delivery for me. Once the rig was set, I decided to drive over here and see how he was doing. Problem is, he ain’t nowhere to be found. Mike didn’t see him when he dropped the excavator, so I don’t know what’s going on.”

“How long ago was this?”

“It all happened earlier today,” Johnson said.

Virgil felt his shoulders begin to droop and made a conscious effort to stop it from happening. “Carl, I appreciate your friendship with the man, but Stutzman not being here isn’t exactly a crime.”

“That ain’t why I called, although I am worried about him.”

Just then, Cool whistled through his teeth, and when Virgil turned toward the sound he saw his men stepping back away from the barn.

Johnson turned as well and said, “That’s why I called. How many times you ever smell death while on the job?”

“Plenty,” Virgil said.

“That’s why your pilot just whistled at you. They smell it too.”

“Okay, wait here. Did you go in the barn?”

“Nope. I was fixing to close it up, and when I got a whiff of whatever had been inside, I opened the door, seen what I seen, then called you.”

Virgil clapped Johnson on the shoulder and said, “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

Johnson said he would, then before Virgil got to far away, he said, “Hey, Jonesy?”

Virgil stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

“I been doing this all my life,” Johnson said. “I’ve come across dead animals of almost every kind in all sorts of condition, but I ain’t never smelled anything like that before.”

Virgil gave Johnson a tight nod, then headed for the barn.

Ross met Virgil at the halfway point between the barn and Johnson’s truck. “Better come take a look, Boss. I don’t know what Carl told you, but something went down inside that barn.”

“You have a body?” Virgil said.

“We didn’t go inside, but the smell speaks for itself. There’s a bit of what looks like blood spatter on one of the beams, and some hay or straw or whatever it is sort of scattered around in the dirt.”

Once Virgil was close enough, he could tell Ross was right. When they got to the door, Virgil looked inside, saw the blood on one of the vertical beams, then shook his head and stepped back.

Rosencrantz turned to Virgil and said, “Stutzman?”

“I don’t see how that could be. Carl says he talked to him this morning.” He pointed at the barn and said, “Whoever died in there, it wasn’t Hank. And based on the smell, they’d been there for a while.” He peeked at the open barn door again and said, “Someone is going to have to go in and clear it…see if there’s a body behind the hay bales, or something.”

“I’ll do it,” Rosencrantz said. “I’ve got the gear in my squad.”

Virgil laughed through his nose. “It’s all yours, then. Send Carl over here, will you?”

Rosencrantz told Virgil he would, then headed for his squad car. A few minutes later, Johnson walked over and said, “Rosie said you wanted to speak with me?”

Virgil looked Johnson right in the eyes, let a little cop creep into his voice, and said, “What’s going on here, Carl?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”

Virgil knew he was with a friend, so he dialed back his tone of voice. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Let me try again. When was the last time you were out here?”

Johnson looked away in thought, then said, “Hell, Virg, I don’t know. Those drill units keep me so busy I don’t have time for much else. That’s why I let this field go to seed. But to answer your question directly, I’d say it’s been at least six months. Maybe more.”

“And you don’t let anyone else come out here?”

“Well, it ain’t exactly a gated property. It’s a farm field. I’m sure there’s been some hunting going on…in season or not. You know how that sort of thing goes. But otherwise, no one has specifically told me they came out. But based on that smell, it doesn’t seem like whatever happened here is the kind of thing someone would ask permission for.”

Virgil thought for a few seconds, then said, “Hank knew about this field, didn’t he?”

“Of course he did. He’s known about it for decades. Why?”

Virgil ignored the question, and asked one of his own. “How long has he been in town, Carl?”

Johnson could tell where the conversation was headed, and he didn’t like it. “Goddammit, Virgil, what kind of question is that?”

Virgil kept his voice calm. “It’s the kind a police officer or detective would ask.”

“Well whatever you’re thinking, it ain’t right.”

“Tell it to Charlie Esser and Cal Lipkins,” Virgil said. “Or Vernon Conrad, for that matter.”

“That ain’t fair. It was you and your man who forced Vern’s hand. Hank didn’t have anymore to do with them boys dying than I did, which is my way of saying none at all.”

“How long?” Virgil asked again.

“It didn’t come up in conversation. The only thing he said that led me to believe he’d just arrived was that he lost Gail not long ago—those are his words, not mine—and that he packed up his truck and headed home.”

“Where’s he staying?”

“That didn’t come up, either.”

Virgil pulled out his phone and brought up Stutzman’s contact info.

“If you’re going to try to call Hank, you might as well forget it. I tried before I called you and nothing happened.”

Virgil tried anyway and discovered Johnson was correct. He put his phone away, then said, “Look, Carl, you have to understand something here. I asked about the timeline with Hank because that’s the way we work. We eliminate possibilities. It’s the same reason I asked you about the last time you’d been out here.”

“You think I killed someone?”

“Of course not,” Virgil said. “But I’m required to ask. And for the record, I trust your judgement. If your impression is that Hank just arrived, that’s what we’ll go with, okay?” Then before Johnson could respond, Virgil turned to Ross and said, “Get on the horn with Sarah. I want her to call every single hotel or motel in Shelby County and find out where Stutzman is staying.”

“What about Rush County?”

Virgil thought about it for a few seconds, then said, “He’s from Shelby County, so have her start there. I’m thinking he’d want to stay close to familiar territory. If that turns up nothing, then have her start looking at Rush.”

Ross said he would just as Rosencrantz walked out of the barn. He pulled his mask down, spat in the dirt, then stripped out of his protective shoe coverings and gloves.

“The barn is clear, but it’s obvious a body had been in there. Someone tried to cover their tracks, but they didn’t do a very good job of it. And I’ll tell you something else: With the smell still that strong, I’ll bet the body was moved within the last day or so, if that.”

Virgil glanced at the creek behind the barn. “Okay, let’s do a quick walk along the ditch. Probably won’t find anything, but we’ve got to check it out.”

Then Cool asked a simple question, and it changed everything.

CHAPTER TWELVE

They were all moving away from the barn and toward the creek, which naturally took them right past the excavator. Cool looked at the ground, then stopped, bent down, and examined the underside of the big CAT. When he stood up, he looked at Johnson and said, “Ask you something?”

“Sure,” Johnson said.

“Mr. Stutzman has been a farmer all his life, isn’t that right?”

Virgil, who had learned to trust Cool’s intuition, heard the question and stopped to listen.

“Yup,” Johnson said. “Not the last few years, mind you, what with living out in the desert and all. But other than that, yes. Farming is all he’s ever known.”

“And he asked for this particular piece of equipment to be brought out here?”

“That’s right. Mind if I ask why you want to know?”

“Don’t mind at all,” Cool said. “But I’m hoping you’ll figure it out on your own.”

Virgil stepped closer and said, “Figure out what, Rich?”

Cool held up a wait-a-minute finger, then went back to Johnson. “If you were going to come out here and clear this field, would you use the excavator?”

Johnson stuck his bottom lip out and nodded. “Yeah. It’s not all I’d use, but it’s the machine I’d start with.”

“And where would you start?”

“Back here. I’d try to move as much of the heavier overgrowth toward the front. It’d have to be hauled out by truck, so it makes sense to do it that way.”

“I can see that,” Cool said. “But let me ask you this: If you were doing the clearing, is there any reason you’d park the excavator on top of the debris pile?”

Johnson shook his head. “No…at least none that comes to mind.”

Cool looked around the area that had been cleared, then tapped the side of the excavator with his palm, and said, “I take it you’re pretty good at operating one of these things?”

“Of course I am. I could practically do it in my sleep. No different than you and that chopper of yours.”

Cool gave Johnson a friendly smile…an acknowledgment of the compliment. “And Mr. Stutzman is a competent operator as well?”

“Better than that. Hank is every bit as good at running this thing as I am.”

“So you’re saying the way this area has been cleared is indicative of the quality of work you’d do?”

Johnson let out a snort. “Hardly. Look how uneven the ground is. Whoever done this—” Johnson interrupted himself, thought about it for two seconds, and finished with, “Hank didn’t do this, did he?”

Cool looked at Virgil and saw him shake his head as he mouthed the words, fuck me.

Ross and Rosencrantz walked back over and told Virgil the ditch was clear as far as they could tell. “Not saying there isn’t any sort of evidence, or anything like that,” Rosencrantz said. “But we didn’t see a body. The water isn’t deep enough to float someone, so if they got dumped in the ditch it wasn’t anywhere around here.”

When Virgil didn’t respond, Ross said, “You okay, Boss?”

Virgil turned and said, “Yeah, I’m just trying to decide if I want to destroy a crime scene or not.”

“What are we talking about?” Rosencrantz said.

Virgil told Ross and Rosencrantz about the conversation he’d just listened to between Cool and Johnson.

Rosencrantz bit into his lower lip. “And you’re thinking whoever died in that barn is buried underneath the scrub where the excavator is sitting?”

“Yep. Carl wants to start digging, but I don’t want to contaminate the cab of the excavator.”

Johnson let out an exaggerated sigh. “Virgil, I done told you that it’s already been contaminated.”

Ross looked at Johnson and said, “How’d that happen, Mr. Johnson?”

Johnson quickly told the story of how he thought something was wrong with the CAT, and what he had done to check it out. “So if you’re thinking about fingerprints or whatnot, all you’re going to find is mine, and Mike Grey’s. Plus, those controls are ribbed for a better grip. Now, I ain’t no cop, but it don’t take too much smarts to figure out that fingerprints are all but impossible to lift off of that kind of surface.”

“What if someone touched the glass, or some other smooth surface?” Virgil said.

“Then I won’t touch nothing but the controls,” Johnson said.

Rosencrantz caught Virgil’s eye, then tipped his head to the side and began to walk away from the group. Once the two men had separated themselves from the others, Rosencrantz said, “Look, I know it isn’t my call, but I believe Carl is right. If he’s already been inside the excavator, you might as well let him do it. All we have right now is a bad smell and a bit of blood spatter. And to tell you the truth, the spatter isn’t much.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Virgil said. “But when the Rush County Crime Scene techs try to give me grief about it, I’m going to tell them it was your idea.”

Rosencrantz put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Who says we have to tell anyone anything? We work the scene until they get here. For all they know, the excavator could have been parked anywhere. If they want to dust it after the fact, it’ll still be no harm, no foul, because like Johnson said, his prints are already there. It’s his machine.”

Virgil knew it went against proper procedure, but he also knew Rosencrantz was right. He turned, looked at Johnson, and gave him the nod.

Johnson removed the spare key from the engine compartment once again, then told everyone what he was going to do. “I’ll get the brush moved away first.” Then he looked at no one in particular and said, “Does it matter where I put it?”

“It’s your field, Carl,” Virgil said. “Just push it off to the side, or something…wherever you need it so it’s all out of the way.”

“Good enough,” Johnson said. “Stand back now. I’d like to concentrate on what I’m doing without having to worry about someone getting hit by the bucket.”

Everyone moved back, then Rosencrantz said, “Hang on for just a second, Carl. Don’t get in the cab just yet.” He jogged over to his squad car and retrieved a pair of gloves, then ran back and gave them to Johnson. “Put these on, if you will.”

Johnson worked the gloves over his fingers—they were a bit on the small side, but he managed to get them on—then climbed into the cab and got to work. He’d just started the engine when Ross’s phone rang. When Ross saw who was calling, he put the phone to his ear and said, “Hey, gorgeous. Find anything?”

“You mean besides the love of my life?” Sarah said.

“I love you too.”

“Of course you do. And to answer your question, there is a Mr. Henry Stutzman registered at the Quality Inn, right off of Highway 74, just outside of Shelbyville. When I tried to call the room, no one answered.”

“Let me get with Jonesy and see how he wants to handle it. But in the meantime, keep trying the room every ten minutes or so. I’ll get back with you.”

Sarah said she would, then ended the call. Ross looked at Virgil, relayed the information, and said, “You want me and Rosie to go check it out?”

Virgil tugged at an earlobe as he considered the question. “Nope. Let’s let the county handle it…at least for now.” Then he pulled out his own phone, brought up the contact list, and dialed Ed Henderson, the Shelby County sheriff. “Ed, it’s Jonesy. I need a favor, if you can spare the time.”

“For you guys? Name it.”

The Major Crimes Unit had worked with Henderson any number of times, and the sheriff’s answer didn’t surprise Virgil at all. “Remember Henry Stutzman?”

“Hank? Sure. What about him?”

“He’s back in town and registered at the Quality Inn off of 74. Could you have one of your guys run out there and do a welfare check?”

“I’m about two minutes away from there right now,” Henderson said. “I’ll do it myself. Anything to get away from you-know-who.”

Despite the situation, Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good enough. I’m working something over in Rush, but if you find him, call me back and hand him the phone.”

“Anything I need to know?”

“Not yet,” Virgil said. “Hell, I don’t even know what we’ve got going over here. Stutzman isn’t in any sort of trouble, but we do need to speak with him.”

“That’s not what I meant. I need to know if there is a possibility that I might be walking into something at the hotel.”

“Gut says no,” Virgil said. “But watch your ass anyway.”

“Always. I’ll get back with you one way or another.”

“That’ll work. Appreciate you, Ed.”

Johnson backed the excavator off the debris pile, then decided his best course of action would be to use the bucket to gently scoop the brush away instead of simply using the blade to push it off to the side. The blade would have been faster, but if they were going to start digging, Johnson didn’t want to drive back and forth over the area. The CAT was heavy, and if there was anything to be found, the compacted dirt under the tracks would just make things more difficult.

Once he had the big machine off of the pile, Johnson extended the boom arm as far as it would go, then gently lowered the bucket and began to pull the debris toward him. Once he’d moved the majority of the pile, he tilted the bucket flat, then swept the remaining overgrowth off to the side.

With that done, he hopped down from the cab, then grabbed a shovel that was mounted on the outside of the CAT and examined the dirt around the area that he’d just cleared.

Virgil walked over and said, “What do you think?”

Johnson jabbed at the dirt in various places with the business end of the shovel, then said, “Two things: Somebody dug a hole, and it was a big one. That’s thing one.”

“What’s the other?”

“This wasn’t Hank’s doing.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I’ve worked with the man the better part of my adult life. Remember when I came out to your place and dug out the sod and dirt for that helipad?”

“Sure,” Virgil said. “What about it?”

“Well, if you recall, after the digging was done, I had to compact the earth by slamming the bucket down over the entire area. Hank would have done the same thing…both then, and now. Whoever dug this hole didn’t know to do that. Besides, he’d have no reason to dig a hole to begin with. He wanted the excavator for clearing…not digging.”

“Any idea how deep the hole is?” Virgil said.

“Only one way to find out.”

“You’re going to have to be very careful, Carl. I can’t stress that enough.”

Johnson nodded and said, “I once told that pretty little purple-haired Patty Stronghill that I could butter a biscuit with one of these things without knocking it off the plate. So, it’s your call. What do you want me to do?”

Virgil looked at the area where the hole had been dug, and even he could see that it was a big one. Then he noticed something for the first time. A set of tire tracks seemed to disappear into the dirt, right at the edge of where they were standing. He looked at Johnson, pointed at the tire tracks and said, “Swing the CAT around so you can work it from this end. If what I’m thinking is right, you’ll have to dig deeper as you move forward.”

Johnson visibly swallowed and said, “I ain’t sure I want to know, but I’m going to ask anyway. What, exactly, are you thinking?”

Virgil’s phone buzzed at him before he could respond. He hit the Answer button and said, “What have you got, Ed?”

“An empty hotel room. There were quite a few unopened suitcases, but no one was there.”

“Are you still at the hotel?”

“Yeah…standing in the parking lot.”

“Hang on.” Virgil lowered the phone, looked at Johnson and said, “What was Hank driving?”

“Ford Super-Duty pickup. Dark gray. Couldn’t have been more than a year or two old. Arizona plates, but I don’t remember the tag number.”

Virgil brought the phone back up and said, “Did you catch that, Ed?”

“I did. There are three trucks in the lot—none of them are Fords—and they all have Indiana plates.”

“Okay. Thanks for the assist, Ed.”

“No problem. Want me to post someone here?”

“I’ll call you back,” Virgil said, then hung up without waiting for a response.

Johnson looked at Virgil and said, “You didn’t answer me. What are you thinking?”

“The same thing you are, and I hope we’re both wrong. It’s time to start buttering, Carl.”

Johnson did as Virgil asked…and he was careful. But as a very experienced excavator operator, he was also quick. Less than twenty minutes into the dig, the bucket hit something that made a clank. Johnson didn’t actually hear the noise, but he felt the resistance when the bucket made contact. He swung the bucket out of the way, shut the CAT down, then climbed from the cab.

Virgil grabbed the shovel and went down the ramp, his stomach in knots, his heart heavy with what he knew he was going to find. It only took four scoops with the shovel before he found what Johnson had hit. It was the front bumper of a pickup truck. He dug around some more, found the center point, then got down on his hands and knees and wiped the dirt away.

The truck had Arizona plates.

Murton was flat on his back on his living room floor, both his legs pointed straight up. He held Ellie Rae by her hands, her belly resting on the flat of Murton’s feet. When he wiggled his legs, Ellie Rae giggled with delight.

Becky was in the kitchen putting together a salad for the evening meal they were going to have with Virgil and Sandy, one eye on her work, and the other on her husband and daughter. Every time Ellie Rae laughed, it reminded Becky of how lucky she was to have such a beautiful little girl, and a husband she loved with her entire being. Those were the thoughts going through Becky’s head when Murton’s phone—which was sitting on the counter right next to her—began to ring.

Becky glanced at the screen, then looked at Murton and said, “It’s Jonesy. Want me to get it?”

“If you would,” Murton said. He made a motorboat noise with his lips, and began lowering Ellie Rae to the floor. “I’ll be right there. I’ve got to land our little plane.”

Ellie Rae laughed with delight, like all was right with the world. And for her, it was.

Others…not so much.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Murton gave Ellie Rae one final tickle, then walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up his phone, and said, “Hey Jones-man. What’s up?”

“I’m about to ruin this evening’s dinner plans.”

“Let me guess…Cool broke another helicopter, you’re calling from the hospital, your condition is dire, and you’ve decided to leave me all your money.”

“Not even close,” Virgil said. “Besides, you’ve got your own money. Listen, I’m down in Rush County, standing in Carl Johnson’s field…the one where he used to grow his organics.”

“Yeah, I know the spot. What’s going on down there?”

Virgil wasn’t quite sure where to start, so he gave his brother the basics, then finished with, “Bottom line, Stutzman came back to town, no one could find him, and we’ve uncovered a buried truck with Arizona plates. Cool is already on his way to the shop to pick up Chip and Mimi. I can have him grab you on his way back down here.”

Murton checked the time and said, “When did he leave?”

“About two minutes ago…right before I called you.”

“Tell him not to bother. By the time he gets up to the shop to pick up Chip and Mimi, then over here, I could already be at the field if I drive. Hang on.” Murton lowered the phone, looked at Becky and said, “Gotta run. Sorry about dinner.”

“What do you need from me?”

“A kiss goodbye. Don’t wait up. This sounds like a long night.”

Becky kissed her husband, then said, “Be careful, Murton Wheeler.”

Murton gave her a wink. “Always.” Then he grabbed his keys and wallet, and headed for the door. “Okay, Jonesy, I’m heading out as we speak. Have you ID’d anyone yet?”

“No, we’re still digging. Carl is going slow now that we’ve uncovered the truck. Might know more by the time you get here. Drive safe. I gotta work the phone.”

“Half-hour if I don’t hit any traffic,” Murton said. And then he was gone.

Virgil called Sandy next and told her where he was, and what they’d found.

“And you think it’s Henry Stutzman?”

“I’m hoping it isn’t, but it doesn’t look good. The plates are right, and so is the make and model of the truck. I’m hoping when we get it uncovered it’ll be empty.”

“Me too,” Sandy said.

Virgil could hear the sadness in his wife’s voice. “You okay?”

“Yes, I am. I just don’t want you to have to go through this again, Virg. How many friends have you lost?”

“Too many, that’s for sure. Listen, I’m sorry about dinner, but this is shaping up to be a long night. Tell the boys I love them, will you?”

“Of course. Wake me when you get home.”

Virgil said he would, told Sandy he loved her, then ended the call.

Sandy had no sooner finished speaking with Virgil when her phone rang again. She looked at the screen and answered by saying, “I take it you’ve heard.”

“I have,” Becky said. “Sort of. Murton took off out of here like his hair was on fire. He didn’t even have time to tell me where he was going.”

“Down to Rush County. Virgil says it might be a bad one.”

“When are they not?” Becky said.

“Sorry about dinner.”

Becky laughed and said, “What’s to be sorry about? The salad is ready, and I’ve got two bottles of chilled red. Let’s make it a ladies-only affair.”

Sandy smiled into the phone and said, “Fifteen minutes?”

“Perfect.”

Virgil made yet another call, this one to the Rush County Sheriff’s office. He did it mainly as a courtesy because the counties didn’t like it when the state cops came through and started throwing their weight around without first letting them know what was happening. He spoke with the county dispatcher and tried very hard to downplay the entire situation. “A few of my guys are with me, so we don’t need any assistance just yet. We’re simply following up on a couple of things at our location, and I wanted to make the proper notification.”

“Thank you, Detective. I’ll let the county crime scene people know.”

“No, no,” Virgil said. “That’s really not necessary. Hello?”

But the dispatcher was already gone. Virgil didn’t like it, but there really wasn’t anything he could do to stop the county from investigating if they wanted to. He pushed those thoughts aside, then walked back over close to where Johnson was still digging with the excavator.

Ross and Rosencrantz joined him, and together the three men watched Johnson work. He was running the big CAT like a pro, taking his time and doing his best not to damage the truck. No one actually cared if the truck got dinged up, but they didn’t want to destroy it, either, because of the possible forensic evidence.

So the three of them simply stood next to each other, their arms crossed over their chests, watching the hole grow larger by the minute. No one said a word.

What was there to say?

By the time Murton arrived, Johnson had the front end of the truck exposed, all the way up to the top of the cab. Virgil got a flashlight out of Rosencrantz’s squad car, then pointed it at the windshield of the truck.

Johnson knew what Virgil was trying to see, so he swung the bucket out of the way and shut the CAT down. He opened the door of the cab and said, “You going in the hole?”

Virgil nodded. “Yep. Want to check the interior of the truck.”

“Watch those sides, now,” Johnson said. “That ground is loose, and the last thing we need is you getting buried alive by a cave-in.”

The top of the truck’s cab was nearly six feet underground, and when Virgil and Murton walked to the edge of the hole, they knew Johnson was correct. The ground was loose. They could see little bits of dirt falling back into the hole from both sides. Murton looked at his brother and said, “Hang on a second, Jonesy. I’ve got an idea.”

Murton looked at Johnson and said, “If one of us gets in the bucket, can you drive the CAT down the ramp far enough to hold the bucket right above the hood?”

“Yeah,” Johnson said. “I can do that. Probably safer than trying to walk in. You’ll have to hang on at all times, though. If the sides start to let go, I’ll be yanking that bucket up hard and fast.”

Murton took the flashlight from Virgil. “I’ll do it.”

“I’ve got it, Murt,” Virgil said.

But Murton was already climbing in the bucket. “C’mon, Jonesy…you heard the man.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means everyone knows you don’t do hard and fast,” Murton said. Then to Johnson: “Fire it up, Carl.”

Johnson climbed back into the cab, started the engine, and drove the CAT partway down the ramp. Once he was close enough, he began to lower the bucket, watching Murton’s hand signals as he helped guide the excavator down. When the bucket was only inches from being level with the top of the hood, Murton raised his hand…an indication to stop. Then he wiggled his fingers at Johnson—a creep-closer signal—and the big CAT began to crawl forward. When he was within arms-reach, Murton held up his hand again, and Johnson stopped.

Murton brushed the remaining dirt from the windshield of the truck, then shined the light inside the cab, where he found exactly nothing. He checked twice to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, then turned back toward Johnson, and shook his head. Two minutes later, he was out.

Johnson let the CAT idle, then walked over to where Virgil and his men were standing. “What now?” he asked no one in particular. “If Hank isn’t in the truck, that’s good, right?”

“It’s hope, is what it is,” Virgil said. “We need to get that truck out of the hole and up on solid ground.”

“What if we tried towing it out?” Ross said.

Johnson shook his head. “Wouldn’t work.”

Ross, who could often be very direct, looked at Johnson, and said, “Why not? Surely that excavator has enough power.”

“It’s got plenty of power,” Johnson said. “Power ain’t the problem. Traction is. There’s about five tons of dirt covering the rest of that truck.”

Rosencrantz studied the hole, the ramp, and the truck for a few seconds, then said, “What if you came at it from the opposite end? You could dig out the extra dirt that’s covering the rest of the truck, then swing back over to where you are now and use the bucket as a claw to drag it out from the backside of the cab. Would that work?”

Johnson looked down in the hole, then said, “I think that’s about the only choice we have. It’s gonna mess that truck up proper, though. Hank isn’t going to like it, I can tell you that.”

“Better keep digging, Carl,” Virgil said.

No one had the heart to tell Johnson that just because Stutzman wasn’t in the cab didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t in the hole.

Cool returned with Chip Lawless and Mimi Phillips—the MCU’s crime scene technicians—and Virgil explained to both of them what they were doing, and why.

“It might have been better to wait until we arrived,” Chip said.

Virgil gave him a defeated shrug. “We would have, Chip, and other than clearing the barn, no one except Rosie has been inside. And since Carl had already been in the cab of the excavator, we really didn’t see the harm.”

“I get it, Jonesy, and I’m not giving you grief, but you guys are over here running that excavator like you’re auditioning for the next season of Gold Rush.”

“Well, what would you have us do about the truck?”

“We’d have you dig it up,” Mimi said. “Just try to be careful when you drag it out.” Then to Lawless: “C’mon, handsome. Let’s go look at the barn.”

Once Chip and Mimi were out of earshot, Ross looked at Rosencrantz and said, “Twenty bucks says they’re doin’ it.”

Rosencrantz turned and watched Chip and Mimi for a moment, got a read on their body language, then said, “No bet.”

Johnson continued to work the back of the hole, and once he had enough dirt removed, he drove the excavator around to the front again. Virgil walked over, climbed up on one of the tracks and said, “What about Rosie’s idea? Do you think you can drag it free?”

Johnson took a deep breath, then said, “Yeah, I can get it out, but I’ll tell you what’s going to happen: The first pull is going to rip the top of that cab clean off, and it don’t matter how careful I am. That’s guaranteed.”

“Do we have any other choice?”

“None that comes to mind,” Johnson said. “Still can’t tow it out with a strap because of the traction issue, so I’m going to have to hook it with the bucket.”

“What if you punched through the window with the bucket, then sort of grabbed it from the front of the dash?”

“If I can get the angle on the bucket just right it could work, but I don’t think that’s possible. Let me try it from the back of the cab and if the top comes off, I’ll have a clean shot at the dash anyway.”

“Okay, I guess it doesn’t matter,” Virgil said. “Just get the damned thing out.” He hopped off the track and got out of the way to let Johnson finish his work.

Once Virgil was clear, Johnson drove the giant excavator down the ramp, extended the boom arm as far as he could, then lowered the bucket over the back of the truck’s cab. He curled the bucket inward, where it made contact with the rear of the passenger compartment, just above the bed rail.

The excavator was at a steep angle on the ramp, and when Johnson tried to back out, his tracks began to slip. He stopped, repositioned the CAT, and when he tried again, the excavator held, but as he’d predicted, the cab of the truck broke free and peeled away with a loud screech, leaving the top upside down on the hood.

Johnson stopped, looked over at Virgil, who was rolling his wrist in a get-on-with-it fashion. Johnson blew out his breath, dropped the claw end of the bucket straight down inside the passenger compartment, then began to both retract the boom arm and back the excavator out of the hole. It wasn’t easy because the truck’s rear wheels were locked in gear and didn’t want to roll. Not only that, but the bucket kept wanting to slip free because of the angle. But Johnson was a pro, and ten long minutes later he had the truck out of the hole and onto flat ground.

The bed itself was mounded over with dirt, so Virgil told Johnson to wait, then went over to the barn and asked Chip to come outside.

“What have you got?”

Virgil pointed at the general area of the hole. “We’ve got the truck out, but the bed is filled with dirt. We’d like to, uh, see what’s underneath it.”

Chip turned and looked at the truck. “Man, you guys ripped the top completely off that thing.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Virgil said. “I was thinking if we let Carl scoop the top layer of dirt out of the bed, we could use a shovel for the rest of it.”

Chip sucked on an incisor for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, but you’re going to have to let me work the shovel.”

“Hang tight,” Virgil said. He walked over and told Johnson what to do, then got out of the way. Once the CAT was repositioned, Johnson lowered the bucket, and with one swipe he dragged the top layer of dirt out of the bed. Once he’d done that, he moved the excavator out of the way, shut it down, and joined the other men.

Chip put on a fresh pair of gloves, grabbed the shovel and moved to the rear of the truck. He lowered the tailgate, then very carefully began to scoop small shovelfuls of dirt from the bed. It didn’t take long to find the bodies, and even less time to identify Stutzman, as his head had ended up at the back of the bed, near the tailgate, when he’d been dumped in. Chip cleared some of the dirt from Stutzman’s face, then waved everyone over.

Virgil and Murton walked closer to get a quick look, and Johnson had snuck up with them. When Johnson saw his friend’s face, he turned, gagged once, then said, “Well, I guess Hank don’t care none about that truck no more, does he?” Tears were running down his cheeks as he spoke.

Murton looked at Stutzman’s dirt-covered face, then turned to Virgil, and said, “Another Shelby County farmer…murdered. I can’t believe this has happened again.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The next morning, Huma and Delroy were up early, as was their habit. Aayla was still sleeping, so they walked from the back hall—their wing of the house led straight to the kitchen—and when Huma looked down at the floor near the kitchen’s back door, she stopped, looked at Delroy and said, “Looks like Virgil made it home late. What was he doing? Playing in a mud pit?”

Delroy laughed quietly. “Ha. With Virgil, you can never tell, mon. How about I get the coffee going? Delroy let you follow da mess, you.”

Huma had, over the years, picked up on Delroy’s Jamaican accent, and used it often. She pinched him in the ribs and said, “Tanks, you.”

Delroy slid away from the pinch, but pulled Huma closer at the same time. “I just kidding, me. Let me get da broom and help sweep up dis mess.”

“No, no, get the coffee going, you bald-headed brute. I’m going to follow the trail and see how bad it is.”

“Yeah, mon. Whatever you say. What dis about a brute, now?”

Huma had long, shock-white dreads, which she always wore piled up on top of her head in some complex mishmash of tangles and ties that looked like she’d just stepped out of the beauty parlor. She tucked one of the loose strands back in place, then smiled at Delroy, and said, “You haven’t forgotten about last night already, have you?”

“I don’t ever tink I forget last night. You beautiful, Huma Moon. Tru and tru.”

Huma smiled and moved through the kitchen and into the main living area of the house. When she saw the condition of the room, she stopped, shook her head, then walked over to the davenport where she found Virgil face-down, one arm dangling off the sofa, the back of his hand resting on the floor with his fingers curled into a fist.

Sandy came down the front hallway, moving slowly, one hand on her head, the other holding the wall for support. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed in red, and her blonde hair looked like it’d recently been styled by a tornado.

Huma walked over and quietly whispered, “What happened to you?”

Sandy looked at Huma and said, “Please stop shouting.” When she tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes it felt like the inside of her lids were lined with sandpaper.

“I’m not shouting. I’m whispering.”

Sandy nodded, then wished she hadn’t. “I need water. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

Huma tried not to laugh, and somehow managed to pull it off. “Delroy is in the kitchen. Coffee should be ready in about two minutes.”

Despite her hangover, Sandy looked back down the hall, then around the living room. “What the hell happened in here? Did I do this?”

Jonas walked past, still in his pajamas and said, “Morning Huma. Hey, Mom. Swear jar, by the way.”

This time Huma couldn’t contain her laughter. “No, I think it was Virgil. He’s face-down on the davenport.”

“Did he bring a dump truck of dirt in with him?”

“It does sort of look that way,” Huma said.

Virgil peeled his face away from the leather of the davenport and said, “Would you guys please hold it down? I’ve only been back for about three hours, and I need to get some fucking sleep.”

Jonas laughed. “Morning, Dad. Swear jar. Man, this is shaping up to be a great day already. What’s for breakfast?”

Virgil managed to drag himself off the sofa and into the bedroom. He slept for another hour or so, then forced himself to shave, shower, and do the whole morning routine. By the time he was cleaned up and dressed, he felt marginally better, but he also knew he’d already mortgaged his day, and the ballon payment that came with his actions would be due and payable later in the afternoon.

When he walked into the kitchen, he found their family physician, Doc Bell, sitting at the table drinking coffee with Sandy and Delroy. Sandy had an IV line taped to the back of her hand, a bag of fluids hanging from the wall where the kitchen clock normally hung. Her head was resting on her forearms, and she looked like she was trying to sleep through high school calculus class.

The clock was on the table in front of Virgil’s seat. He moved it aside, then kissed the back of Sandy’s head before saying hello to Bell. “Let me guess: Banana bag?”

Bell shrugged. “What can I say? It does help pay the bills.”

Virgil looked out the back kitchen window and saw Bell’s helicopter sitting on the pad. “Must pay pretty well. Don’t you ever drive?”

“Of course I do,” Bell said. “I drive out to the airport, then get in my helicopter and fly over here. It’s easier than getting past the keepers of the gate.”

“You’re on the list, Bell. They shouldn’t give you a hard time.”

Bell waved him off. “Ah, they don’t. I just look for reasons to fly whenever I get the chance.”

“Got anything in that bag for me?”

“What are your symptoms?”

“General fatigue,” Virgil said. “And plenty of it.”

Bell chuckled. “I got nothing, then. Try coffee, or a nap.”

Sandy, her face still buried in her arms, said, “Would everyone please keep their voices down?”

Virgil looked at Sandy and said, “I mean this in the kindest possible way, but what happened to you?”

When Sandy lifted her head, her hair completely covered her face. “Becky happened to me.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what that means,” Virgil said.

Sandy slowly wiped her hair away from her face with the back of her wrist—Virgil thought the move made her look like a deranged street person—and said, “We decided to go ahead and eat without you and Murt.”

Virgil grinned and said, “Uh-huh. What’d you have for dinner…a liquor store?”

Sandy gave Virgil a fake laugh, along with a real punch on his shoulder. “No, funny man. We had salad…then we had the liquor store for dessert. Two bottles of red, and if I’m remembering correctly, you owe Murton a bottle of Pappy.”

Virgil winced. “You know, you really shouldn’t mix whiskey and wine.”

Sandy gave her husband a look—the type of look all married men know—then said, “You think?”

Jonas finished his breakfast, dropped his bowl in the dishwasher, and said, “I’ll tell you what I think. I think you guys are both getting a little long in the tooth to be partying like rock stars.”

Long in the tooth? “I wasn’t partying,” Virgil said. “I had to work late. Where’s Wyatt?”

Jonas shrugged. “Probably still sleeping. I think he might have OD’d on Skittles and popcorn.”

Virgil pointed toward the living room. “Scram.”

“Okay. Love you, Dad. Love you, Mom.”

“We love you too,” Sandy said. “Go wake your brother and get him going. You guys are going to be late for school.”

“Can Doc fly us to school?”

“No, he cannot,” Sandy said. She was starting to feel better with the IV fluids running through her system. “There’s no place to land.”

But Jonas wasn’t ready to let it go. “He could land in the bus lot. It’s always empty because they use the same buses for the high school kids after they drop us off.”

Virgil and Sandy both trusted Bell, and normally didn’t care if he gave them a ride in his helicopter—he’d done it plenty of times before—but landing on school property was out of the question. When Bell said as much, Jonas accepted it, even though a mask of disappointment was painted across his face.

“Tell you what I can do…if your parents don’t mind,” Bell said.

Jonas lit back up. “What?”

“I can drop you at the end of the road out by the highway and the bus can pick you up there.”

“Cool,” Jonas said. “Can we? Mom? Dad?” He was bouncing on his toes as he asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Now get moving,” Virgil said.

“Okay, Bob. Have a good day, and give my regards to the Silver Bullet Band.”

“I wasn’t the one out partying all night long,” Virgil said sarcastically.

Jonas dropped his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “There are plenty of different ways to get your fix, Chief.”

Virgil dropped his head and let his chin rest on his chest. He didn’t want Jonas to see the look on his face.

Once the adults were alone, Virgil looked at no one and said, “That kid is getting too smart for his own good.”

“What you talking about, you?”

Virgil looked at Delroy. “The Silver Bullet Band?”

Delroy turned his palms up. “Dat probably my fault, me. You know how I drop the boys at da end of da road to catch da bus before I go into da bar, me?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Well, it a tree mile drive, and we have to be ready before da bus come. Da bus drivers…dey don’t like to wait, mon.”

“So?” Virgil said.

“What can Delroy say? I like Bob Seger. We listen to him every morning, mon. He a modern-day philosopher, dat one.”

“Is that right?” Virgil said.

“Yeah, mon, yeah.”

“What’s your favorite song?”

Delroy finished his coffee in one long gulp and said, “Shame on the Moon.” Then he laughed his big Jamaican laugh, and disappeared down the hall to check on his daughter.

Sandy’s IV bag was nearly empty. She finger-combed her hair—which didn’t really help much—then asked Bell to unhook her from the line. “Man, that stuff is fantastic.”

Bell laughed and said, “It does make alcoholism an easier road to navigate.”

Sandy pointed a friendly finger at Bell. “I am not an alcoholic. I had one night of overindulgence. One.”

“I’m just teasing,” Bell said. “Although, I wonder how Becky is feeling. Maybe I should drop in at the MCU and give her a bag as well.” Then he looked at Virgil and said, “That’ll be three hundred bucks. Cash only, please. I’m trying to keep my tax bill under control.”

Virgil felt his jaw unhinge. “Three hundred bucks of under-the-table cash for a bag of vitamins? What’s the matter…did you run out of snake oil?”

Bell held out his hand. “C’mon, I know you don’t work for free. Neither do I. Time to pay up.”

Sandy turned in her chair and looked into the living room where Huma was wiping down the davenport. “Huma, could you hand me my purse please?”

“Sure, just a second.”

Just then, both the boys came running into the kitchen. Wyatt looked at Bell and said, “Are you really going to fly us to school?”

Bell ruffled the top of Wyatt’s head. “Not exactly. But I am going to fly you to the bus stop. How’s that sound?”

“Got any Bob Seger on the radio?”

Down the back hallway, they heard Delroy laugh, then begin to sing. “You got to watch out for da police…dey be cruisin’ in the Nutbush. Better watch out for da police…”

Sandy opened her purse, took out her billfold, and gave Jonas three bucks for the swear jar. Then she counted out six hundred dollars, handed it to Bell and said, “Put Becky’s on my tab.”

Virgil looked at his wife and said, “You carry six hundred dollars in cash?”

“Of course not. It’s usually an even thousand. Guess I’ll have to stop at the bank on the way in to work.”

Bell stuffed the cash in his pocket and said, “Okay, boys. Everybody ready?”

Jonas and Wyatt didn’t even bother to answer. They simply ran out the back door.

Bell laughed. “I guess I better get out there before they try to take off without me.”

Virgil looked up and said, “Hey, Bell?”

“Yeah?”

Virgil took hold of Sandy’s hand and said, “Those are our boys you’re flying with. Don’t let anything⁠—”

Bell turned serious, gave his friends a single, sharp nod, and said, “Not in a million years, Virgil. I give you my word.”

Virgil and Sandy walked out to the back deck and watched as Bell got Jonas and Wyatt buckled in. Once they were up in the air, Virgil noticed that Bell kept the helicopter close to the ground, no more than ten feet above the tops of the trees.

Sandy squeezed Virgil’s arm. “You just made their day.”

“Had to,” Virgil said. “I’m trying to balance the scales.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m going to ruin some other people’s day later.”

“How’d it go last night?” Sandy said.

“We found the bodies of Allen Carr and Hank Stutzman.”

Sandy knew there wasn’t anything she could say to ease her husband’s grief, so she simply leaned her head against Virgil’s shoulder and watched the helicopter until it was out of sight.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When Virgil turned in to the MCU’s parking lot, he looked up at the helipad on the roof and could see the tail boom of Bell’s helicopter. He walked inside the building, said hello to Sarah, then asked for an update.

“Murton is in his office with Becky.” Then Sarah looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, lowered her voice and said, “Just between you and me, Becky didn’t look too well when she and Murton arrived. Doc Bell is in there with them.”

Virgil let out a chuckle. “She and Sandy had a night to themselves. I don’t think it’s one they’ll soon forget. Or based on what I’ve seen so far, maybe it’s one they’ll never quite remember.” Then, with no segue at all: “Where’s everyone else?”

“Waiting for you and Murton in the conference room, with the exception of Chip and Mimi, who are already back down in Rush County, working the scene. Ross filled me in on everything that happened last night. I’d like you to know how sorry I am about what happened to Mr. Stutzman.”

“Thanks, Sarah. To be honest, I didn’t really know the man all that well. He was part of the original Shelby County Co-op, and he also was a minority stakeholder in the sonic drilling operation. He was more of an associate than a friend.” Virgil wasn’t quite sure why he was downplaying his own feelings regarding Stutzman’s death, but whatever his reasoning, it didn’t manage to slip past Sarah.

“It’s okay to be sad, Jonesy.”

“I don’t have time for sad,” Virgil said. “Sad will come later. Right now I’m mad. There isn’t one single person I can think of who didn’t like Hank. Not one.”

“Yet somebody murdered him.”

Virgil looked at the top of his boots for a moment, then said, “Yeah, they sure did. And I intend to find out who…and why. But before I do any of that, I need your help with something.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Hank was living with his wife, Gail, in Arizona. She died recently, and I know they have adult children because I remember Hank saying that Gail wanted to move out there to be closer to their grandkids. The problem is, the only contact info I have for Hank is his cell phone. Would you be willing to try to track down his kids? I’ve got to call and let them know what’s going on.”

“The information is already on your desk, Jonesy, along with the telephone number of the sheriff’s office for Navajo County, where they live. I included that in case you wanted someone out in Arizona to make the notification. I thought maybe it might be better if the news was delivered in person instead of over the phone.”

“Okay, good thinking. I’ll take it from here.” Virgil turned to walk away, then stopped himself and said, “How’d you get the contact information for Hank’s kids?”

“I didn’t. Not exactly. Chip and Mimi went through his wallet earlier this morning. Mr. Stutzman had their names, addresses, and phone numbers written down on an emergency contact card. Is it just me, or does that sound like something a farmer would do?”

Virgil gave her a flat grin. “I can’t speak for all farmers, but it does sound like Hank. You’re very good at your job, Sarah. I hope you know that.”

Sarah nodded her thanks, but didn’t say anything else, so Virgil went in search of his brother.

He found Murton in his office with Becky—who looked like her night had gone much the same as Sandy’s—and Bell, who was in the process of disconnecting Becky from her IV line.

Virgil looked at Bell and said, “How’d the boys like their ride this morning?”

“They seemed to enjoy it,” Bell said. “I think the highlight was the fact that I timed the landing with the arrival of the school bus. I may have created a couple of ego monsters.”

Virgil chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about their egos, but they already are a couple of monsters.” Then to Becky: “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I did an hour ago, that’s for sure.”

Murton shook his head. “Wine, whiskey, and women. Sounds like a bad country song, you ask me.”

Virgil found it hard to disagree. He looked at Murton and said, “Conference room in ten? I’ve got to make a couple of calls.”

“That’ll work,” Murton said. “I’ll need a few minutes with you before we go in.”

“I’ll be in my office,” Virgil said.

Virgil got himself a cup of coffee, then sat down at his desk and looked at the information Sarah had provided for Stutzman’s adult children. He picked up the phone, dialed the number for the Navajo County Sheriff’s office out in Arizona, then asked to speak with the detective watch commander.

“I’m sorry sir, but he won’t be in for another couple of hours or so.”

Virgil glanced at the wall clock, then mentally face-palmed himself. It was only 5:30 in the morning out west. “Ah, jeez, sorry. We’ve got something going on over here, and you guys are mildly connected. I didn’t stop to think about the time difference.”

The woman who answered the phone let out a little chuckle and said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m from the Midwest myself, and most of my family—including my parents—still live there. Three hours doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it does make communication more difficult.”

Virgil wasn’t quite sure why he asked the question, but he did so anyway. “Do you get to see them much? Your parents?”

“Once or twice a year,” the woman said…her tone of voice going flat. “Would you like me to have Detective Ramirez call you when he gets in?”

“If you would,” Virgil said.

“May I tell him what it is in regard to?”

“We have a murder victim, and his adult children need to be notified. I was hoping it could be done in person by one of your people. My office will be available to answer any questions the victim’s family may have, but I didn’t want to give them the news over the phone.” Virgil then gave her the main phone line for the Major Crimes Unit, and said he’d be waiting for a call back.

The woman assured him that Ramirez would be in touch in a few hours, then ended the call without saying anything else.

Virgil pulled the phone from his ear, set the receiver back in its cradle, then said, “And you have a nice day too.”

He’d no sooner spoken the words when Murton walked in and sat down. “Have you started talking to yourself again?”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. You get any sleep?”

“A few hours,” Murton said. “Enough to get me through the day…I hope.”

“Same here. Anyway…what’s up?”

“I wanted to take a couple of minutes and run something by you,” Murton said. “Didn’t get a chance yesterday after everything that happened.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“It’s about Baker,” Murton said. “And the conversation I had with her before we went into the meeting with Cora.”

Virgil pointed a lazy finger at his brother and said, “Ah, that’s right. I forgot all about that. What’d she want?”

“To stick her toe in the water.”

“Excuse me?”

“She passed the detective’s exam, Virg. She’s hoping for a spot with the MCU.”

Virgil let out a breath, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. “Ah, Murt, I don’t know. And listen, don’t get me wrong…I have the utmost respect for Baker and her capabilities, but the simple fact of the matter is this: We don’t have room for her right now.”

“The woman took a bullet for Small, Jones-man.”

When Virgil spoke, he snapped his response at his brother. “You think I don’t know that?” Then he waved his hand in the air. “Sorry, sorry. Not enough sleep, and too many things on my mind.”

Murton wasn’t bothered by Virgil’s tone. “I hear ya. But here are some things to consider: She’s highly qualified; she’s worked with all of us before, so she’d be a natural fit; and not to be overly woke or PC or whatever they’re calling it these days, we don’t have any females in the unit.”

Virgil shook his head. “Not true. We’ve got Becky, Sarah, and Mimi.”

“None of whom are detectives,” Murton said. “If you don’t give her equitable access to opportunities within the unit, that’s the kind of thing that will have the EDI fuzz breathing down your neck.”

“What the hell is EDI?”

Murton let his eyelids droop. “It stands for Equality, Diversity and Inclusion. It’s all the rage these days.”

“I don’t care if it’s the new eleventh commandment, Murt. No room means no room. How do we get around that?”

Murton crossed his arms over his chest. “She could float for anyone who wants vacation time…or needs time off to let their ankle and ribs heal.”

Virgil gave Murton a smirk. The ankle and rib comment was directed at him, and Virgil knew it. “Still not enough room in the roster. There are six of us right now, and everyone gets four weeks of paid time off. That doesn’t even get her up to half a year.”

“I gotta tell you, she seems pretty insistent about moving on.”

“What’s your point?” Virgil said.

“Well, if that’s the way she feels, I’m wondering how effective she’ll be at providing the kind of protection Cora requires.”

“Giving someone a job because you think they’d be less effective at the one they currently have doesn’t strike me as best practices for hiring that person.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about Baker, here, Jones-man. Besides, I’ve got an idea, if you’re willing to hear it.”

Virgil rubbed his face with both hands and said, “Okay, let’s have it.”

Murton took five minutes and laid out his plan for Virgil. He finished with, “Think everyone would go along if the whole thing was presented like that?”

Virgil shrugged. “Maybe. Let me think about it.”

“What should I tell Baker?”

Virgil stood from his chair. “That I’m thinking about it.”

Virgil and Murton walked into the conference room and found everyone waiting for them. Mayo was deep in conversation with Becky.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Mayo said. “But the thing you have to understand is that your system can’t handle the combination on top of the quantity. You’d have been fine if you stuck with one or the other, but whiskey on top of the wine? That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Tell it to the toilet,” Becky said. “I feel like I owe our septic system an apology.”

“I think you owe me an apology,” Virgil said. “I had to cover the bill for your banana bag.”

Becky shot Virgil a look. “Nice try, Mister. I already spoke with Sandy, and she told me that she paid Bell. Said it was a gift.”

Murton cleared his throat. “Speaking of payment, who is going to replace my bottle of Pappy? That stuff isn’t cheap.”

“You’re part owner of a bar, dude,” Rosencrantz said. “Swing by on your way home and grab a bottle from the stock. Didn’t you tell me that you get it at wholesale prices?”

Virgil rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “Let’s get to work.” He turned to Mayo and Ortiz and said, “You guys were the last ones to speak with Susan Carr. I’d like you both to go out to her place and make the notification. I know she’s going to have all the usual questions…none of which we have answers for yet, but she needs to be informed.”

“I take it Carr’s remains aren’t the type of thing she’ll want to see?” Ortiz said.

Virgil pulled his shoulders in without realizing he was doing it. “She’ll want to, I’m sure, because you know how these things go. But the decomposition is very bad.”

“Where is the body now?” Mayo said.

“At the Rush County Medical Examiner’s office.”

“Cause and manner of death?” Ortiz said.

“Manner is homicide, obviously,” Virgil said. “Cause appears to be strangulation, but that’s just an observation at this point. The man had a plastic bag wrapped around his head. Chip and Mimi didn’t see any other lethal wounds. There might be some, and like I said, the decomposition was extensive, as you’d expect, but other than that, the medical examiner will let us know for certain once he does the autopsy.”

“What about Stutzman?” Rosencrantz said.

“I’m waiting on a call from a Navajo County, Arizona detective. It’s still sort of early out there. They’ll make the notification to his adult children.”

Rosencrantz nodded, then said, “I was speaking more to his cause of death.”

“Shot multiple times in the chest,” Murton said. “Caliber is unknown at this point because there were no exit wounds, and no shell casings at the scene.”

“Any chance he could have been killed somewhere else?” Ross said.

“It’s possible,” Virgil said. “But Chip and Mimi said the blood spatter was too fresh to have been Carr’s, and based on what Carl Johnson told us, it doesn’t seem likely. The timeline just doesn’t work. In fact, the only way it works is if he was killed while at the field.”

“And we’re not looking at Johnson at all?” Mayo said.

Virgil shook his head. “No reason to. Carl is one of us. His only involvement—other than helping uncover the bodies—was leasing the field and equipment to Stutzman…who was a friend.”

“I’d like to tell you something, Boss, and you’re probably not going to like it,” Ross said.

You’re probably right, Virgil thought. “What is it?”

“You said Johnson is one of us, but that’s not entirely accurate.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Virgil said. “He works for Mac, who runs the company controlled by Patty Stronghill…a company, I might add, that has partnered with the state itself. If that doesn’t make him part of us, I don’t know what does.”

Ross wasn’t ready to let it go. “Yet two bodies were found on land that Johnson personally owns. Hold on a second, and let me finish, please. I’ve interacted with the man any number of times, and I don’t think he’s involved any more than you do. But if we don’t ask, we won’t know.”

Virgil waited a full five seconds after Ross stopped speaking. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because Carl Johnson is off the table. As a point of fact, I did ask him yesterday, and I was satisfied with his answer. Not only that, but he’s the one who called the whole thing in to begin with.”

“Who dropped the excavator out at the field?” Rosencrantz said.

“One of Carl’s guys,” Virgil said. “Mike Grey. Murton and I are going to speak with him today.”

Murton tucked his chin and said, “We are? Isn’t he that orange-haired kid I had to talk to after Charlie Esser was killed?”

Virgil gave his brother a fake smile. “Not a kid anymore, but yeah, that’s the one.” Then, before Murton could protest any further, Virgil looked at Mayo and Ortiz, and said, “You guys get going. Notify Carr’s wife of her husband’s status, then start going back through every scrap of paper that’s been generated on his behalf. We already know how he died. Now we need to find out who killed him and why.”

Mayo and Ortiz said they were on it, and left the room. Virgil turned to Ross and Rosencrantz and said, “I’d like the two of you to go over and have another talk with Carmen Bates.”

Ross gave Virgil a frown. “Why?”

“I’m surprised you have to ask,” Virgil said. “Yesterday you told me that a permit has already been approved by IDEM for an industrial solar farm in Carl Johnson’s Rush County field.”

“That’s right,” Rosencrantz said. “It’s in the report we received from Cora. And crime scene issues aside, I have to ask: So what? It’s Johnson’s field.” He spread his arms slightly and turned his palms up. “If he wants to sell it or lease it to the energy companies…” Rosencrantz let his own statement trail away.

“You’re not wrong,” Murton said. “But if he wanted to do that, why lease it to Stutzman?”

“Maybe his friendship with the man was more important to him and he simply changed his mind,” Becky said.

“That could be,” Virgil said. “But here’s the rub: Carl never once mentioned anything about solar farms to any of us while we were down there yesterday. Maybe it’s just me, but that doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you’d want to leave out of the conversation.”

Ross put his elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. Virgil saw him do it and said, “What?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked,” Virgil said. “What is it?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, okay?” Ross said. “Here’s a scenario for you: Stutzman comes back to town…and remember—based on the information we currently have—the only people who ever saw him alive were the front desk people at the hotel, and Carl Johnson.”

Virgil started shaking his head. “Ross…”

“Just hear me out, will you? I was thinking about this all night, and I’m still thinking it this morning.”

“Thinking what?” Murton said.

“That there was no reason to dig that hole,” Ross said. “Other than to hide the bodies, of course. What if Johnson wanted to lease that field to the energy companies all along, but couldn’t get it done because Allen Carr wouldn’t approve the permits? Johnson takes out Carr, stuffs him in the barn until he can figure something out, then Carmen Bates steps in and takes over for Carr. Now Johnson has everything lined up and ready to go, but then Stutzman comes along and wants the land.”

Virgil wasn’t having it. “So he kills his life-long friend just so he wouldn’t have to say no to him? Sorry, young man, but it doesn’t fit.”

“It doesn’t fit if you’re only looking through a specific lens,” Ross said.

“Meaning?” Virgil said.

“Meaning we’re taking everything Johnson told us on faith. What if Stutzman got a little upset? His wife had just died, so that seems reasonable. Maybe they talked about it and got into an argument or something. Or, maybe Johnson finally decided it was time to bury Carr, and Stutzman shows up while it’s happening. Johnson panics, kills him, and the whole enchilada ends up buried on his own land.”

“That’s a fantasy,” Virgil said. “He’s the one who notified me about the site to begin with.”

“And what if that was nothing more than a great cover story?” Ross said. “Because you’d have to admit, it’d be a good one. Besides, he’s the one who found the hole, Boss.”

“After Cool asked some very good questions,” Virgil said.

Ross nodded. “And maybe they were so good that Johnson knew in the moment he didn’t have any other choice but to play along.”

Virgil repeatedly tapped the table with his index finger. “That is not the direction this investigation is going to take. Carl Johnson didn’t have anything to do with the murders of Allen Carr and Hank Stutzman.” Virgil looked at Ross and Rosencrantz and said, “I want the two of you to get over to IDEM and start asking questions…again.”

Ross stood up, looked at Virgil and said, “Just as long as we stay in our lane, right?”

When Virgil didn’t answer, Ross and Rosencrantz walked out of the room. Murton looked at his brother and said, “I hate to say it, Jonesy, because I don’t believe it anymore than you do, but what Ross said might be worth thinking about.”

Virgil knew on some level he was doing something he shouldn’t. He was steering the investigation away from someone simply because that person was a friend. He leaned back in his chair, turned his head, and rapped his knuckles on the glass wall.

Ross and Rosencrantz stopped and re-entered the room. Virgil looked at them both and said, “For the record, I do not believe for one single second that Carl Johnson is involved in the murders of Allen Carr or Hank Stutzman. Having said that, I’d be remiss in my duties if we didn’t follow every avenue available until we find out who did this and why.”

“What exactly are you telling us?” Rosencrantz said.

When Virgil didn’t respond, Murton looked at his fellow detectives and said, “Find out if the permit that was issued for Johnson’s field was previously denied by Carr.”

Ross and Rosencrantz said they would, then left to head over to IDEM.

After they were gone, Virgil picked up his copy of the binder and threw it across the room.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Becky got up from her chair and walked across the room to retrieve Virgil’s binder. She set it in front of him, then, in a somewhat rare display of public affection, she sat down next to Virgil, leaned over, and gave him a hug.

“What was that for?” Virgil said.

“I need a reason to hug my brother-in-law?”

“Of course not,” Virgil said. “But, uh, usually you punch me.”

“That’s just for fun. This is serious. Let me ask you something: Do you trust your people?”

“You know I do, Becks.”

“Then think about Ross. Think about his background. Think about what he did in the military, and what he does for us as part of the Major Crimes Unit. He’s the kind of guy who looks through a scope and sees what he sees. It isn’t personal, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you or your friendship with Carl. He’s simply doing his job...probably the only way he knows how.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said. “I get it. Sometimes…I don’t know why, but Ross can really grind my gears.”

“Have you ever asked yourself why?” Becky said.

Virgil felt the tension begin to drain away. “Yeah, all the time.”

“Come up with an answer yet?”

“Not really,” Virgil said.

“Well, the men’s room is right down the hall,” Becky said.

Virgil gave her a frown. “I know that. What of it?”

“That mirror above the sink? Go take a look at yourself. You and Ross are so much alike it’s almost spooky.” Then she punched Virgil on the shoulder and said, “I’ll be in the computer lab.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Prove Carl Johnson is innocent. It’ll probably take me about twenty minutes, tops.”

Virgil wanted to get back down to Shelby County, but he also wanted to see what Becky came up with before he and Murton left. He walked out of the conference room, then into his office, closing the door behind himself. He sat down to call Cora—he needed to bring her up to date on Carr and Stutzman—and was reaching for his phone to do just that when the intercom beeped at him.

He picked up the phone and said, “Yes?”

“There is a Detective Ramirez holding on three,” Sarah said.

Virgil thanked her, then hit the button to take the call. “Detective Jones speaking.”

“Detective Ramirez with the Navajo County Sheriff’s department, returning your call.”

“Thanks for getting back to me,” Virgil said. “I’ve got some bad news for a couple of your residents.”

“The dispatcher told me as much, though she didn’t have any particulars.”

Virgil told the entire story to Ramirez, then finished with, “So, if you’re willing…”

Ramirez let out a sigh. “This…it is the worst part of the job, no?”

Virgil couldn’t argue the point. It was the worst part of the job. “I’m sure they’ll have questions you won’t be able to answer, so feel free to give them the main number of the Major Crimes Unit. Our operations manager is very good, and she’ll keep them updated on our investigation as it progresses.”

“Good luck, Detective.”

Virgil exhaled through his nose. “You too.” He killed the connection, then made a quick call to Cora, told her everything he knew, which admittedly, wasn’t much, other than the fact that they now had a body to fit the original crime.

Cora thanked Virgil for the update and told him to keep after it. Virgil could tell by the background noise that his boss was being pulled in ten different directions at once, so he let her get back to work. He’d no sooner hung up when Murton and Becky walked in.

“Our boy Carl is clean as a whistle,” Murton said.

Virgil smiled in relief. He looked at Becky and said, “How’d you figure that out?”

“Simple. I had Tony run the security footage out at the drill site for the entire day that Carr went missing. Johnson was there the whole time. His truck never left the lot, and you can see him and some of the engineers setting up one of the new units.”

“Ah, that’s great, Becky. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Want me to let Ross know?”

“Yeah, but not until he gets back here. Don’t want to mess up his work flow.”

“What makes you think it would do that?”

“You said it yourself…he and I are a lot alike. Let’s see what he comes up with. And listen, if you could get the information so easily, why didn’t you do it when Ross was making his case against Johnson?”

“I wanted the two of you to work it out yourselves. It was a great team-building exercise.” Then, before Virgil could say anything, Becky finished with, “Okay, I’m headed to the bar.”

“Are you going there to work up the background information on Congressman Bates and his wife?” Virgil said.

Becky gave Murton a kiss, and Virgil got a wink. Then she said, “Yeah, but that’s not the only reason.”

“What’s the other?” Murton said.

Becky smiled and said, “Mommy needs a little hair of the dog.”

As Virgil and Murton were getting ready to leave for Shelby County to talk to Mike Grey and Carl Johnson, they stopped by Sarah’s desk, and Virgil asked her to do a couple of things.

“Sure,” Sarah said. She grabbed a pen and paper. “What do you need?”

“Get in touch with Carl Johnson and let him know we’re on our way. If he’s at his farm, ask him to stay put. If he’s over at the cultural center, see if he can meet us at his place. If he can’t leave, we’ll go to him.”

“Okay. What else?”

“Find out if Nathan Bates is in town, or still in DC. I thought I heard Congress is in recess, but I’m not sure. Murt and I will hit him up on our way back if he’s here.”

“If he is in town, I take it you don’t want me to disclose either the timing or nature of your visit.”

“You take it correctly,” Virgil said. “Just get the information and let us know. Also, the Arizona cop, Ramirez? I told him to give Stutzman’s kids our number. Be ready for their call. They’re going to have a lot of questions, none of which we’re prepared to talk about just yet. Offer our condolences, tell them it is an active investigation, and we’ll keep them informed to the best of our abilities.”

Sarah said she’d handle it, and then Virgil and Murton were gone.

Ross and Rosencrantz turned in to the IDEM visitor’s lot, and just as they were exiting their squad car, Rosencrantz saw Moses Biggatto walk out of the building. Rosencrantz looked at his partner and said, “Follow me. I need to talk to this guy.”

They cut across the lot on an angle to intercept Biggatto, and reached him right as he arrived at his vehicle.

Biggatto sensed someone closing in on him, so he stopped, turned, looked at Rosencrantz, and said, “Good morning, Detective. Twice in as many days. It almost feels like you might be following me.”

“Paranoia can be debilitating,” Ross said. “Is there some reason we should be following you?”

Biggatto slowly turned his head toward Ross. “And you are?”

Ross pulled out his badge from under his shirt and let it hang across his chest. “Detective Andrew Ross, with the state’s Major Crimes Unit. The man with me is my partner, Detective Tom Rosencrantz.”

Biggatto tilted his head to the side and gave Ross a thoughtful nod. “At least you know how to properly identify yourself as an officer of the law, unlike your partner here. And for the record, no. I cannot for the life of me comprehend why you’d want to follow me.”

“What are you doing here, Biggatto?” Rosencrantz said.

“My job.”

“Is that right?” Ross said. “What line of work are you in, sir?”

Biggatto ignored Ross and kept his eyes on Rosencrantz. “My goodness…a pit bull with manners.”

Ross started to step forward, but Rosencrantz put out his arm and stopped him. “Answer the question, Biggatto.”

“I’m in procurement,” Biggatto said.

“What, exactly, do you procure, and for whom?” Ross asked.

“I’m not certain it matters for purposes of our current conversation, but let me answer this way: If somebody needs something, I’m usually the one they turn to.”

“That’s not very specific,” Rosencrantz said.

Biggatto gave them a big smile. “No, I don’t suppose it is. But I have to say it is wonderful that we agree on something…even if that agreement happens to be a lack of specificity.” Then he let out a little chuckle, looked at Ross, and finished with, “Well, that and the fact that your partner has quite a looker for a girlfriend. Lucy is her name, if I’m remembering correctly. I should probably keep the dream I had about her last night to myself.”

Rosencrantz grabbed Biggatto by the throat and backed him against his own car. “You might think you’re some sort of smart guy, Biggatto, but you’re not. Either that, or you’ve got a piss-poor memory.” Rosencrantz took his hand from Biggatto’s neck and said, “What did I tell you would happen if you mentioned her again?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my memory, Detective. You wouldn’t believe the condition I was in this morning after my dream. I had to run the flag straight up the pole, if you take my meaning.” Biggatto lifted his chin and held it in profile to Rosencrantz. “Anyway, go ahead. Let ‘er rip.”

Rosencrantz spun him around, removed Biggatto’s wallet from his back pocket, then pulled out his driver’s license. He held Biggatto down, handed the license to Ross and said, “Photos. Front and back.”

Ross took the pictures, then handed the ID back to his partner. Rosencrantz stepped back, dropped Biggatto’s wallet and ID on the ground, then said, “Keep crossing my path and watch what happens.”

Biggatto picked up his belongings, winked at Rosencrantz, then got in his car.

Once he’d pulled away, Ross looked at his partner and said, “What was all that about?”

“Something that Jonesy asked me to put on the back burner.” Then he explained what had happened the day before at the diner with Lucy.

“Are you going to do what he asked?” Ross said.

“Nope. I’m going to do the opposite. I think it might be time to turn up the heat.”

Once they’d badged their way through security, Ross and Rosencrantz were shown to a waiting area where they spent five minutes doing nothing. Then Carmen Bates—the interim director of IDEM—stepped out and said, “Good morning, Detectives. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Had I known you were coming over, I⁠—”

“May we step into your office?” Rosencrantz said. “There are a few things we’d like to follow up on with you, and we have some new information regarding the investigation into Allen Carr’s disappearance.”

Bates put her hand up near her throat and said, “Have you found him?”

“If we could go into your office, ma’am,” Ross said.

Bates led them in, and once they were all seated, she looked at Rosencrantz and said, “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

Rosencrantz decided to swing for the fence on the first pitch. “How well do you know Moses Biggatto?”

Bates looked away for a fraction of a second, and said, “Who?”

Ross leaned forward. “Biggatto. First name, Moses. How well do you know him?”

“I don’t know him at all.”

“Are you aware of the fact that lying to an officer of the law is a criminal offense?” Rosencrantz said.

“I’m not lying.”

“We just spoke with him, ma’am,” Ross said. “He was walking out of the building when we arrived.”

“That may very well be, Detective, but it doesn’t mean I know the man. We have over nine hundred people who work here, and many are some of Indiana's most qualified engineers, scientists and environmental project managers and specialists. I’m not in a position to know who everyone meets with on a daily basis, and quite frankly, given the duties of my current position, I wouldn’t want to take the time to find out. I’m simply too busy.”

Rosencrantz gave her a thoughtful nod. “Yes, as I understand it, you’re rubber-stamping the permit approvals just as fast as they come in. I’ll bet the bill for the ink alone must be outrageous.”

Bates decided to show some teeth. “I resent that. It is a gross mischaracterization of what this office does, and how we go about our business.”

Rosencrantz sat back, crossed his legs, then picked an imaginary piece of lint from his pants. “Is it? Because the information we have—information provided by your own office—shows that in the last month IDEM has approved more land usage permits for industrial solar farms than they did during all of last year.”

“What’s your point, Detective?”

“I think I just made it,” Rosencrantz said. “Ever since you stepped up after Mr. Carr disappeared, it’s like the state of Indiana has declared open season on farmland.”

“And that’s bad…why, exactly?”

“Because people like to eat,” Ross said.

“Do they enjoy eating in the dark?” Bates said.

Rosencrantz ignored the question, and asked one of his own. “Did Director Carr ever deny a solar farm permit out of Rush County for Carl Johnson?”

“I have no idea,” Bates said.

Ross leaned forward again and said, “Perhaps you could press a few buttons on your computer keyboard and see what pops up.”

Bates glared at him like she wanted to pull his eyeballs out with an ice cream scooper.

Ross held her stare until she looked away and began clacking at her keyboard. She was hitting the keys so hard Ross leaned back for fear of getting hit by shrapnel.

“No, he never approved or denied a permit for Mr. Johnson’s land. As a point of fact, I approved that permit myself.”

“No surprise there,” Rosencrantz said. “But here’s the thing I don’t understand. Carl Johnson—just yesterday, mind you—entered into an agreement with someone else to lease his land in Rush County.”

Bates actually laughed. “Then that gentleman is going to be very disappointed.”

“I’m pretty sure he already is,” Rosencrantz said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s dead. His name was Henry Stutzman. We found his body, along with Mr. Carr’s, on Johnson’s land. And just for the record—because I want to make sure we’re clear on this—you don’t know who Moses Biggatto is?”

“I think I’d like you gentlemen to leave now.” Bates said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Once she was alone, Carmen Bates picked up her phone and made a call. “We may have a problem.”

“Problem-solving is one of my specialties,” Biggatto said. “I take it you had a nice visit with the state detectives?”

“Nice isn’t the word that comes to mind. I think it’s time we slowed things down a bit.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Bates said. “I had to lie about knowing you.”

Biggatto pulled the phone away from his ear in frustration. When he brought it back up, Bates was still speaking. “Stop talking and listen. One, you never lie to the police. That is a crime in and of itself. They can charge you and arrest you for that alone. And once they’ve done that, they can lock you in a room and start asking all sorts of questions…most of which I’m sure you wouldn’t want to answer.”

“What should I do?”

“About the cops? Nothing. One phone call from your husband to the governor will take care of that. I’ll inform him right now, and he’ll handle it going forward. In the meantime, just keep doing what you’re doing and everything will be all right.”

“But they’re going to find out I wasn’t truthful.”

“Did they read you your rights?”

“No,” Bates said. “They never did.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“They told me that they found Allen’s body, along with another man’s remains.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Biggatto said. “Did they tell you where?”

“Yes. On Johnson’s land in Rush County.”

Biggatto swore under his breath, then said, “I’ll handle it.” Then he ended the call just so he wouldn’t have to speak with Carmen Bates anymore. He thought for a moment, then dialed a number from memory…one he didn’t keep in his contacts list. “It’s me. I’m going to need your help with something, just as soon as possible…”

Once they were back in their squad car, Ross looked at his partner and said, “Now what?”

“That woman was lying through her teeth about Biggatto.”

“That really doesn’t answer my question.”

“Get on the phone and find out where Becky is.”

Ross called Sarah, told her what they’d discovered regarding Johnson’s permit, then found out where Becky was. He ended the call, looked at Rosencrantz and said, “She’s at the office over the bar.”

“Good. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Sarah called Virgil and told him what Ross and Rosencrantz had discovered, and that Carl Johnson was currently out at the drill site. “I asked him if he’d be willing to meet you guys at his farm, but he said he couldn’t leave. Something about a faulty vacuum pump. I really didn’t understand it. Also, Congressman Bates is working out of his district office and should be for the remainder of the week.”

Virgil thanked her, then hit the button on the Range Rover’s steering wheel to end the call. He glanced over at Murton and said, “I was hoping Carl would be at his farm so we could talk to him and Grey together. It’d save us some time.”

“Well, you could drop me at the drill site, and then go talk to Grey by yourself.”

“First of all, that doesn’t save us any time. If anything, it would take longer. And secondly, what do you have against Grey?”

Murton laughed at himself. “You know what? Probably not a thing. But the last time I spoke with him, he was sort of a smart ass.”

“The last time you spoke with him he was a kid, remember? All kids are smart asses.”

“Speak for your own children, brother o’ mine. Ellie Rae is an angel.”

“That she is,” Virgil said. “But one day very soon, your angel is going to turn into a very cute little terror that will have you sleeping with one eye open at all times.”

“I think I can handle it,” Murton said. “Anyway, where do you want to go first? Farm or field?”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like Carl is going anywhere, so let’s go talk to Grey. It’ll probably take all of five seconds. He either saw something or he didn’t. We’ll head out to the drill site after we’re done at the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Murton said. “Although I’ll probably wait in the Rover and let you handle Grey.”

Emily Baker was sitting in the anteroom just outside of Cora’s office when Congressman Bates walked in. He ignored Baker, looked at the governor’s secretary, dropped some gravel in his voice and said, “I need to speak with Governor LaRue…right now.”

Cora’s secretary looked up and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but the governor isn’t available at the moment.”

Bates leaned across the desk. “Then tell her to make herself available. It’s not a request.”

Baker stood from her seat and moved between the desk and the door that led to Cora’s office. “What is your name, sir?”

Bates snapped his head toward Baker and said, “Mind your business.”

Baker unbuttoned her jacket and put her hands on her hips, her gun and badge now clearly visible. “I’m doing just that, sir. Answer the question, please.”

“My name is Nathan Bates. I am a United States Congressman representing the sixth district of Indiana. I demand to speak with the governor right⁠—”

Cora yanked the door open and said, “Baker, what’s going on out here?”

Baker turned, faced Cora, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Congressman Bates is here to see you, ma’am. He’s been rather insistent about the whole thing.”

“So I’ve heard,” Cora said. “As a matter of fact, I think half the building heard.” Then she looked Bates in the eye and said, “Do you understand the concept of making an appointment, Congressman?”

“Of course I do,” Bates snapped at her. “But this is urgent, and I need to speak with you.”

Cora wasn’t one to be pushed around, but she’d known all along that Bates would turn up sooner or later. She looked at her secretary and said, “Mark me out for fifteen minutes.” Then she stepped back, held the door open wide, looked at Bates and said, “Come in.”

Bates seemed to calm down a bit once he had his way. “Thank you, Madam Governor.”

Cora looked past the congressman and said, “Baker, you’re with me.” Then the three of them went into Cora’s office, and Baker closed the door.

Once they were seated, Cora looked at Bates and said, “How may I help you, Congressman?”

Bates reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He pretended to study it for a moment, then tucked it away and said, “Not long ago, two of your detectives went to my wife’s office at IDEM and accused her of⁠—”

Cora interrupted him and said, “Which detectives are we talking about?”

“Some guy named Ross, and his partner, Retropants.”

Cora tried very hard not to roll her eyes. “That would be Detective Rosencrantz.”

“Whatever. They implied that Carmen has been issuing an excessive number of solar farm permits in the state.”

Cora gave him a nasty grin. “Well, which was it, Congressman? An accusation, or an implication? They are two different things.”

“I’m not going to argue semantics with you, Governor. I chair the sub-committee that provides oversight for the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. And the commission has made it a top priority to reduce carbon emissions in this country. In addition, as one of the representatives of our state in the nation’s capital, it is my job to ensure that IDEM gets whatever it needs to do their jobs...including cooperation from you and your office. Solar energy is the future of this great nation, and I intend to use any means at my disposal to ensure there are no further delays as we continue to act upon our mandate to give the people what they want.”

“Nice speech,” Cora said. “You should write it down and save it for the stump during the next election cycle…assuming you last that long.”

Bates, to his credit, ignored Cora’s jab. “Perhaps I should be more specific. We will take whatever actions we deem necessary to fulfill our obligations. If that isn’t clear enough for you, try this: Every permit that gets issued from IDEM for farmland conversion will result in an industrial solar array on said land. We’ll use the right of eminent domain if necessary. The farmers can sell their land at fair market value to the energy companies, or they may lease it. Either option is fine with us, but make no mistake…this is happening, whether you like it or not.”

Cora gave Bates a genuine smile, then said, “Just a moment, please.” She took out her pen, wrote a quick note, then handed it to Baker. “Make that happen…right now, please.”

Baker looked at the note, kept her expression neutral and said, “Yes ma’am. It will only take a moment.” Then she turned and left the office.

“What was that all about?” Bates said.

“Gubernatorial business.”

“Would you mind being a bit more specific?”

“This job…sometimes I think it may be the death of me. So many different people trying to pull you in either this direction or that, all based on some ridiculous notion that whatever they want is best for everyone else.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Baker walked back into the office and gave Cora a quick nod.

Cora looked at Bates and said, “You’re about to.” Then she picked up her phone, dialed a number, and waited. When the call was answered, Cora said, “Governor LaRue for the director, please.” She punched the Speaker button on her phone so Bates could hear the conversation.

“Yes, ma’am?” Carmen Bates said once she was on the line.

When Cora spoke, she kept her eyes locked on the congressman. “I understand that you had a conversation with two detectives from the state’s Major Crimes Unit this morning.”

“I did. They weren’t very pleasant, if I’m being honest with you.”

“That’s how most people feel when detectives show up and start asking questions about a murder investigation. Did they inform you that Allen Carr’s remains were discovered?”

“They did. They also accused me of unprofessionalism and irresponsibility regarding my duties as acting director.”

“That sounds like my men. You realize that as interim director of IDEM, you serve at the pleasure of this office?”

“Of course.”

“Then hear me when I say this: My office…myself in particular, is no longer pleased with the type of work you’re doing on behalf of the people of our state. As such, your position at IDEM is hereby terminated, effective immediately.”

Bates let her anger come through over the phone. “You can’t do that. My husband⁠—”

“Your husband doesn’t have a say in the matter, Carmen. There are two uniformed state troopers en route to your office as we speak. They will help you collect your personal belongings before they escort you from the building. If you attempt to re-enter the premises, you’ll be arrested. Have I made myself clear?”

“This isn’t over,” Bates hissed into the phone.

“You should hope it is,” Cora said. Then she punched a button on her phone and ended the call.

Congressman Bates stood from his seat and walked out of the office without saying a word to Cora, his phone already in his hand.

Once Congressman Bates had cleared Cora’s office, he made a quick call to his wife over at IDEM. “Listen very carefully. You have very little time to get this done.”

Carmen Bates was in tears when she spoke to her husband. “Nate, the governor just fired me.”

“I know. I was there when she did it.”

“Why didn’t you try to stop her? I have done nothing wrong.”

“Carm, listen to me. There was nothing I could do. Are you hearing me on this? Not one single thing. It was her call to make. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have a play of our own.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about vengeance. Are the state troopers there yet?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“They will be soon. Lock your door, right now.”

Carmen Bates locked the door to her office, then said, “Okay, it’s done. But I don’t think that’s going to stop them.”

“No, but you’ve got about two minutes to get something done.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Okay, I need you to pull up a file…”

Virgil parked the Range Rover next to Johnson’s hog barn, then went inside to look for Grey. Murton, true to his word, waited in the Rover.

Virgil found Grey at the back of the building, running some sort of complex watering system that kept the hogs’ water tank full. “Excuse me? Mike Grey? I’m Detective Virgil Jones. Do you remember me?”

Grey turned a valve that shut the water down, then looked at Virgil and said, “Sure. How ya doin?”

Virgil wasn’t quite sure how to answer, so he didn’t. Instead, he said, “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Grey said. “Mr. J done told me you’d be comin’ by. He also told me what happened to Mr. Stutzman. I can’t tell you how sorry I was to hear about that. He was good people. He always treated me right, just like Mr. J. does. Why would someone want to go on and kill him?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mike. Can you tell me when you last saw Henry Stutzman?”

Grey scratched at his beard for a few seconds. “I guess it was back when he left for Arizona. I sure was sorry to see him go.”

“I was as well,” Virgil said. “But just for the record, Carl told me that you dropped off the excavator at his field over in Rush County.”

“That’s true. When Mr. J. asks me to do something, I do it. That’s my job.”

“So you took the excavator out, but you didn’t see Hank?”

“Nope, I never did. Seen his truck, though. It was parked on the dirt lane that leads back to the barn out there. It was still pretty close to the road and I could tell it was his because of the license plates. Course, it could’ve belonged to someone else from Arizona, but that don’t seem likely now, does it?”

Virgil was beginning to understand why Murton wanted to wait in the Range Rover. “No, I guess it doesn’t. When you saw the truck, did you wonder where Hank was?”

“No, not really. I guess I figured he was back by the barn.”

“And you didn’t see him? Maybe go back there to say hello, or something like that?”

“Why are you using different words to ask me the same questions?”

Virgil smiled at Grey. “I’m just making sure that I have my facts straight.”

“Truth is, I wanted to go say hi, and I probably would have, but Mr. J. had a sow that was about to give birth and I had to get back for that.”

Virgil tried to think of anything else he could ask that would help him with the murder investigations, but nothing came to mind. He thanked Grey, then walked outside and took a few deep breaths. The smell of pig shit seemed to hang on him like sackcloth.

When he opened the door of the Rover and climbed in, Murton blinked rapidly and said, “Did you question the man, or help him clean out the stalls?”

“I think they’re called pens,” Virgil said. “Anyway, let’s get out to the drill site and talk to Johnson.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Murton said. “As usual, I’m waiting on you, Porky. How about we roll the windows down, huh?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ross and Rosencrantz walked inside the bar, said hello to Delroy and Robert, then headed upstairs to speak with Becky.

There was a Bloody Mary sitting next to Becky’s computer keyboard, and she was munching on a celery stalk, her feet propped over the corner of her desk.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?”

They both sat down, and Rosencrantz said, “I was hoping you could do a little digging for me. Sarah sort of got started, but she could only take it so far.”

Becky gave Rosencrantz a frown. “She never said anything to me about it.”

“That’s probably because Jonesy told me to put it on the back burner.”

Becky took another bite of celery, crunched it a few times, then said, “And I take it you want to keep the fire burnin’?”

“Yeah, just as long as we don’t have to do it while quoting Kevin Cronin lyrics,” Ross said.

“Who?” Becky said.

“Kevin Cronin…the lead vocalist for REO Speedwagon. He’s the guy who wrote that song.”

Becky tipped her head back and pointed at Ross. “That’s right. Didn’t they do the album, You can Tune a piano, but you can’t Tuna fish?”

“That’s the one,” Ross said. Then he pointed at Becky’s drink. “Hair of the dog? I heard you and Sandy really let loose last night.”

“We did, that’s for sure,” Becky said. She picked up her glass and took a long drink. “Not to worry though. Unlike me, this one is a virgin.”

Rosencrantz suddenly understood how Virgil sometimes felt. “Maybe if we could stay on point here…”

Becky laughed. “Say, that’s a pretty good impression of Jonesy.” Then she got serious and said, “What do you need?”

Rosencrantz looked at Ross and said, “Send her the pictures.”

Ross took a few seconds to do as Rosencrantz asked, and when Becky’s computer dinged at her, she studied the driver’s license for a moment, then said, “Moses Biggatto. That’s a good name. What’d he do?”

“I’m not sure,” Rosencrantz said. “But I ran into him at the diner yesterday morning and had to send him on his way. Then Ross and I saw him leaving the IDEM building right before we came over here.”

Becky let a mock look of horror form on her face. “Wow, those are some pretty serious offenses. I mean, you see the same person twice in as many days, he’s got to be up to something, right? I’m beginning to wonder if I might be under investigation.”

“Very funny,” Rosencrantz said. “I’m telling you, Becks, this guy is wrong somehow. I don’t know if it tracks with what we’re doing or not, but he’s been bad news every time I’ve seen him. What’s a guy from Jersey doing out here running around Rush County, and then coming out of IDEM?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“We did,” Ross said. “He was less than forthcoming.”

“And you want me to find out what his story is?”

“If you would,” Rosencrantz said.

“How far did Sarah get?”

Rosencrantz pulled out his notes and said, “The car is registered to a company called Brightstar, LLC., out of Wyoming. According to Sarah, they don’t have a web presence, and the Wyoming secretary of state’s office says their address goes to a post office box in Cheyenne that is rented by an agent of the company. The agent is a lawyer, and that’s as far as she got.”

“Okay,” Becky said. “I guess I need to spend more time with Sarah. It sounds like she was doing it the hard way.”

This time it was Rosencrantz who decided to have a little fun. He jerked his thumb at Ross and said, “Well, she lives with this guy. Maybe that’s the only way she knows how to do things.” When no one laughed, Rosencrantz cleared his throat and said, “So anyway, you’ll look?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see what I can find. Gonna have to bring Jonesy up to speed, though.”

“Maybe you could wait until you either find something, or he asks what you’re working on.”

Becky made a tsk, tsk, tsk noise. “Keeping secrets from the boss now, are we?”

Rosencrantz shook his head. “No, no, not at all. I’m simply suggesting that you don’t offer up any information unless he asks for it.”

Becky looked at the photographs on her computer again. “This Biggatto guy…he’s sort of handsome.” Then she looked directly at Ross and said, “What do you think?”

“I don’t have an opinion on the man’s looks.”

“That’s not what I meant. What was your take during your interaction with him outside of IDEM?”

“I’m with Rosie. The guy is wrong. He was trying to work us from the second we walked up on him.”

“Okay, I’ll take a look. But if Jonesy asks…”

Ross and Rosencrantz stood. “Yeah, yeah,” Rosencrantz said. “We get it. Nepotism at its finest.”

Virgil and Murton left the farm and headed over to the Shelby County Cultural Center to find Johnson. When they arrived, they ran into Tony Stronghill, wasted a few minutes shooting the poop, then asked if he knew where Johnson was.

“The last time I saw him he was out at number eight working on that vacuum pump. By the look on his face I’m all but certain he was getting ready to pack it in a crate and dump it in the river.”

“I don’t think it’s the pump that has him worked up,” Murton said. “He was there when we found Hank Stutzman and Allen Carr.”

Stronghill nodded. “I’m aware. Carl told me himself this morning. Anyway, I need to get after things around here myself. Like I said, he’s either out at number eight, or in the mechanical shop. I’ll be around if you guys need anything else. Good to see you.”

“You too,” Murton said. “Tell Pickle Chick we said hello.”

Tony said he would, and went on his way.

Virgil looked at his brother and said, “Number eight is about two miles from here. The mechanical shop is in plain sight. Let’s try over there first. Might save us some time.”

They climbed back into the Rover and drove over to the mechanical shop—a small Quonset hut that was one of the last remaining remnants of the Shelby County co-op—and got lucky. Johnson was standing in front of a work bench with a screwdriver in one hand, a digital multimeter in the other, and a scowl on his face.

When he saw Virgil and Murton walk in, his greeting was uncharacteristically foul. He pointed the screwdriver at them both and said, “If another one of these fuckin’ vacuum pumps fails on me, I’m gonna quit, and don’t think I ain’t serious, because I am. I’m sick of shit that don’t work the way it’s supposed to. Back in the day, me and Hank could fix any piece of equipment out here, and we done it all without an engineering degree. Nowadays, everything is all tech this and tech that, and it feels like the whole goddamned world is passing me by, one computer chip at a time. I spent all last night, and so far most of my morning, wonderin’ if Hank ain’t better off than I am.”

Virgil stepped close, took the screwdriver from Johnson’s hand, set it on the bench and said, “That’s your grief talking, Carl.”

“I know that,” Johnson said. “Don’t change what I just said though.”

“You’re not an indentured servant,” Virgil said. “If you like the job, keep it. If you don’t, you could always go back to running your farm. Your royalty checks won’t change.”

“I know that too,” Johnson said. He was beginning to calm down a bit. “Hell, the truth of it is, I like this job. I’m just upset about what happened, and the fact that it happened on the only piece of land I got left.”

“That’s actually something we wanted to speak with you about,” Murton said. “With everything that happened yesterday, we never actually had the chance.”

Johnson was confused, and said as much. “What are you talking about?”

Virgil turned and parked his butt against the workbench, then crossed his arms over his chest. “We need to make sure that certain facts are in order as we move forward with the investigations of both Allen Carr’s and Hank’s murders.”

“What facts?”

“Did you ever meet or have occasion to speak with Mr. Carr?” Murton asked.

Johnson shook his head. “The first and only time I ever seen the man was when we dug him out of that hole.”

“Did you know that he was the director for the Indiana Department of Environmental Management?”

“Nope. The only interaction I’ve ever had with IDEM was back in the day when the original Co-op property was still in operation. One of their people came out—I don’t remember his name—and did some sort of storm water drainage survey, if I remember right. Didn’t seem to amount to much, as I recall. He wrote up a report that had some recommendations about excessive runoff and erosion mitigation that we took care of. Then the fellow came out after we’d done the work, looked around and said we were good to go. I ain’t never heard from or seen anyone outta that office since.”

“Do you know if Hank ever had any dealings with Carr?” Virgil said.

“Hell, Virgil, I don’t know. The man’s been living out in Arizona for any number of years, so I highly doubt it. And if he had any interaction with him before he left town, it never came up. You trying to figure how they both ended up dead on my land?”

“Among other things,” Murton said.

“What other things?”

“Well, for starters, has anyone ever talked to you about buying or leasing your Rush County field?” Virgil asked.

Johnson looked at Virgil like he was from outer space. “Of course they have. I already done told you that Hank and I come to an agreement.”

Virgil held up his hand. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I meant anyone other than Hank.”

“Nope. Why are you asking?”

Virgil wasn’t sure how to explain to Johnson what was happening, mainly because he didn’t quite understand it himself. He took a deep breath and said, “Carl, I’ve got a report that came out of an independent review of the work that IDEM has been doing…both before and after Carr was killed.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“That’s what we’re trying to tell you,” Murton said. “A permit for a new industrial solar farm in Rush County was applied for by a company called Sun Ray Solar. Their permit was approved by IDEM less than three weeks ago. That’d be just after Allen Carr went missing.”

“Still not seeing the connection to me,” Johnson said.

Virgil put his hand on Johnson’s shoulder and said, “Carl, the solar farm permit was for your land…the same land where we found the bodies.”

“Then there must be some sort of clerical error, because the only person I agreed to let use my land was Hank.”

“And he didn’t mention anything about solar?” Murton said.

Johnson shook his head in frustration. “The only thing Hank knew about solar he learned from living in Arizona. Here’s the sum total of his knowledge: The sun is hot. End of lesson.”

When Biggatto walked into the mechanical shop he had a smile on his face. “The sun is hot, I’ll grant you that. But it isn’t the end of the lesson, as you say.”

“Who the hell are you now?” Johnson said, his voice full of irritation.

“I’m the man you should be thanking,” Biggatto said. Then he looked at Virgil and Murton and said, “Hello, Detectives. You’ll forgive me for saying so, but one of you has an odor wafting about your person that tells me you might have spent some time with a recent acquaintance of mine. Mike Grey is his name, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Murton glanced at Virgil, who caught the look and held his eyes for a second, then slowly shook his head. The message was clear. Virgil wanted to see how everything played out.

He’d soon discover it was a mistake.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Carl Johnson was sixty-two years old, six feet tall, and weighed just over two hundred and fifty pounds, most of it pure muscle from a lifetime of physical labor. When he heard Biggatto mention Grey, he put two and two together and came up with a name. “You’re the fella who helped Mike deliver the piglets, aren’t you? Moses somebody. I don’t think he got your last name.”

“I may have neglected to mention it at the time,” Biggatto said. “Things were happening pretty fast with your pig. I can’t speak for the sow, but I have to say the entire affair was an experience I won’t soon forget.”

Johnson stepped close to Biggatto and said, “Well, here’s another one that I hope will stay with you as well.”

Biggatto tipped his head slightly to one side. “Another what?”

“Experience,” Johnson said. Then he bunched his fists and delivered two quick blows to Biggatto, the first to his solar plexus to bend him over, and the second to the side of his face as he was going down.

Murton managed to say, “Hey, Carl, stop,” but it was already over by the time he got the words out. Virgil grabbed Johnson and pulled him away, then pointed at the far end of the workbench and said, “Wait over there. Do not move.”

“Mike told me that fella tried to kill him.”

“I did no such thing,” Biggatto said as Murton helped him to his feet. He opened his mouth wide, and wiggled his jaw back and forth. “I showed up looking for Mr. Johnson, Grey needed help, and as a matter of goodwill, I thought I would offer my assistance.” Biggatto looked at Murton and said, “Jesus, that old guy has a mean right hook.”

Johnson, who was standing where Virgil told him to, pointed at Biggatto and said, “You was also gonna kill him. Mike done told me himself, you son of a bitch.”

Biggatto looked past Murton and said, “You’re speaking of the pitchfork, aren’t you? I think your man might have misunderstood my intentions. The fork was in the middle of the aisle and I didn’t want anyone to trip over it. I was simply going to put it inside the pen where it wouldn’t be a danger to anyone. This is all just a big misunderstanding.”

Virgil hated to do it, because Johnson was a good friend, but nevertheless, he looked at Biggatto and said, “You’d be well within your rights to file an assault charge, sir. I don’t believe I got your last name, although I could probably venture a pretty good guess.”

Johnson looked at Virgil, his mouth hanging open. “You’re gonna let him file charges against me?”

Virgil stepped closer to where Johnson was standing, lowered his voice and said, “Carl, listen to me. You assaulted the man in front of me and Murton. In case you’ve forgotten, we are officers of the law. Now stand still, don’t move, don’t speak, and let me see if I can work this out.”

“Mike don’t lie,” Johnson said.

“I’m not saying he does. But the man makes a point. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

“Virgil, I’m telling you⁠—”

Virgil pointed his finger at Johnson and said, “Not another word, Carl. I mean it.” Then he turned, walked back over to where Murton and Biggatto stood and said, “What’s your business here, sir?”

“How about we get to that in a minute or two,” Biggatto said.

“Or we could get to it now, Sunshine,” Murton said. “Answer the question.”

Biggatto ignored Murton and looked directly at Virgil. “A moment ago, you said you could venture a pretty good guess. I’d like to hear it. In fact, I’ll go you one better. Guess correctly and I won’t file any charges against your friend, here. Get it wrong, and, well, who knows how the whole thing plays out?”

Virgil knew Biggatto was trying to get on top of the situation, and even though it might have been a bad idea, he answered anyway. “Biggatto.”

When Biggatto started to reach into his pocket, Murton pulled his Sig out and pointed it at the side of the man’s head. Biggatto froze and said, “I’m going for my ID.”

Murton pulled the hammer of his weapon back and said, “If anything comes out of that pocket other than your wallet, you’ll be going into a casket. Believe me when I say I have the skill set—not to mention the authority—to make it happen.”

Biggatto gave Murton a wink and said, “I believe you.” Then he very slowly pulled his wallet out, extracted his ID, and handed it over.

Murton looked at the driver’s license, holstered his weapon, then pulled out his phone.

“There’s no need to photograph it, Detective Wheeler. Two of your other men have already done so. I believe their names are Ross and Rosencrantz.”

Virgil stepped over and said, “How do you know the names of my detectives?”

“The same way I know yours, Detective Jones. The people I represent are very thorough. I have a wealth of knowledge at my disposal.” Then, just to make sure he’d made his point, Biggatto finished with, “You’ll have to forgive me, but it seems with all the fuss, I’ve managed to misplace my manners. How are Jonas and Wyatt, by the way? Boys these days…they grow up so fast, don’t they?”

When Biggatto mentioned his sons, Virgil felt himself beginning to vibrate. He was already moving forward, but Murton was one step ahead of his brother. He punched the side of Biggatto’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. Then he leaned over and said, “If you ever mention the names of my nephews again, it’ll be the last words you ever speak.”

Biggatto turned his face upward and smiled. “My goodness, with all the fisticuffs going on around here, I think I might need to see the dentist. I do admire brotherly love, though.” When he spoke, blood dripped across his lips, his teeth painted in red.

Murton dropped Biggatto’s ID on the ground. “Time for you to beat feet, Bub.”

Biggatto pulled himself into a sitting position, gathered his ID, then stood. “I think we might be in agreement on that point, Detective. It’s too bad, though. My agreement was supposed to be with Mr. Johnson, not you.” Then he looked past Virgil and Murton and spoke directly to Johnson. “I can make you a rich man. The truth is, it’s already in the works. I hope you’ll forgive any misunderstanding that took place on your farm with young Mr. Grey, and especially yourself. I have no ill will against you, sir, but I do have a job to do. You can lease us the land, or we’ll take it from you under the laws of eminent domain. My advice? Go for the lease. That’s where the real money is.”

Once Biggatto was gone, Virgil looked at Johnson and said, “Do you mind telling me what that was all about?”

“You heard what it was about. Mike said that fella was gonna kill him.”

“Two things,” Virgil said. “One, Mike never said anything to us about Biggatto, and I just finished speaking with him before we came over here.”

“Mike ain’t one for speaking out of turn,” Johnson said.

Virgil laughed without humor. “So you’re saying that Grey wouldn’t tell a state detective that he thought someone was going to kill him unless he was specifically asked about it?”

“I’m saying Mike is Mike. What you see is what you get. What’s the other thing?”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“Goddamnit, Virgil, I’m a farmer, and a foreman. What do I need a lawyer for?”

“Because that man who just walked out of here is about to rake you over the coals if you don’t get on top of all this.”

“You’re sayin’ that fella is going to take my land, and there ain’t nothing I can do about it?”

“Not him personally, but I think the people he represents are going to give it their best shot.”

“That ain’t right,” Johnson said. “How can they get a permit to build something on my land without runnin’ it by me first? That field has been in my family for generations. My great-grandfather worked that dirt with a field horse and a single bottom plow. He fed his family off that land.”

“That’s a great sentiment, Carl, but with respect, the only people who care about that are you, your family, and your friends.”

Johnson looked at nothing for a few seconds, then said, “My list of friends seems to be growing shorter by the minute. Are we done here? I got work to do.”

“Carl—”

But Johnson wasn’t having it. He turned and walked out of the building.

Murton pulled out his phone, and made a quick call. “Rosie, it’s Murt. Where are you guys?”

“At the bar having lunch. Becky is looking at someone for me.”

“Any chance it’s a guy out of Jersey by the name of Moses Biggatto?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly who it is. How did you know that?”

Murton explained where they were, and everything that had just taken place. When he was finished, Rosencrantz said, “I’ve crossed paths with this guy twice in two days. The first time was yesterday morning at the diner. He was making crude remarks about Lucy, so I bounced him. Then today, Ross and I had another encounter with the man when we arrived at IDEM.”

“Biggatto was at IDEM?” Murton said.

“Yeah. Just leaving when we showed up.”

“Okay, hang on for a second. Keep the line open.” Murton lowered the phone, then told Virgil what Rosencrantz had just said.

Virgil listened carefully, then said, “Tell Rosie to stay put, and that we’re on our way.”

“What about the congressman? We were going to go over to his district office and talk with him.”

“It’ll have to wait for now,” Virgil said.

Murton told Rosencrantz that he and Virgil would be there soon, then ended the call. As they were walking out to the Range Rover, he looked at his brother and said, “Boy, that Carl can fight, huh?”

“Yeah, remind me to never piss him off.”

“I think that particular ship might have already set sail.”

Virgil wasn’t concerned. “Ah, he’ll come around. I don’t think he’s mad at me. He’s upset about Hank, and now we’ve managed to pile on his grief by showing up and letting him know he could lose his only remaining piece of farmland.”

As they were turning out of the Shelby County Cultural Center’s lot, Murton said, “Is there any chance that Hank knew about the permit and used Carl to take control of the field?”

“I don’t think so,” Virgil said. “I mean, I just don’t see it. Those guys go too far back. Plus, you remember what Hank was like when the whole Co-op deal went down. Other than Carl, he was the best of the bunch.”

“I can’t argue the point, Jones-man. But Carr, and now Stutzman, are both dead, and Biggatto is tooling around the state like he can’t be touched. Your own odor aside, this thing is starting to take on a federal aroma, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re speaking of Bates?”

Murton looked out the passenger window as he spoke, the countryside sliding by. “Yeah, I am.”

“Which one? The congressman, or his wife?”

“Same answer,” Murton said.

Virgil took his eyes off the road for two seconds, and glanced at Murton. “Say it.”

“I’m surprised I have to,” Murton said. “Biggatto and the people he represents don’t have any boundaries. You think he worked Jonas and Wyatt into the conversation by accident? He’s a threat to everything we believe in, Virgil.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

When Virgil and Murton walked into the bar, they saw something that surprised both of them. Emily Baker was standing at the foot of the steps that led to Becky’s office.

Baker saw them come in, then tipped her head at the stairway. “She’s upstairs with Becky. Ross and Rosencrantz are with them.”

“How much do you know?” Virgil said.

“Only what I’ve overheard,” Baker said. She glanced at the top of the stairs, then lowered her voice and finished with, “Cora fired Carmen Bates this morning. The congressman was in her office when she did it.”

Virgil blew out a breath, then looked at Murton. “Okay, let’s go.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Murton said. “I need to use the bathroom.” He turned to walk down the hall, then waited five seconds and walked back to where Baker stood.

“Did you talk to him?” Baker asked.

Murton nodded. “I planted the seed.”

“Think it will sprout?”

“Too soon to tell. I have an idea though, and I told Jonesy about it. I’ll give you the details first chance I get.”

Baker looked around the bar for a few seconds, then said, “Well, can you at least tell me what he said?”

“He told me he’d think about it. Give it some time, Em. We’ll get there.”

Baker said she would, and went back to watching the bar.

Virgil walked into the office, nodded at Cora, and said, “Where are we?”

Cora was looking at one of the bar menus. “About to order lunch. What do you recommend?”

Murton walked in and saw Cora looking at the menu. He’d also heard her comment. “Throw a dart. You can’t miss with Robert’s cooking.”

“Nice of you to join us, Wheeler,” Cora said. She set the menu aside. “I’m not really very hungry. That was simply an excuse to get out of the office. The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission has been calling non-stop ever since the congressman walked out of the building.”

Virgil sat down on the davenport. He didn’t want to get Baker in any hot water, so he played dumb. “What happened?”

Cora gave Virgil a particular look, then sighed in annoyance like she didn’t want to play Virgil’s game, but like any good politician, she went with the flow. “I fired Carmen Bates over the phone while her husband was sitting in my office.”

“And how’d that go?” Virgil said.

“About as well as you might imagine, which is to say, not very well at all. The congressman was on his cell before he made it to the doorway. It doesn’t take a genius to imagine who he was calling.”

“I thought we were supposed to be the ones to ruffle the federal feathers,” Murton said. “Not you.”

“You were, but the congressman dealt the play, not me.” Then she looked around the office and said, “Is it safe to talk in here?”

“It is,” Becky said. “After what happened before, we run a daily sweep of not only this office, but the entire bar. We’re good.”

Cora nodded her approval, then asked, “Where are Mayo and Ortiz?”

“Sarah told me they’re out at Johnson’s field helping Chip and Mimi collect evidence,” Ross said.

“Good enough,” Cora said. She looked over at Virgil and Murton. “I want to keep the pressure on Congressman Bates. Somebody needs to sit him in a chair and sweat him.”

“We can do that, Cora,” Virgil said. “And, as a point of fact, Murton and I were going to. But the more I thought about pressuring him right now, it seemed like a mistake.”

“In what way?”

“Because unless I’m mistaken, we don’t have enough information yet.” He looked at Becky and said, “Do we?”

Becky shook her head. “I’ve got a sequence running right now, but I won’t be able to parse the actual intel until that finishes up.”

“What about this Biggatto guy?” Cora said. “Ross and Rosencrantz have brought me up to speed on him, and he sounds like he might be the front man for the entire thing.”

“You can take the word ‘might’ out of your last sentence,” Murton said. “It’s starting to look like Biggatto is the intermediary for the DC lobby money, but here’s the thing to remember: This guy is a tool…nothing more, and nothing less. He’s a hammer to a nail. We had a chance encounter with him while speaking with Carl Johnson at the cultural center before we came here.”

After Murton explained it all to Cora, she looked at Virgil and said, “Biggatto threatened Jonas and Wyatt?”

Virgil didn’t want to exaggerate it, but he didn’t want to downplay it, either. “Biggatto’s not as clever as he thinks he is. Letting us know that he has access to more information than he should was a mistake on his part, if you ask me. He’s trying to keep us off balance, and he knows we don’t actually have anything on him yet.”

Cora stood from her seat and made a lap around the office. She stopped next to Murton, but spoke to the entire group. “Everyone in here knows—at least I hope you do—that I am not a micro-manager. But over the last month…ever since Allen Carr disappeared, IDEM has been operating like they are the ones running the state. Everything they are doing is coming straight out of Washington and it’s time for us to put a stop to the whole thing. I’ve taken the first step by sacking Carmen Bates. Everybody knows that.” She looked around the room and said, “That’s my way of saying I’ve done almost all I can do.”

“Mind if I ask a question?” Rosencrantz said.

“Of course not, Rosie,” Cora said. “What is it?”

“Firing Carmen Bates from her position at IDEM might buy us some time, but as a famous country singer likes to say, the congressman isn’t without friends in low places. What’s to stop him from getting someone else inside IDEM, if they’re not already there?”

“I’m operating under the assumption that has happened already. That’s why I need to get someone in the director’s chair today. And it has to be not only someone we trust, but someone who knows how we operate, and won’t let anyone push them around.”

“I have a suggestion,” Murton said. He was looking at Virgil when he spoke.

Cora turned and said, “Let’s hear it.”

Virgil misunderstood where Murton was going and neglected to keep his ego in check. “Murt, I don’t know anything about running an organization like that.”

Murton kept his expression neutral. “Neither do I. And with respect, Jones-man, I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Then who are you talking about?” Virgil said.

“I’m getting to it.” Then Murton looked at Cora and said, “First, I assume whoever takes the job in the interim will know that it will only be temporary. Do I have that right?”

“You do,” Cora said. “I’ll find a permanent replacement when we get this current mess cleaned up.”

“And you need someone who has the sort of experience you have…running a bureaucracy at the state level?”

“That’s right,” Cora said. “Who are you thinking?”

When Murton answered the governor, everyone started talking at once, the exception being Virgil and Cora, who simply stared at each other. Finally, Virgil stood, looked at Murton, and said, “I need a word. Outside.”

Once they were clear of the office, Virgil and Murton stood in the short hallway next to the staircase that led down to the bar. Murton stuck his head around the corner, saw Baker, then turned back to his brother. “Whatever you’re going to say, keep it quiet, because Baker is going to be a part of it. I think it’s the only way it will work.”

Virgil did his best to keep his voice down, but it wasn’t easy. “I don’t like it.”

“What’s not to like?” Murton said. “As a former governor—not to mention a state cop—it should be a walk in the park.”

“Tell it to Allen Carr, Murt, because you know as well as I do that he was murdered so Bates could move his wife into the director’s chair. Who knows how long they’ve been planning this?”

“I can’t answer that, Jonesy, but I do know one thing for sure: If Cora can’t put someone she trusts in that chair until we figure this thing out, it’s only going to get worse.”

“How?” Virgil said.

“With respect, that’s not the right question.”

“Then what is?”

“Ask yourself this: What do you think might have happened to Carl today had we not been lucky enough to be there? Biggatto himself said the wheels were already in motion. And you saw Carl’s reaction to Biggatto. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that Biggatto would have killed Johnson, or it might have happened the other way around, but either way, Carl still comes out on the losing end.”

Virgil ignored Murton’s last statement because he knew it to be true. “Sandy already has a job.”

“So she can take a sabbatical. How long is it going to be until we can pin this thing down? A week, if that?”

“Timing isn’t the issue, Murt, and you know it. Safety is.”

“That’s where Baker comes into play. She’ll be with her every step of the way…right by her side at all times.”

“That’s not good enough,” Virgil said. “And I’ll tell you something else: It’s not up to you or me to tell Sandy where she works or where she doesn’t. It’s disrespectful.”

Murton nodded. “I understand, and you’re right. It’s not up to us. That means it’s not up to you, either. And we’re asking, not telling, so no one is being disrespected. It’s a request, not a command performance.”

Virgil thought about it for a full minute, and Murton let him. Finally, Virgil looked his brother in the eye and said, “Three things: Cora makes the ask. Not you, and certainly not me, because it has to be Sandy’s decision alone. If you or I ask, she’ll feel compelled to do it.”

“That’s fair,” Murton said.

“Secondly, in addition to Baker, I want Mayo and Ortiz with her as well.”

“Not sure they’ll like it, but⁠—”

Virgil was getting scared, and his response came out as anger. “Too fuckin’ bad. Liking the job doesn’t have anything to do with it. Just like you and me, they go where they’re told and do what they’re asked.”

“Take a breath, Virgil. We’re just talking here. What’s the third thing?”

Virgil took a deep breath and managed to sweep his fear and anger aside. “If she says no, that’s it. End of discussion, because you know Sandy. Her sense of duty and honor to the people she works for and with is just as powerful as yours and mine. I won’t let anyone strong-arm her into doing something she doesn’t want to do out of some false sense of obligation.”

Murton put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “That last one is something you should probably talk to Cora about.”

“I intend to,” Virgil said. “Let’s go.”

When they walked back into the office, Cora looked at Virgil and raised her eyebrows. Virgil gave her a nod, then looked at Becky. “Do whatever you need to do to find Biggatto. We’ve got the make and model of his vehicle, along with his plates. Check all the hotels in both Rush and Shelby counties. If that doesn’t get you anywhere, put out a statewide BOLO. In fact, do that anyway. We don’t want to apprehend him, but we need to know where he is.”

Becky said she would, and started working her computer. Virgil looked at Ross and Rosencrantz and said, “Grab your go-bags, and head down south. Rosie, I assume you guys can operate out of your place for the time being?”

“Of course,” Rosencrantz said. “But what are we doing?”

“When we locate Biggatto, I want you to get a tracker on his vehicle. Once you’ve got it in place, split your shifts and keep tabs on him. I want to know where he is at all times. And listen—Rosie, I probably don’t have to tell you this—but you guys stay together. I mean it. If someone has to go out, you both go. There is absolutely no wiggle room on that. Understood?”

Ross and Rosencrantz said they were on it, and turned to leave. “I’ll get you everything I can on Biggatto’s location as soon as possible,” Becky said.

Once Ross and Rosencrantz left, Virgil had virtually the same conversation with Cora as he’d had out in the hallway with Murton. She listened carefully, didn’t interrupt, and when Virgil was finished, she said, “When do you want me to make the ask? It probably goes without saying, but the sooner the better.”

“Anytime is fine with me,” Virgil said.

Cora smiled—something of a rarity—and said, “Well, I’m here and I’m free for lunch. I think I’ll make the call right now.”

“Works for me,” Virgil said.

Cora pulled out her phone, called Said, Inc., and asked to be put through to Sandy’s office. She waited on hold for a few seconds, then was told that Sandy was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.

“Tell her it’s Governor LaRue calling. I only need a moment of her time.”

After another brief hold, Sandy was on the line, her voice filled with apprehension. “Cora? What is it? Is Virgil okay?”

Another rare smile appeared on Cora’s face. “He’s fine. And I hope you’ll forgive me. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Thank God,” Sandy said. “I still dread getting called out of the blue.” Then, before Cora could respond, she added, “Anyway, sorry. That’s just my insecurities talking. How can I help?”

“Well, for starters, I’m about to have lunch, I need to speak with you about a sensitive issue, and I was hoping you could meet me at that dive bar your husband and brother-in-law own.”

Sandy laughed and said, “Are you kidding? I’ll be on my way as soon as I hang up.”

“They told me you were in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.”

“I was, but it was my meeting. I was about to step out for lunch, anyway.”

“Don’t they feed you over there?” Cora asked.

“Of course. As a matter of fact, Said, Inc. probably has one of the best commissaries in the state. But I’ll tell you one thing they don’t serve…”

Cora glanced at Becky’s desk and saw the empty Bloody Mary glass. “Hair of the dog?”

“That’s the one. See you in twenty minutes.”

Cora ended the call and said, “She’s on her way.”

Murton excused himself for a moment and stepped out of the office. When he got downstairs, Baker looked at him and said, “Anything?”

“Baby steps, Em. Baby steps. Give it some time. I think things are moving in the right direction.”

And things were moving. They simply weren’t going in the direction Murton had in mind. In fact, he’d come to realize that a simple offer to help a fellow law enforcement officer would be yet another weight he’d have to bear for a very long time…if not the rest of his life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

While they were waiting on Sandy to arrive at the bar, Virgil asked Becky to do some basic research.

“What do you need?”

“Everything you can find on…uh…” Virgil suddenly couldn’t remember the terms. “Let me see your copy of the report.”

Becky handed him the binder, and Virgil spent a couple of minutes finding what he needed. “I’d like to know what inverter clipping and time of use rates mean as they relate to solar energy. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to get as much intel as you can on a company called Sun Ray Solar.”

“I’ve already started the background on Sun Ray, and Rosie has me looking at Brightstar. I’ll have more by the end of the day.”

“Good enough,” Virgil said. He turned to Cora, and reemphasized what he’d said earlier. “I can’t stress this enough, Cora. When Sandy gets here, you’re asking. Not ordering, not instructing, and not pressuring. If anything, I’d like you to downplay the request as much as possible.”

Cora wasn’t the type of woman—or leader—who liked to take orders from one of her own people, but she also understood Virgil’s anxiety regarding the situation they were all faced with. And since she and Virgil had worked together in one capacity or another for well over a decade, she wasn’t offended or bothered by his statement. “I promise you, Jonesy, I’ll ask politely, and if she says no, or even hesitates in the slightest, we’ll figure something else out. I give you my word, both as the governor and as your friend.”

Virgil gave her a sharp tip of his head and said, “Thank you.”

Murton was standing next to the two-way mirror that looked out over the bar and saw Sandy walk in through the front door. He turned around, looked at no one and said, “Showtime. Small just walked in.”

Cora stood, grabbed her purse, then looked at Virgil. “You’re welcome to join me for the conversation.”

“I appreciate the offer, Cora,” Virgil said. “But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my wife is one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. If I’m sitting at the table when you make the ask, she’ll feel compelled to accept…if for no other reason than to help me and the rest of the MCU with our investigation.”

“That’s exactly what she’ll be doing, Jonesy,” Cora said. “Not only that, but she will be helping the entire state.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Virgil said. “But, my wife’s intellect aside, there’s more on the table than she realizes at this point. A few seconds ago you asked me if I wanted to sit in on the conversation. You heard my answer. What you didn’t hear is what I’m going to do if she says yes, which I’m all but certain she will.”

“What’s that?” Cora said.

“I’m going to do my level best to talk her out of it.”

When Sandy stepped through the front door of the bar, she stopped for a few seconds to let her eyes adjust to the interior lighting. She gave Delroy a wave, then looked around for Cora but didn’t see her anywhere. When she noticed Baker at the far end of the bar next to the stairway that led to the upper office, she headed over that way.

Cora made it to the bottom of the steps just as Sandy turned the corner, and said, “Hello, Sandy. Thanks for joining me.”

“Of course.” Then she turned to Baker and said, “Hey Emily. It’s good to see you.”

Baker stepped forward and gave Sandy a quick hug. “You too. How are the boys?”

“Growing like weeds and eating like Larry the Dog, which is my way of saying they’re both turning into a couple of beasts.”

“Tell them I said hi.”

“I will. But listen, you need to stop by the house sometime soon and tell them yourself. We miss having you around.”

“I’ll do that,” Baker said. “I promise. Just, uh, try not to involve me in whatever you and Becky were up to last night, huh?”

Sandy turned to Cora and said, “I wonder how suddenly everyone knows about that.”

“Don’t look at me,” Cora said.

Sandy turned back to Baker, who tipped her head toward Delroy. “We were just making small talk.”

Cora, ever the politician, took Sandy gently by the elbow and walked her over to a corner table. They’d no sooner seated themselves when Robert walked out of the kitchen and came over to greet them both. “Madam Governor, it good to see you.” Then to Sandy: “Hello, pretty lady. Don’t bother wit da menus. Robert have someting special coming right up.”

Sandy gave Robert a wink, and just as he turned to walk back to the kitchen, Cora said, “Thank you, Chef.”

Robert stopped, turned back, and gave Cora a polite little bow before going on his way.

Cora caught the look Sandy had on her face and said, “What? It’s a sign of respect. Jamaicans take it very seriously.”

“I’m aware. I guess I didn’t know that you were as well. Anyway, what’s up?”

Cora wasn’t quite sure how to start the conversation. She looked at nothing for a few seconds, then said, “I know you didn’t hold the office for very long, but as a former governor, I need your help with something that is vital to not only my administration, but the entire state as well. We have a situation…”

Becky was on the phone with Sarah, both of them working out the logistics of making the calls to all the various hotels in an effort to figure out where Biggatto was staying.

Virgil and Murton were standing by the mirror watching the conversation between Cora and Sandy. Both women were eating lunch while they spoke with each other, and neither Virgil nor Murton could get a definitive read on what either woman was saying.

“We should have bugged the table,” Virgil said.

Murton visibly shuddered. “Given what we’ve had to endure in the past with respect to electronic insects at this place, that’s the last thing I’d want to do.”

“Still,” Virgil said, “It’d be nice to know how Cora is actually navigating her way through the conversation. I’m not sure if she fully understands what she’s asking Sandy to do, and the potential risks that go along with the request.”

Murton turned away from the mirror and looked at his brother. “I understand how you might feel that way, Virgil, but I have to disagree. I think she heard you loud and clear.”

“That’s only half the equation, and you know it, Murt. She’s essentially asking my wife to do undercover work for us. It doesn’t feel right to me.”

“I think it’s possible that you’re overstating the depth of what’s happening here,” Murton said. “It’s not actual undercover work. It’s a temporary assignment…one, I might add, that Small is uniquely qualified for. The bottom line is this: She’ll essentially be managing people and pushing paper.”

“You’re arguing against your own point, Murt. If she is going in at IDEM to simply manage people and push paper, almost anyone could do the job. There’s more to it, and you of all people should know that.”

Murton conceded the point and put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “I do. To be honest, I think I’m actually trying to make myself feel better about the whole thing as well.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Virgil said. He tipped his head at the mirror and said, “Take a look. She just said yes.”

Murton turned and looked at Cora and Sandy. “How can you tell?”

“Because I know my wife.”

Cora pushed her plate aside and said, “Good God, that man can cook. I need to come in here more often.”

“Why don’t you?” Sandy said.

“Because I’m tired of arguing with my own waistline.” Then before Sandy could respond, Cora added, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this. According to Virgil and Murton it should only be for a week or so. I have my doubts on the timeline, but they seem confident they can pull it off.”

“Lack of confidence between those two has never really been a problem,” Sandy said.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Are you sure Mac won’t mind?”

“Positive. He knows how valuable I am to him and the company. Besides, even if he does mind, one phone call to Patty will take care of it.”

Cora grinned. “I have heard rumors that she keeps him…” She wasn’t quite sure how to finish her own sentence.

“On his toes and lets him know who the real boss is?”

“You said it, not me. But yes.”

They spent a few more minutes talking about the minutia of the job, and Cora wrapped it up by saying, “I’ve got to get back to the statehouse. I’ll let the HR people at IDEM know that you’ll be over later this afternoon, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” Sandy said. Then she turned toward Baker and waved her over.

When Baker got to the table she said, “Yes, Sandy?”

“It seems that you and I will be working together again for at least a few days.”

Baker was a bit confused, and the look on her face said so. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, then tipped her head to the side and said, “Pardon?”

“I’ll let the governor fill you in on the way back to the statehouse. Right now I have to let Virgil be Virgil and try to talk me out of doing something. Would you please run upstairs real quick and ask him to come down?”

“Of course,” Baker said.

As she was walking away from the table, Cora looked at Sandy and said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all.”

“Actually it’s two questions. One, what makes you think Jonesy is going to try to talk you out of doing this, and secondly, how do you know he’s here?”

Sandy laughed and said, “That might be two questions, but it only requires one answer.”

“And what’s that?” Cora said.

“I know my husband.”

After Cora and Baker left, Virgil and Murton continued to debate the issue for nearly five minutes, neither man willing to give much ground.

“You said it yourself, Jones-man. I, more than anyone, know what undercover work looks like. If you really don’t want Sandy to do it, I’m sure I can talk her out of it. In fact, I already regret suggesting it in the first place.”

“It doesn’t matter who suggested it,” Virgil said. “Cora would have gotten there on her own, and you know it. The fact of the matter is this: It was always going to be either Mac or Sandy, and how do you think a request like that would land on Mac? He’d pull his ego out and say something like, ‘You want me—as a former governor, no less—to run the state’s environmental agency?’ He’d be so offended he probably wouldn’t speak to any of us for a month.”

“I don’t see why not,” Murton said. “Sandy is a former governor as well.”

“For a very short time, and without the ego.”

“You’re still not addressing my main point, Virg. When I was a fed, I did undercover work almost exclusively for twenty years. And while I was doing that, you spent the majority of those same years in uniform, sitting in a squad car writing speeding tickets and catching drunk drivers.”

Virgil was getting upset again. He pointed a finger at Murton and said, “That’s a shitty thing to say to me. I did more than that, and you damned well know it.”

Becky looked at her husband and said, “He’s right, Murton. I love you, baby, but it’s time to dial it back.”

But Murton wasn’t having it. “Is it, though? Because when we all thought the jig was up when Small found out how she got her kidney replacement, I was the one who helped her understand that we did what needed to be done to save her life.”

“Because I let you,” Virgil said.

“You let me because you knew then, just like you do now, that I’m right. I know you didn’t like it before, and I’m certain you don’t like it now, but if you really don’t want Small to do this, I’m your best bet at taking the option off the table.”

Virgil and Murton kept going back and forth at each other so hard that Becky finally walked out of the office. It wasn’t the argument that bothered her. She knew brothers disagreed with each other all the time. It was the fact that she couldn’t get any work done.

She stepped out and went downstairs, and despite the fact that both Virgil and Murton were two of the most attentive men Becky had ever known, neither of them noticed her leave the room.

When Becky slid into the booth where her sister-in-law was waiting, Sandy smiled and said, “How bad is it?”

Becky shrugged. “They’ll work through it. They always do. You have no idea how much those two guys love you.”

Sandy thought about Becky’s statement for a few seconds, then said, “I think I do. The real issue—at least the way I see it—is this: They both love me in different ways for different reasons. Virgil is my husband and my entire life. I’d be lost without him. But Murton and I have a connection…a bond, I guess you could say, that formed long ago, and it’s one that has only grown stronger over the years. It’s the same with you, by the way. Virgil would step in front of a bus for you if you asked him to.”

“You know what that makes us?” Becky said.

“Two of the luckiest women on the planet?”

“Exactly. How long do you think we should let them keep going like this?”

“I don’t think it’s up to us,” Sandy said.

“So, you going to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Mind if I ask you something?”

“Of course not. What is it?”

“Is there anything at all…and I mean anything that either of them could say that could talk you out of it?”

Sandy considered the question carefully before she answered. After nearly a full minute, she looked Becky in the eye and said, “Nope. I’m gonna do it.”

“That’s what I thought.” Becky slid out of her seat and said, “C’mon, let’s go up there before things get too out of hand.”

Sandy stood as well, and both women started toward the staircase. Unfortunately, they were only halfway across the room when something so unexpected happened it changed everything, and neither of them made it up to the office.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Virgil and Murton had finally managed to calm themselves down before either of them said anything they’d later regret. Murton turned to his brother and said, “Look, Virg, we’re both exhausted. You were right, and Becky was too. I shouldn’t have discounted the work you did all those years ago when I dropped off the radar. That’s my way of saying I’m sorry. What’s happening here is nothing more than both of us doing everything we can to protect a woman we both love.”

Virgil gave Murton a flat grin and said, “You’ve definitely got the exhausted part right. And I agree…we are both trying to protect Sandy, but here’s the rub, Murt: You carry the weight of others like you were born to it. I’ve watched you time after time pick up the pieces of someone else’s problem and make it your own. I sometimes worry it might end up destroying you. Your period of atonement has long since passed.”

“Has it?” Murton said.

“Of course it has. Why do you question yourself like that? What purpose could it possibly serve?”

“I honestly don’t know. It’s a form of redemption, I guess.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Virgil said.

“That’s because you never tried to kill your old man in self-defense with a claw hammer when you were a kid, or decades later watch that same man use another child as a shield when he tried to take the life of his own flesh and blood. Don’t you get it, Virgil? Don’t you understand how hard I have to work every single day of my life to ensure that whatever part of Ralph Wheeler I carry inside of me never sees the light of day?”

“You want the truth?”

“You know I do,” Murton said, as he turned and looked down at the bar below, where Becky and Sandy were seated.

Virgil turned as well, and when he spoke, it was at his brother’s reflection in the mirror. “Then here it is: I don’t understand because I didn’t have to live it the way you did. Was Ralph Wheeler an evil man? Yes. There’s no question about that. But even bad apples—and I’m talking about the ones that are rotten right down to their goddamned core—still produce good seeds.”

“Do they?”

“Of course they do,” Virgil said. “You’re living proof. You’re also one of the best men I’ve ever known. Most of that comes from the work you’ve put into yourself.”

“And the rest of it?”

“From anyone you’ve ever loved, helped and cared for.” Both men stood quietly for a few minutes, before Virgil continued with, “Let me ask you this: What do you want Ellie Rae to look like when she’s a grown woman?”

Murton let out a little chuckle. “Hopefully like Becky.”

But Virgil wasn’t ready to let Murton off the hook quite so easily. He pointed at his brother and said, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“You misunderstood my answer,” Murton said. “I wasn’t speaking of her looks—although it’d be hard to argue against that particular point. I want my daughter to be strong and independent and full of life and love and ready to tackle any challenge that crosses her path. I want her to be kind and compassionate and wise and giving and be the best possible version of herself. I want her to be fearless and courageous, I want her laughter to be infectious and her tears to have meaning to not only herself, but to others. I want her to learn from her mistakes and be educated by any pain she may have to endure or overcome. That’s what I want my daughter to look like when she’s grown.”

When Virgil responded, he could barely get the words out. “Don’t you realize who you just described? In case you don’t I’ll just say it: You want her to look like you, Murt.”

Sandy and Becky had just stood from their seats when the front door opened and a ruggedly handsome man with salt and pepper hair walked inside and crossed their paths. He didn’t block their way, but he did make his presence known by saying hello.

“Good afternoon, ladies. I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion. You both look like you’re on some sort of mission. Before you run off though, I’m wondering if you could tell me if I’m in the right place or not. As I understand it, the Jamaican cuisine here is outstanding. I’ve never been to the island myself, but I do love a plate of authentic jerk chicken. I have it on good authority that the chef at this establishment provides just such an experience.” Then, like an actor playing a part, the man put his hand over his chest, gave Becky and Sandy an unmistakable head-to-toe look, and continued with, “My apologies. Sometimes my insatiable hunger overcomes any manners I’ve managed to acquire over the years.” He looked directly at Sandy and said, “As the former elected chief executive of Indiana, do you prefer Madam Governor, or Mrs. Jones?”

Sandy didn’t know what was happening, but Becky did. She grabbed Sandy’s arm, pulled her out of the way, then kicked Biggatto in the groin with every ounce of strength she had in her.

Virgil and Murton were still looking through the mirror when Biggatto walked inside the bar and intercepted Becky and Sandy. But the angle was bad and the light was dim, and by the time they realized who it was, Becky already had Biggatto on his knees, both hands covering his groin, his face ghost-white, a puddle of vomit between his legs.

Virgil started to move toward the door, but Murton slowed him down by grabbing his shoulder.

Virgil spun around and said, “What are you doing? That’s Biggatto. We’ve got to get down there.”

Murton glanced down at the bar. “We are going to go downstairs, Virgil. But hear me when I say this: We are going to walk…not run. And while I appreciate, admire, and will never forget everything you just said to me, I stand by my original answer. I want my daughter to look like Becky.” Then he gave Virgil a wink and said, “C’mon, let’s go. By the way, if you still think you can talk Small out of doing what Cora asked, have at it.”

By the time Virgil and Murton made it downstairs and over to where Biggatto was, Delroy and Robert were standing next to Becky and Sandy. Robert had his baseball bat in his hand, and he was tapping the business end of the bat next to Biggatto’s puddle of vomit.

“I wonder who gonna clean up dis mess, now? I tell you dis, mon: It not me.” Then Robert leaned down close to Biggatto’s ear and said, “What you be doing in here in my establishment, you?”

Murton put his hand on Robert’s shoulder and said, “We’ll take it from here, Chef. Would you mind bringing me that mop and bucket from the kitchen? No need to fill it with fresh water. Whatever is in the pail will do.”

“Yeah, mon. Robert be right back.”

Virgil started to step forward to say something to Biggatto, but whatever it was, he never got the chance. Murton pulled him back, and said, “Trust me?”

“When have I ever not?” Virgil said.

“Would you mind escorting the ladies upstairs?”

“What are you up to, Murt?”

“Showing the little league brigade how it’s done in the majors.” Then he turned to Becky and said, “Nice shot, Baby.”

Becky gave Murton a kiss and said, “I think Bell must have given me a bag of the good stuff.”

Virgil took Sandy and Becky upstairs just as Robert returned from the kitchen with the mop and bucket. Murton thanked him, then looked at Delroy and said, “Could you do me a favor and draw our friend, Moses, here, a draft of Red Stripe? It looks like he could use it. I’m speculating, mind you, but if I had to venture a guess, this hasn’t been one of his better days.”

Delroy said, “Yeah, mon. Coming right up,” and went back behind the bar to do what Murton asked.

Murton grabbed Biggatto by the arm and picked him up like a rag doll. Then he walked him over to a stool, handcuffed one of his wrists to the bar rail, and gave him a quick pat-down to make sure he wasn’t armed. Once that was done, he said, “Sit tight while I clean this mess up. Enjoy the beer. It’s on the house, of course. We do like to keep our customers happy.” Then he said, “Whoops, I forgot something. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Murton ran up the stairs, and as soon as he walked into Becky’s office, everyone started talking at once. He waved them all down and said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got the situation under control.” He turned to Becky. “Please tell me you’ve got some of our trackers stored here.”

Becky smiled and walked over to the cabinet on the wall, and since she knew how her husband operated, she gave the tracker to Virgil. “Remember, it’s the car with New Jersey plates. Try not to be too obvious about it.”

Virgil gave her a smirk, then looked at Murton and said, “What are you going to do?”

“I already told you. I’m showing Biggatto that this isn’t amateur hour anymore. Don’t worry, Virg. I’ve got this.”

Sandy had her hands on her hips, and when she spoke, her tone was a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Talk to your sobriety sister,” Murton said. “She can give you most of the details. Jonesy and I will fill in any blanks for you in about ten minutes. Virg, let’s go.”

Both men went back downstairs. Virgil took the tracker and made his way outside, and as he was doing that, Murton grabbed the mop, looked inside the bucket, made a little grimace, then turned toward Biggatto. “How’s the beer?”

Biggatto couldn’t answer, mainly because his testicles were still trying to work their way out of his lower esophagus, so Murton filled the silence by walking over to the bar’s sound system and selecting some music. His choice? Three Little Birds, by Bob Marley.

Once the music started, Murton soaked the mop from the bucket, wrung it out with the hand lever, then began to clean up Biggatto’s vomit. He took his time, wringing out the mop with every pass, singing along with Bob like everything was right with the world. Once he had the area as clean as he could get it, he walked over to the bar, leaned the mop against the railing, slapped Biggatto on the back, and said, “Feeling any better? No? Okay. Well, you will soon enough.”

Murton reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys, and unhooked the handcuffs. Then he grabbed Biggatto by the back of his neck, walked him over to the bucket of putrid water and said, “See that? By cleaning up your mess, I did you a kindness. Much like you did for Mike Grey. It feels good to help a fellow human being every once in a while, doesn’t it?”

Biggatto finally managed to get his vocal cords working. He looked at Murton and said, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but all I wanted to do was get a bite to eat. I heard this was a great authentic restaurant.”

Murton gave him a thoughtful nod. “Oh, it is. One of the best in the Midwest, as we like to say around here. Man, I love this song. It’s by Bob Marley and the Wailers. Here’s a widely known fact in certain circles that I’m sure you’re not a part of: It’s the fourth track on side two of their 1977 album, Exodus, which you’ll be doing in just a minute or so, by the way. Oh, something else…it’s from the B-side of the single—released in 1980—which had its own title. I’m not sure if they do that sort of thing anymore or not, what with all the streaming services and so forth. Personally, I still prefer vinyl. It’s sort of like what my friend Carl Johnson was saying earlier today. You remember Carl, right? He said something to the effect of, ‘Everything these days is all tech this and tech that.’ If I’m being honest with you, I couldn’t agree more. Sorry, I’m getting off track…no pun intended. Anyway, the flip side of the single was titled, Every Need Got An Ego To Feed. It sort of reminds me of you, Moses.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

Murton still had his hand clamped around the back of Biggatto’s neck like a vice. He held up the index finger of his free hand and said, “Wait. If you don’t listen, you’re going to miss the best part. Here it comes.” Murton began to sing along with the lyrics again, and with a smile on his face, he finished with, “This is my message to you, ou, ou.” Then his smile went away like it’d never been there, and Murton punched Biggatto in the gut to bend him over before dunking his head in the bucket of water.

He held him down until his body began to go limp. Virgil finally walked over and said, “Murt?”

Murton turned and looked up at his brother, let his shoulders slump in disappointment, and said, “Killjoy.” Then he yanked Biggatto’s head out of the bucket, dragged him to the back entrance, and dumped him in the alley.

Becky and Sandy watched the whole thing happen from the office upstairs. When it was over, Becky turned to Sandy and said, “You ever love someone so much that sometimes you just don’t have the words?”

Sandy put her arm around Becky. “Yep. Every single day.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Becky brought up the bar’s security cameras on her computer, and they all watched Biggatto out in the alley until he finally sat up, then hobbled over to his vehicle.

Murton looked at everyone and said, “See? No harm, no foul.”

“Do you think it was a good idea to wind him up like that?” Virgil said. The question wasn’t accusatory in nature, but it was valid.

Murton thought about his brother’s question for a few seconds, then said, “Yeah, I do. That guy has been tooling around our state like a foreigner with diplomatic immunity. I’m not sure who he thinks he is, but we just managed to show him who we are and how we operate. If there’s a downside, I’m not seeing it.”

“Can we all sit down for a few minutes?” Sandy said. “Becky has brought me up to date on what’s happening, and Cora has asked me to do something, which, I’m guessing, everyone already knows about.”

They all sat down, then Virgil looked at his wife, and said, “We do know. Are you going to do it?”

“I told Cora I would,” Sandy said. “So, let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?” Virgil said.

“Everything you want to say to talk me out of it, and all the reasons I shouldn’t do what I’ve been asked.”

“I don’t have any,” Virgil said.

Sandy, Murton, and Becky all looked at Virgil like it might have been his first day on the job.

“What?” Virgil said. “I changed my mind.” Then he looked directly at Sandy and said, “I trust you, your judgement, your capabilities, and your instincts. Everyone in this room has seen you tackle different situations that would have anyone else run screaming from the building, but you faced that same set of circumstances head-on with determination and the type of commitment that makes me proud to be your husband.”

Becky stood from her seat, walked over to Virgil, put her hands on his cheeks, then leaned close and looked directly into his eyes. “Who are you, and what have you done with my boss?” Then she gave him a kiss on the forehead, and shoved him back into his seat.

Sandy leaned over and gave Virgil a proper kiss, then said, “Thank you.”

Virgil smiled, and took her hand in his own. “You’re welcome. But, I do have some conditions.”

Becky let her shoulders droop. “Cancel the search. I found him.”

Virgil shook his head. “C’mon, guys, I’m trying here.”

“What sort of conditions?” Sandy said. “Because if you’re talking about Baker, I already know about that. Cora told me, and I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah, I thought she might bring it up,” Virgil said. “But in addition to Baker, you’re also going to have Mayo and Ortiz with you at all times. They’ll stay out of your way, but they go wherever you go.”

“Even the ladies’ room?” Sandy said.

Virgil laughed through his nose. “Uh, no. We’ll let Baker handle that.”

Sandy made a farting noise with her lips and said, “Killjoy.”

Murton laughed, looked at Virgil, and said, “Told ya.”

Becky’s desk phone rang, and when she answered she discovered it was Sarah calling from the MCU. She listened for a few seconds, then said, “Uh-huh. Okay, I’ll let them know. Hang on a sec.” Becky punched the Hold button on her phone, then turned to Virgil and Murton. “Sarah says Chip and Mimi are back. They’ve finished out at Carl’s field, and have some things to talk with you about. They want to know when you’ll be back at the shop.”

“Let them know we’ll be leaving here shortly,” Virgil said. “Are Mayo and Ortiz back as well?”

Becky shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

Virgil gave her a particular look, dropped a little sarcasm into his voice and said, “If only there was a way to find out.”

Becky punched the Hold button again and said, “Miss Moneypenny? Double-0-Jonesy wants to know if Mayo and Ortiz are back as well. Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll let him know. Hang on.”

Becky didn’t bother with the Hold button this time. She simply placed the phone against her shoulder, looked at Virgil and said, “Yup.”

Virgil stared at her for a full five seconds before he spoke. “Double-0-Jonesy?”

“What?” Becky said. “It’s funny.”

“No it isn’t,” Virgil said.

Becky put the phone up to her ear for a second, then brought it back down. “If it’s not, then why is Sarah still laughing? Besides, it’s better than what I was going to say.”

Virgil tried very hard not to take the bait, but did so anyway. “Which was what, exactly?”

“Double-0-BO. You smell like something I can’t quite define.”

“He spent some time in a hog pen earlier today,” Murton said.

“Why?”

Virgil ignored the question, and looked at Sandy. “When are you planning on going over to IDEM?”

“As soon as I leave here.”

Virgil turned back to Becky and said, “Have Sarah send Mayo and Ortiz over to IDEM right now. Have them wait outside until Sandy arrives.”

Becky relayed the information to Sarah, then ended the call. “They’re on their way.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said. Then: “Let me ask you something.”

“Sure,” Becky said.

“Why do you always make everything so hard for me?”

Becky frowned at Virgil. “Recompense, I guess. But don’t worry. I do it with love.”

Sandy stood to leave. “Okay, I can see where this is going. That’s my way of saying I’m out of here.” She gave Virgil another kiss, then said, “You do sort of stink. That’s twice in two days I’ve had to tell you that. I hope it isn’t going to become a trend.”

“Wait a second,” Becky said. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a thumb drive. She started to hand it to Sandy, gave the drive a second look, then said, “Oops, hang on, that’s not the right one.” She put the thumb drive back and selected another that was virtually identical. “That’s the one you want.”

Sandy took the drive and said, “What’s this for, and what should I do with it?”

“It’s your first order of business when you sit down at your new temporary desk. Plug that baby into your computer terminal at IDEM, then send out an agency-wide email to every single staffer.”

“What should I say?”

Becky shrugged. “Beats me. You’re the new boss, so say whatever you want. Introduce yourself, or something like that. Say hello. Be friendly. Ask for fresh ideas. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you get someone to respond…and the good part is this: It doesn’t matter who. As soon as they reply, I’ll have complete and total access to every single byte of their computer system.”

“Now you’re thinking,” Sandy said. Then she did a little thinking of her own. “What would happen if I sent one to Congressman Bates’s office?”

Virgil looked at Murton and fed his own line back to him. “Told ya.”

Once Sandy was gone, Virgil and Murton spent a few more minutes with Becky going over some minor details, and Virgil finished up with, “Listen, I almost forgot. Call Sarah back and have her send the tracker code or serial number or whatever it is to Ross and Rosencrantz, will you? They’ll need it to keep tabs on Biggatto.”

“I’d rather not,” Becky said.

Virgil put his hands on his hips, then immediately dropped them. “Why not?”

“Waste of time.”

“No it isn’t, Becky. They need that information if they’re going to track the guy.”

Becky looked at Murton and said, “Think he’ll ever catch on?”

“He is a work in progress,” Murton said. Then he looked at Virgil and said, “She already did what you asked, Jonesy.”

Virgil turned the corners of his mouth down. “Oh, okay. How’d you know?”

“You really have to ask?” Murton said.

Virgil laughed at himself. “No, I guess I don’t.” Then he turned to Becky and said, “Can you bring up Biggatto’s location for a second? I want to see where he’s headed.”

“Sure. Hang on.”

Becky began typing on her keyboard, and five seconds later a map came up on the screen. A flashing red beacon showed him navigating through the city, working his way north and west.

They all watched for a few seconds, then Murton said, “What the hell is he doing? If he’s going back down to Rush County, he’s taking the long way.”

“Zoom out a little,” Virgil said. “I need to see more of the map.”

Becky did as Virgil asked, then said, “Is that far enough?”

“A little more,” Virgil said. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

“What’s going on, Jonesy?” Murton said.

“In a second.” Then to Becky: “Where are Ross and Rosencrantz?”

Becky tapped a few more keys, split the screen on her computer monitor, then pointed at their location. “It looks like they’re moving north, toward the city. They’re about two miles south of the Loop.”

“Get them on the line, and tell them to stand on it. Lights and siren until they’re close. Tell them not to pull Biggatto over, because if they do, they’ll blow the tracker.”

Becky made the call, relayed the information, then hung up. “What’s the rush?”

Virgil didn’t bother to answer. He pulled out his phone and got Cora on the line as quick as he could. “It’s me. I need something, and I need it right this second.”

When Virgil told Cora what he wanted and why, Becky looked at Murton and said, “Oh my God.”

Biggatto was beginning to lose his composure. He’d put in over a month on the Rush County land deal, and his cut was starting to dwindle with every passing hour. How could one guy be so unlucky? Was it his fault that he happened to pick the one diner in the whole county that had a waitress whose boyfriend was a cop? How could a bunch of hicks from the midwestern sticks get the upper hand on him every single time? And better yet, why wasn’t he getting the kind of support he needed?

Yes, the people he worked for had provided plenty of intel. There was virtually no piece of information that wasn’t available to him, but still, no matter what he did, or where he went, he was getting cut off at the knees. So he’d had to take a few drastic measures. Big deal. It hadn’t been the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but Biggatto knew he’d made a mistake by underestimating most of the people who’d crossed his path over the past few days.

Carr had folded like a first-time gambler who’d never seen the bright lights of the Vegas strip. And the other guy…the one from Arizona? That was just bad luck. And speaking of luck, how did the cops find the bodies so quickly? Another week…two at the most, and their bodies would have been buried beneath ten tons of concrete, never to be found.

But the game was changing, and Biggatto knew he’d failed to keep up with the pace. While he was dicking around and getting roped into helping some orange-headed hillbilly in a hog pen, the cops had managed to be one step ahead of him at every turn. And now, here he was, his hair and clothing soaked in his own vomit, taken down by a cop’s wife in a bar. Had the entire world somehow managed to tilt off its axis? Biggatto thought it had. In fact, he was all but certain of it.

Perhaps he’d played the whole thing too soft. He’d been spending his time trying to be civilized about the entire matter—Carr and the Arizona man notwithstanding—while everyone else was playing from a different handbook. Time to change things up.

He was sitting at a red light, waiting on traffic when his cell phone rang. He punched the button on the steering wheel, and said, “Yes?”

“Will you please, for the love of God, country, and all mankind, tell me that you’ve made a deal on Johnson’s land?”

“I’m closing in on it,” Biggatto said. “It should only be another day or two.”

“We don’t have another day or two. Do you think Indiana is the only state with millions of acres of farmland? Ohio and Pennsylvania have plenty of acreage for the taking. If you don’t close this deal, the people who are paying us will move on.”

“I told you…I’m working on it.”

“Then work faster, you idiot,” Congressman Bates said. “They told me you were the best in the business.”

“That’s because I am. These things take a delicate touch.”

“Bullshit. How delicate do you have to be to offer someone a truckload of money—on a monthly basis, no less—to essentially borrow their land for a decade or two? A child could do it.”

“It’s more complicated than that, and you know it.”

“If I have to set the wheels of eminent domain in motion in Rush County, my constituents will not be pleased. That means I’ll likely be out of office and out of a job when the next election cycle rolls around.”

“Cry me a river, Bates. Your persistent whining is beginning to make my teeth itch.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me with that tone. And it’s Congressman Bates to you. Now, listen, and listen carefully. I want a signed contract from Johnson by end of business today, or I’m afraid we’ll have to sever any ties between us.”

“Afraid. That’s an interesting word, isn’t it? Is that how you’re feeling, Congressman? If you don’t have the stomach to run with the big dogs, perhaps you should stay on the porch.”

“What are you driving at?”

“Just this: I’m afraid of no man. I’ve seen and done things to get what I want that you can’t possibly conceive of. If you did, you’d probably squat and drop a load right in front of your federal buddies on K Street back in DC.”

Bates ignored the comment and said, “End of business today, Moses. You think you’re the only one who has connections, or has managed to take extreme measures when necessary? I know some very unpleasant men you absolutely do not want to cross paths with.”

“We threatening each other now, are we?”

But Bates had already ended the call. Biggatto was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. When the person in the car behind him honked their horn, Biggatto noticed the light had changed.

He drove through the intersection and continued toward his destination. A singular focus overrode any logical thought processes that had been buried by the humiliation and degradation inflicted upon him. Not only that, but it seemed to be coming from every direction…the cops, their wives, the farmer, the hillbilly, and even the congressman himself.

He checked his navigation display and saw that his destination was only three miles away. It was time to throw the playbook out the window. Johnson was either going to sign, or lose his land by the powers that be. Either way was fine with Biggatto. But first, there was one more bit of business to attend to. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it had to be done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Virgil and Murton were racing through the city in Virgil’s Range Rover, the emergency lights flashing, the siren screaming. They had Biggatto’s location up on the nav display, and Murton was monitoring his movements while Virgil concentrated on his driving.

Murton pulled out his phone, stuck in an earbud so he could hear over the noise of the siren, and called Rosencrantz. “How far?”

“Less than a mile,” Rosencrantz said. “Where do you want us?”

“Right at the front door. We’re maybe two minutes behind you.”

“Ninety seconds,” Virgil said.

“Make that ninety seconds. Listen, when he shows, don’t get cute. No friendly waves, or fuck offs, or any of that nonsense, okay? All we need is for him to see that gaining entrance to the building is impossible. In fact, if you do see him, pretend like you don’t. We need it to look like we were ahead of his thinking.”

Rosencrantz said he understood, and ended the call. Murton reached down, switched frequencies on the Motorola police radio, keyed the mic, and said, “Unit One is inbound. Sixty seconds. Unit Two should be rolling up any moment. Who’s on site?”

When Virgil heard the answer over the radio, he killed the siren, kept the flashers going, and took a deep breath. He glanced at the display and saw they’d beat Biggatto by no more than a minute or two.

Murton looked over at his brother. “You can go ahead and exhale now. In fact I suggest you start immediately. I can see the veins in your forehead.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t anticipate this,” Virgil said as they pulled to the curb in front of the private school Jonas and Wyatt attended. “He practically telegraphed his move when we were talking to Carl.”

“That’s why I said he isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.”

“Maybe we’re not, either.”

“Relax, Jones-man. The boys are safe.”

“They’ll be safe when we get them home.”

They circled the school in the Range Rover, and looked around. Three uniformed city police officers were standing guard at every entrance to the building. Ross and Rosencrantz were sitting in their squad car, blocking the bus lane. Virgil rolled up on them, buzzed his window down and said, “You guys up on the tracker?”

“We show him making the final turn right now,” Ross said. He had his long gun out, his door cracked. “Say the word.”

Virgil glanced at his own display. “Same here. Unless this idiot is making a suicide run and tries to spray the building or something like that, we’re gonna let him go.”

“Why don’t we just take him in and let the lawyers sort it out?”

“Because that’s exactly what would happen, young man. We don’t have enough on the guy yet, and he’d be out before dinnertime.”

“Your call, Boss.” Ross checked his rearview mirror and said, “On my six, inbound.”

Virgil and Murton looked out the front windshield of the Range Rover and saw Biggatto’s vehicle drive past. “He didn’t turn in to the school’s lot,” Murton said. “Looks like he’s going to run the block.”

“So maybe not an idiot, after all,” Ross said.

“Figure of speech,” Virgil said. “Keep an eye out. I’m going to go get the boys.”

Virgil got out, grabbed his jacket to cover his shoulder rig—he didn’t want to frighten the other children—then walked up to the front door.

One of the city cops gave him a nod and said, “Detective.”

Virgil shook hands with each man and said, “I appreciate you guys. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to hang around until school lets out. This guy, he’s predictably unpredictable.”

“Don’t give it a second thought. The watch commander said we’re to remain on station for as long as you say.” Then, just to ensure they were on the same wavelength, he added, “Nobody should fuck with kids.”

“Got that right,” Virgil said. “Listen, when I said I appreciate you, I meant it. End of shift everyone is welcome at the bar for dinner and drinks. It’s on the house tonight. Bring the wife and kids if you have them. Spread the word to everyone else who’s here, will you?”

“We will,” the cop said. “But I think you know that it’s illegal to take kids into a bar.”

“Not if we’re closed to the general public for a private party, which we will be at exactly…uh, what time does school get out?”

The city cops all laughed, and one of them said, “Typical father. Doesn’t know what time school lets out. He probably missed the last Christmas pageant.”

“C’mon, guys,” Virgil said. “I’m trying to do a nice thing here. What time?”

“We don’t have any idea. But none of us go off shift until six.”

“That’ll work,” Virgil said. “I’ll make the call as soon as I leave here. Make sure everyone knows, yeah?”

“You bet. Thanks, Jonesy.”

Virgil gave the cops a friendly nod, then reached for the door handle to go inside the building. But like nearly every single school in the United States, security had become a top priority, and when he pulled on the door—residual adrenaline was still pumping through his system—and the door didn’t budge. Unfortunately, Virgil did, and he managed to pull his forehead right into the door, and when it made contact, there was an audible thump.

The city cops all laughed, and one of them said, “Oh boy, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

Virgil reached up and rubbed his forehead. “Christ, that hurt.”

“You have to press the buzzer on the wall to your left. Once they know who you are, they’ll let you in. It’s part of the security protocols around here. By the way, what does it take to make detective with the state these days?”

When Biggatto turned the final corner that would take him to the school, he saw all the cops and knew there was no way he could get to Jonas and Wyatt. At least not while they were in school. It’d been a bad idea anyway. Schools had all sorts of security these days. His hope was that he could catch them during recess or something, but that wasn’t going to happen now. He went around the block and made one more pass before giving up on the whole thing. When he glanced in the mirror and got a look at himself, he shook his head in disgust. Chunks of dried vomit—and God only knew what else—were stuck in his hair. He looked like he’d just stepped out the back door of a freak show at the county fair.

He pushed the mirror away in anger. Enough of the Mickey Mouse parade, already. He’d head back to his hotel room, grab a much-needed shower…and maybe a quick nap before taking care of business.

Carl fucking Johnson was going to sign, or suffer the consequences. It was his choice. Biggatto stuck his arm out the window and gave the cops an Italian salute.

None of them seemed to notice.

Sandy walked into the main entrance at IDEM, followed by Baker, Mayo, and Ortiz. When they got to security, one of the guards said, “May I help you?”

“Can you please show us to the director’s office?” Sandy said.

“May I ask what this is about?”

Baker stepped forward, unbuttoned her jacket to reveal her gun and badge, and said, “Ask all you want. The answer remains the same. Where is the director’s office?”

The guard visibly swallowed and said, “I, uh, don’t believe the director is in at the moment.”

“Yes, she is,” Baker said. “She’s standing right next to me. In case you don’t pay much attention to state politics and all that, she used to be the governor of Indiana. The current governor has appointed her as interim director here at IDEM, as Mrs. Bates’s sudden departure from this agency has left a void. If I’m not mistaken, I believe it was Aristotle who coined the phrase, ‘Nature abhors a vacuum.’ In any event, former Governor Jones is here to fill the vacancy. That makes her your new boss. Now, would you like to call the statehouse and verify everything I’ve just told you? I’m certain the governor would simply love to have a chat with you.”

The guard swallowed again, then told them where to go. Once they were on the elevator, Sandy looked at Baker and said, “I really miss having you around, Emily.”

“I feel the same way, ma’am.”

Sandy sighed and said, “C’mon, Em…let’s not start in with all that ma’am stuff again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jonas and Wyatt had all sorts of questions about why they were being pulled out of school early, most of which neither Virgil nor Murton wanted to answer. On the ride home, they ended up feeding them both a fib sandwich—two slices of truth-bread with a little mystery meat in the middle.

Virgil looked at his sons in the rearview mirror and said, “We had information—and listen, don’t go spreading this around—about a possible threat at the school. Nothing major, and as I understand it, the whole thing turned out to be a false alarm, so it was no big deal.”

“If it was a false alarm, then why are we going home?” Jonas said.

“Yeah, why?” Wyatt added.

Virgil shrugged. “Well, we were already there and you guys were too, so Uncle Murt suggested that we might as well pick you up and run you home.”

“But we could have just taken the bus anyway if there was no threat, right?” Jonas said.

“Well, that’s true,” Virgil said. “Except Uncle Murt locked his keys in his squad car again, and I had to run him over to his house anyway to get his spare set, so it all worked out. Besides, who doesn’t like to cut out of school a little early once in a while?”

“What happened to your forehead?” Jonas asked.

“Yeah, what happened?” Wyatt said.

“I, uh, had a little mishap.”

“Who’s Miss Hap?” Wyatt asked. “Is she that lunch lady who wears that funny net thing on her head? She isn’t very nice. One time I saw her yell at one of my friends because he asked for extra tater tots.”

“Mishap isn’t a person,” Murton said. “It’s a synonym for a minor accident.”

“I thought cinnamon was what Huma puts on her muffin tops,” Wyatt said.

“Huma has a muffin top?” Jonas said. “I’ve never noticed.”

Virgil was starting to panic. “No, no, no. I never said that.”

Murton was sucking on his cheeks so hard he was afraid his lips might split open.

“So, Huma spilled the cinnamon and you bumped your head on the table helping her clean it up?” Wyatt said.

“Something like that,” Virgil said. “Say, who wants to listen to some music?”

They finally made it to the house and dropped the boys off, and Virgil gave Huma a brief explanation of why Jonas and Wyatt were home early.

“That’s fine,” Huma said. “What happened to your forehead?”

“Uh, nothing really. Bumped into a door.”

“I think I fed you that line at one point, didn’t I?”

Virgil smiled at the memory. “Yeah, I guess so. See you later, huh?”

“Be careful, Jonesy.”

Virgil said he would, told the boys goodbye, then got back into the Range Rover.

“I think that went well,” Murton managed to say with a straight face.

Virgil shook his head. “I’m telling you, Murt, I need to read a parenting book or something. Once those two get going, you can’t hardly stop them.”

“I hear ya,” Murton said. “I have no idea where they get it.”

Jonas and Wyatt stood on the front porch and watched their father and uncle drive away. After the Range Rover was out of sight, Wyatt looked at his big brother and said, “They forgot to go to Uncle Murt’s and get his spare keys.”

“No they didn’t. They made that story up.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know,” Jonas said. “Tell you what I do know.”

“What?”

“Mom was right. We need to start a fib jar. Most of that story was bullshit.”

“Swear jar,” Wyatt said.

Jonas shook his head. “Nope. Doesn’t count if it’s just you and me.”

Wyatt thought about that for a few seconds, then said, “Cool.”

“Just don’t tell anyone, though. C’mon, let’s go get something to eat.”

Virgil and Murton hadn’t yet made it to the end of their road when Virgil’s phone rang. The Rover’s display showed it was Huma.

“Hi, Huma,” Virgil said. “Everything okay?”

“You tell me.”

Virgil looked at Murton, who simply turned his palms up and shrugged.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

When Huma spoke, the tone in her voice was one Virgil had never heard before. “You told the boys I have a muffin top?”

Virgil started to panic again. “Huma, that’s not what I said. Wyatt was confused about the word synonym, and I…hello? Huma…are you still there?”

Back at the house, Jonas looked at Wyatt and said, “That’ll teach ‘em.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ross and Rosencrantz kept a loose tail on Biggatto all the way back to his hotel in Rushville. Once they knew where he was staying, they made a slow pass and saw his car in the parking lot.

Ross looked at his partner and said, “Want to sit here and wait it out, or head back to your place?”

Rosencrantz thought about it for a few seconds, then said, “Lets go relax. If he starts to move, we can be on him in no time at all. Carla’s house is only a few miles across the line, anyway.”

“Works for me.” As they were driving away, Ross looked at his partner and said, “Piece of advice?”

“Sure. Lay it on me.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of it or not, but every time you talk about your house you refer to it as Carla’s. But that’s not the case anymore, is it?”

“No, I guess it’s not. Can’t help it though, man.”

“Gotta try harder. I wouldn’t think you’d want Lucy to hear you call it that.”

“You think I should sell it and move out?” Rosencrantz said. “Maybe start over fresh, or something like that?”

“Of course not. It’s your home, Rosie. I’m just saying it’s time to move on in other ways.”

“Easier said.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.”

They rode back to Rosencrantz’s house, and neither man spoke during the rest of the drive. But in the silence, a lifetime of regret seemed to hang in the air like a third wheel along for the ride.

When they were almost back at the MCU facility, Murton turned to Virgil and said, “I’m thinking it might be a good idea to get in touch with Ed Henderson and see if he can put someone on Carl Johnson for a while. Biggatto’s antics aside, we know they’re after his field. And you know Carl…if Biggatto shows up again, things could get physical.”

Virgil thought about Murton’s suggestion for a few seconds, then said, “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

Murton brought up Henderson’s cell phone number on the nav unit, and punched the button to put the call through.

When Henderson answered, his greeting was uncharacteristically blunt, his voice sharp. “What?”

Virgil touched eyes with Murton, then said, “You okay, Ed?”

“No, and I can’t talk.” Then to someone else: “Hit her again.”

“It’s not working, Sheriff.”

“I don’t give a shit. Do it.” Then the call went dead.

Murton looked at his brother and said, “What the heck was that all about?”

“Not sure, but it sounds like whatever it was, Ed has his hands full right now.”

“What about Carl? We should at least speak with the man.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, give him a call.”

Murton did as Virgil asked and got Johnson on the line. “Are you still mad at your two favorite state detectives?”

“No, I’m not,” Johnson said. “Hell, I wasn’t mad at you guys before. I was just upset by the things that Moses fella said to me, and what he was fixin’ to do to Mike. I still can’t believe if I don’t go along with the deal…one I ain’t even seen yet, by the way, that they can simply take my land from me.”

“I can understand why you’d feel that way, Carl, but let me ask you this: If you’re not farming that land right now, why don’t you take the deal? The energy companies want to lease it from you…for a pretty hefty sum, if I’m not mistaken. So, bottom line, the land would still belong to you, and based on the amount of money they’re willing to pay, it sounds like the whole thing would be a win for you.”

“It’s not a win for anyone, Murt,” Johnson said. “Especially me. I don’t need the money, so that’s a non-issue as far as I’m concerned. What I said earlier was true. My great-grandfather fed our entire family off that piece of land. It’s a matter of principle.”

“I can’t argue your point, Carl, but all fundamental truths and sentiments aside, unless you agree to the deal, you’re going to lose the land in the end.”

“No, I ain’t. I been doin’ a little research of my own. You know how long those leases last? No? Well here’s your answer: Twenty years, minimum. That means if I lease it, I’ll be eighty-two by the time I get it back. What am I supposed to do with it then? Roll around in my motorized wheelchair and watch the weeds grow? Fuck that, and fuck them.”

“Carl, I don’t think I’m getting through to you. Fighting the law of eminent domain is nearly impossible.”

“They brung the fight, Murt. Not me. And guess what? I’m not walking away from this one. I’ll pitch a tent, or live in that barn if I have to, but they ain’t taking my land. End of discussion.”

Virgil tried to give it one last shot. “You know, there’s another way to look at this whole thing, Carl.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“You said yourself that your great-grandfather fed his family from that field.”

“What of it?”

“I’m getting there,” Virgil said. “And you used to grow organics out there, feeding anyone who’d buy them.”

“And I’d still be doing it if I wasn’t running that drill rig operation on behalf of you and everyone else.”

“But don’t you see, Carl? They call them solar farms for a reason. Think of it this way: You’d still be farming, but you’d be harvesting the power of the sun, as opposed to corn or beans or whatever. You’ll be feeding people, only in a different way. Everyone needs electricity, right?”

“Yeah, so they can keep their phones charged and go online and post pictures of themselves along with what they had for lunch on one of them social media shit-holes. Christ almighty, Virgil. Whose side are you on, anyway?” Then Johnson hung up.

They rode in silence for a few seconds, then Virgil said, “I know Carl said he wasn’t, but I think he’s still a little mad.”

Murton looked at his brother. “You think?”

Mayo and Ortiz took up station outside of Sandy’s new temporary office, while Baker made herself comfortable on the sofa.

Sandy plugged the drive into her computer terminal, then sent the emails; one to the entire staff at IDEM, and a few minutes later, one to Congressman Bates. After a short period of time, the replies started coming back from the IDEM staff…things like: Welcome aboard! Happy to have you!

Then, less than thirty minutes later, she got an unexpected reply. She looked at the email for a few seconds, then said, “Huh.”

“Huh, what?” Baker said.

“Congressman Bates is in his district office. He’s invited me to come over and discuss the ongoing relationship between the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission and IDEM.”

“We gonna do it?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sandy said. “We might be able to learn a thing or two.”

“Are you going to inform Jonesy?” Baker asked.

“Oh, God no.”

Baker was a little surprised and said as much. “Why not?”

“Because I’m sure he’d try to talk me out of it.” Then: “Hang on, I’ve got to let Becky know about the emails.” Sandy got Becky on the line and said, “You should be all set. Plenty of responses from IDEM, and believe it or not, Bates himself responded and invited me over to his office.”

“Great. I’ll get started right now,” Becky said. “Pull the thumb drive before you leave.”

“Already did,” Sandy said.

“Atta girl. Listen, are you going to tell Jonesy that you’re going to the congressman’s office?”

Sandy laughed, gave Becky the same answer she gave Baker, then ended the call. “C’mon, Emily, let’s get Mayo and Ortiz and take a little ride.”

When Virgil and Murton got back to the MCU, they went straight down to the forensics lab. Chip Lawless was staring at a T-shirt that was laid out on one of the tables. “We heard you wanted to speak with us,” Virgil said.

“I do.” Lawless pointed at the shirt and said, “When we were out searching Carl Johnson’s field for evidence, Ortiz found that lying in the weeds.”

“Any idea who it belongs to?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I know exactly who it belongs to. We ran a rapid DNA test on it, and the results are a perfect match.”

“I thought rapid DNA tests didn’t give you one hundred percent accuracy,” Murton said.

“They don’t.”

“Then how did you get to a perfect match?” Virgil said.

“Let me ask you this,” Chip said. “Rosencrantz is a good cop, right?”

“Of course he is,” Murton said. “One of the best. Why do you ask?”

“So if he brings me something and asks for a rapid DNA test, as an officer of the law, his request is valid, right?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “What of it?”

“He brought me a toothpick that he said belonged to a guy named Moses Biggatto. The results from the toothpick match the T-shirt. And it’s an exact match. So, you’ve got a sworn officer’s statement on the ID, and we have his DNA from two independent tests, so there’s your perfect match.”

Virgil smiled. “That’s great work, Chip.”

“Yeah, but is it enough to make an arrest?” Lawless asked.

Virgil shook his head. “No, it isn’t. But it does get us closer.”

Lawless looked disappointed. “Why isn’t it enough?”

“Because he’s already made it known that he’s been scouting fields in Rush County,” Murton said. “Can we put him at the scene of the murders? Yes. But even a first-year law student would be able to argue that Biggatto being at the field is nothing more than circumstantial. Jonesy and I were both out there. So were Carl Johnson, Mike Grey, you and Mimi, along with Mayo and Ortiz. Biggatto is no different.”

“Murt’s right,” Virgil said. “We’ll get him, and every little bit helps. Keep after it, huh?”

Lawless said he would.

As Virgil and Murton passed by Sarah’s desk, she stopped them and said, “Becky just sent over some pretty interesting information. I’m not quite sure what it all means, but I printed copies for you both. They’re in your offices.”

“Thanks Sarah,” Virgil said. “We’ll take a look at it right away. And listen, could you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“We spoke with Ed Henderson not long ago…it was right before we got back here. Or I guess I should say we tried to speak with him. It sounded like something…uh, critical was happening down there. Would you look into it and see what you can find?”

“Of course. I’ll get started right away.”

Virgil thanked her, then he and Murton went upstairs to look at what Becky had sent over.

When everyone arrived at Congressman Bates’s office, they were shown right in. Bates stood from behind his desk and walked up to Sandy. “Madam Former Governor Jones. Thank you for stopping by.”

Sandy smiled and shook hands with Bates. “That is an absurd amount of syllables to address someone. Please call me Sandy.”

Bates gave her his best political smile, but there didn’t appear to be any light in his eyes. “Well, how about Director? That is your new title, as I understand it.”

Sandy knew Bates was trying to get the upper hand, but she wasn’t playing. “As I said, Sandy will do.”

Bates seemed to finally take note of Baker, Mayo, and Ortiz. He let a little midwestern twang slip into his tone and said, “I didn’t realize you traveled with such an entourage.”

“Normally I don’t,” Sandy said. “But things have gotten a little hairy in your district these days.”

Bates’s expression of surprise didn’t fool anyone. “Have they? How so?” Then before Sandy could answer, he continued with, “Forgive me. I don’t mean to make everyone stand here in a circle. Please…take a seat.”

Mayo and Ortiz ignored the offer of a chair, and moved over to the office door.

“Your men look like they’re ready for battle,” Bates said.

“It’s not the men who should concern you, Congressman,” Sandy said.

Bates looked over at Baker. “I take your point. This lovely young lady looks like she could take the tail from a tiger, so to speak. In any event, I simply wanted to introduce myself, and to let you, as acting director of IDEM, know that my office and yours will be working very closely together moving forward. I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but I chair the sub-committee that provides oversight for the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission.”

“I’m aware, Congressman,” Sandy said. “I hope there are no hard feelings regarding what happened with your wife. I think the governor was simply doing what she thought best for the state.”

“For the record, I consider my wife’s firing a mistake on Governor LaRue’s part.”

“I don’t doubt you, Congressman,” Sandy said. “But the situation was all but untenable for the governor. The optics alone were rather troublesome. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“For the record, I do not. Carmen worked at IDEM for nearly five years…methodically working her way up the ladder to the assistant director’s position. There was no reason to fire her. None whatsoever.”

Sandy ignored Bates’s statement regarding his wife’s termination and said, “Five years…that would coincide with when you began to chair the sub-committee, if my math is correct. And I assure you, Congressman, it is.”

“That’s nothing more than a coincidence,” Bates snapped. “And I resent the implication of any impropriety on the part of myself or my wife.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you do. If you resent that, you’re going to love this, because it removes any hint of unscrupulousness: Effective immediately—and for the foreseeable future—IDEM will not be approving any new permits for solar farms in our state until we can ensure that the energy companies and their lobbyists in Washington are following the letter of the law. Things seem to be getting a little greasy of late, if you take my meaning.”

“That would be a huge mistake,” Bates said. “One which I’m certain you’ll come to regret.”

Sandy stood from her seat. “I’ve served the people of Indiana as a state trooper, lieutenant governor, and then governor after Mac stepped down. That means⁠—”

Bates waved his hand in the air like he was trying to get rid of a bothersome fly. “Yes, yes, we’re all very aware of your CV, Sandy. You did ask me to call you Sandy, didn’t you?”

“I did. But you didn’t let me finish my last statement, Congressman. I’ve learned a thing or two about politics over the years, and chief among them is this: I know a threat when I hear one. I have very few regrets in my life. If you’re at all curious, meeting you was just added to the list. We’ll show ourselves out, but before we do, I’d like to ask you a question. How long have you known Moses Biggatto?”

Bates let his eyes slide away and tried to lie, but he failed miserably. “Who?”

“That’s what I thought,” Sandy said. “Have a nice day, Nate.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Virgil and Murton were sitting in Virgil’s office going over the information Becky had sent them. Murton set most of the paperwork aside, pulled out a particular page and said, “So, if I’m reading this correctly, solar clipping occurs when a solar panel array reaches its maximum power output. When that happens, you end up with a net energy loss.”

“How can that be?” Virgil said. “It sounds backward. I mean, wouldn’t you want as much maximum exposure as you could get? If not, what’s the point?”

“Beats me,” Murton said. “I’m a cop, not an engineer. This report says solar clipping typically occurs on exceptionally sunny days when the panels are operating at their peak capacity. But the inverter—which converts the DC power generated by the panels into usable AC power—can't keep up. So if they can’t add to the grid, I guess that means it’s just wasted energy.”

Both men kept reading, then Virgil said, “When Cool flew me up north to look at the solar farms already in place, I noticed that all the panels were facing east.”

“That sounds right,” Murton said.

Virgil frowned. “I don’t see how. Maximum exposure would happen if they all faced south, right?”

Murton held up a wait-a-minute finger, read a bit more, then said, “Yes and no. If they face south, you have the problem of inverter clipping, so building them to face eastward reduces that problem. But more importantly, it lets the energy providers take advantage of the other thing you wanted to know about…which is time of use rates.”

Virgil nodded as he spoke. “Yeah, I’m reading that part right now. Apparently they want the panels facing east because it aligns with peak energy usage.” Virgil scratched at the back of his head like he was trying to get his brain to work better. “I guess it sort of makes sense. I mean, look at your house as an example. You and Becky and Ellie Rae get up in the morning, showers start running, the lights come on, the heat or air conditioner gets cranked up—depending on the season, of course—and you’re drawing a lot of power from the grid. Then you leave the house to go to work, or whatever, and your personal demand drops.”

“What about the evenings?” Murton said.

Virgil set the paperwork aside. “I have no idea. I’ll tell you one thing though: I don’t see how any of this information helps us catch either Allen Carr’s or Hank Stutzman’s killer.”

“Me either,” Murton said. “But it must matter because Biggatto is the front man behind getting these industrial-sized solar farms up and running in Rush County. So the more intel we have, the better off we’ll be.”

They spent another hour reading through the rest of the material and bouncing their thoughts back and forth. Finally, Virgil checked the time and said, “Let’s call it a day, huh?”

“No argument here,” Murton said. “Let me call Becky and see if she has anything else for us before we leave, though.”

Virgil said that was fine, then got on the intercom and asked Sarah for a status report.

“Ross and Rosencrantz are down in Rush County keeping an eye on Biggatto, who is currently at his hotel. Mayo, Ortiz, and Baker are with Sandy at IDEM.”

“Okay, thanks, Sarah,” Virgil said. “Would you get in touch with Mayo and Ortiz and make sure they stay on Sandy until she gets home?”

“Of course. What about Baker?”

Virgil didn’t want to leave anything to chance, so he said, “Yeah, her too. I’m sure Baker can get a ride back with either one of our guys, or Sandy’s driver, Arlo.”

“I’ll let everyone know. It sounds like you’re getting ready to wrap it up for the day.”

“We are,” Virgil said. “Murt and I will be leaving shortly unless Becky has anything else for us. And say, this just occurred to me, but since Ross is down in Rush County, why don’t you and Liv come crash at our house? Might be a day or two, but I don’t like having you two alone without Ross there.”

Sarah didn’t want to impose, and told Virgil as much. “That’s very kind of you, Jonesy, but I think Liv and I can manage.”

That wasn’t the answer Virgil wanted to hear. “Look, Sarah, it’s not a demand by any stretch, but we’re sort of up against something we’ve never faced before. Biggatto tried to make a run at Jonas and Wyatt, and even though we don’t have enough evidence yet, we are all but certain he’s the guy who killed Allen Carr and Hank Stutzman. Liv is already at the house with Huma, so why not play it safe and pack a bag? Besides, the boys miss having you around the house, and I know Huma and Sandy do as well.”

“Jonesy…”

Virgil dropped a little charm into his voice and said, “Don’t make me insist, young lady, because as everyone knows⁠—”

Sarah chuckled, then like a cop, she said, “Yeah, yeah, everyone knows you can’t deny the insist.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yes, Boss. I’ll do it.”

Virgil thanked her, then killed the connection just as Murton was finishing up with Becky. “Anything?”

“Maybe,” Murton said. “She says the intel is still coming in, and there’s plenty of it. I’m going to go down to the bar and keep her company. I could tell by the sound of her voice that she’s planning on working late. Think Huma will mind taking care of Ellie Rae for a few extra hours?”

“You know better than to ask that, Murt. Although it probably wouldn’t hurt to give her a heads-up.”

Murton did that, and when he was finished with the call, he looked at Virgil and said, “Okay, see you later tonight, or tomorrow, huh?”

“You bet,” Virgil said.

Both men stood to leave, but Sarah appeared in the doorway, her face a mixture of surprise and something else Virgil couldn’t quite pin down. The only word that came to mind was wretchedness.

Murton walked over and said, “What’s wrong, Sarah?”

“I just heard back from Ed Henderson. He wanted me to apologize to you both for what he called his abrupt behavior.”

“Did he say what was going on?”

Sarah nodded. “He did. You know Betty, right? His secretary, or dispatcher, or whatever her title was.”

Virgil—who didn’t miss much—caught Sarah’s usage of the past tense and said, “Yeah. Do I ever. What happened? Did she quit on him again?”

“Yes, just not in the way you might imagine. She had a heart attack while at work. They tried to get her back with the emergency defibrillator, but by the time the medics arrived they said it was too late. She died, Jonesy.”

“That’s what was happening when we called,” Murton said. “We heard Ed say, ‘Hit her again’ before he ended the call. It didn’t make any sense at the time because Ed would never hit a woman. But he wasn’t talking about physical violence. He was telling whoever was helping him to shock her again to try to get her heart started.”

Virgil walked over and sat down on his office davenport and stared at nothing.

Sarah walked over and sat next to him. “Are you okay, Jonesy?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Betty was…uh, hell, I don’t know. Never speak ill of the dead, right? Except she was a giant pain in the butt if I’m being honest, and she practically despised the MCU and everything we stand for. But she was loyal to the core, whether you liked the way she did things or not.”

“When it’s your time, it’s your time, Virg,” Murton said.

“Yeah, I know. But I could have been more kind to her. It’s just…well, it’s…”

“Sad?” Sarah said.

Virgil wiped the corner of his eye. “Yeah. Sad. I guess that says it.” Then he stood and said, “I’ll see you guys later, huh?”

At the end of the day, Sandy’s driver, Arlo, took her home, with Baker by her side in the back seat. Mayo and Ortiz both followed, each man in his own squad car. Once they had Sandy safely secure on her own property, Baker asked Mayo and Ortiz if one of them would be willing to give her a ride back to the statehouse to collect her own automobile.

Ortiz looked at her and said, “I’ll give you a lift. I need to go right past there anyway. It’s on my way home.”

“Thanks, Ortiz.”

“You bet.” Then to Mayo: “See you later, partner.”

Mayo bumped fists with Ortiz and said, “Count on it.”

Once Ortiz and Baker were on their way, they talked a little bit about their personal lives, but spoke mostly about the case. Baker tried to absorb as much information as she could in hopes that it might help her wiggle her way into the MCU. When they got to the statehouse where Baker’s car was, Ortiz said something that surprised her.

“Listen, would you be up for a little off-the-books operation? It’s only slightly illegal.”

“Any chance you could be a little more specific…especially when it comes to the ‘slightly illegal’ part?”

Ortiz told her what he wanted to do, and finished with, “Has to stay between you and me, at least for now.”

“What about Mayo?”

“I talked to him earlier. He’s in. He also thinks it’d be a good idea if you came along.”

“Why?”

Ortiz chuckled and shook his head. “Because when the cops show up—and they will—we were sort of hoping that your presence will help keep things more, uh, balanced, if you know what I mean.”

“If you’re talking about the fact that I’m a woman, then I’m afraid I don’t.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ortiz said. “I was speaking strictly to the numbers. Three is better than two. It gives us more credibility.”

Baker thought it over for a few minutes, and Ortiz let her. Finally she looked at him and said, “Are you sure you’re right?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“And this is the only way?” Baker said.

“It seems like it. So, in or out. There won’t be any hard feelings if you say no.”

This time Baker didn’t hesitate. “I’m in. Where do we meet up, and when?”

Ortiz told her, and Baker said she’d see them later.

After Biggatto returned to his hotel room, he turned the shower on to steam the bathroom, stripped out of his filthy clothing, then took his time getting cleaned up. He washed his hair three times to make sure he’d gotten it completely clean after having his head dunked in a bucket of his own vomit. Wheeler didn’t know it yet, but he was in for a big surprise. Biggatto didn’t have any particulars in mind at the moment, but he’d come up with something eventually. It might be a week, a month, or even a year down the road, but no one got over on Biggatto the way Wheeler had. His time was coming.

The thought of time caused Biggatto to glance at the clock. He was exhausted, and his earlier idea of a nap seemed so good to him that he decided to go through with the idea. He dressed, closed the drapes and turned off the lights to darken the room, then kicked back on the bed to relax for a bit before going back out and speaking with Johnson. Ten minutes later he was fast asleep.

When he woke, it was to the sound of someone tapping on his hotel room door…a quiet little tick, tick, tick. It was the kind of knock the housekeeper would make with her pass key. Had anyone later bothered to ask Biggatto how long he’d been asleep, his answer would have been, “Not long enough.” But when he glanced at the bedside clock as he stood, Biggatto saw that it was almost nine o’clock in the evening.

Way to go, Moses, he thought. You just screwed the pooch on this one.

Convinced that the person on the other side of the door would be his least favorite congressman of late, Biggatto didn’t even bother to check the security peephole. As he pulled the door open, he was already talking. “Before you start giving me any grief, let me explain. I overslept. I’m going out to speak with⁠—”

And that’s as far as he got before he finally took note of the three men dressed in black who were standing in front of him. Biggatto tried to slam the door, but he was still a little groggy from sleep, and his reaction wasn’t nearly fast enough. One of the men stuck his hand out, and Biggatto heard a rapid clacking noise, then every muscle in his body went rigid right before he fell backward on the floor of his hotel room. A few seconds later he felt a pinch in the side of his neck and heard someone say, “Not too much, now. Just enough to keep him amenable to our needs.”

All evening long, Huma kept trying to give Virgil the cold shoulder, but she finally gave up when she noticed that Virgil wasn’t playing. The boys were already in bed and asleep, as were Sandy, Sarah, Liv, and Aayla.

But despite how tired he was, sleep wouldn’t come for Virgil. He got dressed, snuck out of the bedroom, then went out and sat on the steps of the back deck. He hadn’t been outside very long before Huma walked out and joined him.

“What’s the matter, Jonesy? You know I’ve only been teasing. Jonas caved in earlier and told me about the cinnamon synonym.”

Virgil nudged her with his shoulder. “I know. I’ve just got something else on my mind, and I can’t seem to let it go. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was reading, waiting for Delroy to get home. He called a while ago and said your private police party turned into quite the affair.”

“That’s great,” Virgil said. “Did Murt or Becky get home in time to collect Ellie Rae?”

Huma shook her head. “She was already asleep by the time they arrived, so they decided to let her stay with me. Anyway, you said there was something on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil said. “What would you call someone who is the bossiest person you’ve ever met, one who could be very demanding, and sometimes made you want to scream, but that same person was also very good at their job?”

Huma laughed and said, “I’d call him Virgil Jones.”

Virgil gave her a look. “Very funny.”

Huma smiled. “Thank you. But you know I’m only joking. Who are you speaking of?”

“Remember all the stories I’ve told over the years about Ed Henderson’s secretary, Betty?”

“Of course. If I’m remembering correctly, she worked for the MCU for a short period of time before Sarah took over in her place.”

“You are,” Virgil said.

“What about her?”

“She had a heart attack at work earlier today, and they couldn’t get her back. I was never very nice to her—and this isn’t an excuse or anything like that—but she didn’t make it easy…for me, or anyone else. I’m simply wondering if I could have done better or tried harder to help her fit in at the MCU.”

Huma slipped her hand in the crook of Virgil’s elbow and rested her head on his shoulder. “Two things: I’m sorry about Betty, but based on the stories I’ve heard, it sounds like the woman was rather set in her ways.”

“That might be a bit of an understatement,” Virgil said. “What’s the other?”

“If she hadn’t quit, you wouldn’t have Sarah working with all you guys. Like it or not, everything is exactly the way it should be.”

“I guess so,” Virgil said. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised by my own reaction to her sudden passing.”

“I’m not,” Huma said.

“Why?”

“Because your job demands that you surround yourself with death. You think you’re immune to it, and I think in some ways you are. Maybe like a funeral director might be? I don’t know. But more than that, when it hits closer to home, it affects you in different ways.”

“Maybe,” Virgil said. “After I heard about what happened to Hank Stutzman, Sarah told me I was downplaying my own feelings regarding his death. And you know what? She was right. Sometimes I don’t understand why I am the way I am.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone about it,” Huma said.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, like I need to see a shrink.”

Huma stood, kissed Virgil on his cheek, then said, “That’s not what I’m talking about, and I’m all but certain you know it.”

Virgil turned and looked down toward the pond. His late father, Mason, was standing next to the cross Virgil had carved from a fallen willow tree as a memorial to his dad. Mason waved, and when he did, Virgil saw Huma wave back out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you really see him, Huma?”

“You’ve got to stop asking me that question.” Then Huma ruffled the top of Virgil’s hair like he was a little boy. “Have a good night, Jonesy.”

Virgil promised her he would, but as it turned out, he was wrong. He just didn’t know it yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Virgil walked down to the pond and pulled a chair close to the cross before he sat down.

“I love what you’ve done to the place, Virg,” Mason said.

“You’re speaking of the pier?”

“I am.

Virgil and Murton had built a fishing pier, but as usual, they couldn’t quite agree on where to put it. Virgil wanted it on his side of the pond, and Murton wanted it on his because he’d purchased a paddle boat and wanted a place to tie it off instead of always having to drag it out of the water. In the end, they came up with a compromise and set the pier at the same end of the pond where the helipad was located.

Virgil smiled at his father and said, “Yeah, we had a little trouble deciding where to put it, but everything worked out. In fact, I’m glad we put it on the end instead of one side or the other.”

“Why’s that?”

Virgil pulled one corner of his mouth tight. “I don’t know. I just think it looks good where it is. Sort of balances things out.”

“It’s all about balance, isn’t it, Virg?”

Over the years, Virgil had learned to listen to his father very close…or at least as closely as he could. The messages he received were often as layered as an onion.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I might have to disagree with you on that one,” Mason said.

“Dad, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m speaking of your conversation with Carl Johnson. What you told him is true. There’s more than one way to farm a piece of land.”

Virgil laughed without humor. “Well, I’m not sure it did much good. To be honest, I don’t think it really matters. We’ll catch this Biggatto guy soon enough, and it’ll all be over.”

“Will it?” Mason said.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re going about it in all the wrong ways. You’re chasing after Biggatto like he’s the problem, but he isn’t. At least not anymore.”

“What, exactly, are you saying?”

Mason looked over at Murton’s house and waved. Virgil turned that way and saw his brother on the back porch, smoking a cigar.

“Boy oh boy, that was something Murton did by dunking Biggatto’s head in a bucket of filthy mop water. Let me ask you something: If you hadn’t stopped him, do you think Murt would have killed Biggatto?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then why’d you stop him?”

“Because it was the right thing to do, no matter.”

“But you just said it was a line Murt wouldn’t have crossed…at least in this instance. But never mind all that. As I said, Biggatto won’t be a problem for you, your family, or anyone else after tonight. Or maybe I should say after tomorrow morning.”

“How do you know that?” Virgil said.

“Two reasons. Biggatto is a human version of a Möbius strip. Sometimes he’s on the outside looking in, and other times he’s on the inside looking out. And neither way seems to suit him because he’s always on the same dimensional plane. That means he’s a walking contradiction of himself whether he knows it or not. He tries to do good, but the evil inside him is more powerful. But the more important reason is because I know your brother every bit as well as I know you, Virg. Both of you carry a goodness inside yourselves…right down to your very core.”

“Thank you, Dad. But if there’s a greater message, I might be missing it.”

Murton stepped off his back porch and began walking toward Virgil’s house, using the flashlight from his phone to guide his steps in the darkness.

Mason pointed at Murton and said, “The message is coming as we speak.”

“Murton is the message?”

“Got your phone on you, son? You’re going to need it.”

“Yeah, I do. But for what?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Virgil said.

“Then turn the video on and set it on the cross.”

Virgil did as his father asked, then he watched as Mason positioned the phone just so, never letting himself get captured by the camera. “That ought to do it. Don’t let your brother beat himself up over what happens next, Virg. It was all going to play out the same, no matter.”

Virgil turned again and saw Murton crossing the helipad. “What’s going to happen?”

“Stay tuned, Virg. You’re about to find out. And do yourself a favor. Don’t ever let Murton stop being Murton, no matter how hard he tries.”

“What does that mean?” Virgil said.

But Mason was already gone.

Mayo, Ortiz, and Baker were sitting in Ortiz’s squad car, a block away from Congressman’s Bates’s district office.

“Are you guys sure this is a good idea?” Baker said.

“As sure as we can be,” Mayo said. He was wearing gloves, and held a large brick in his hand as he spoke. “There aren’t any security cameras on the backside of the building, so all I have to do is toss this baby through a window and walk away.”

“What about the alarm system?”

“C’mon, Bake…try to keep up, will you? The alarm system is our ticket inside. Once the locals arrive, we’ll be good to go. A nice legal entry. We’re the good guys, remember? Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

Ortiz hit the switch to kill the dome light, then Mayo opened the passenger door and climbed out into the night. Ten seconds later he was lost in the darkness.

Once they were alone, Baker leaned forward from the rear seat, looked at Ortiz and said, “Boy, you guys don’t fuck around, do you?”

Ortiz chuffed. “This is nothing, believe me. How are you feeling? Ready to chicken out yet?”

Baker laughed. “Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had since I got shot at the race track.”

Ortiz smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Baker smiled and leaned back in her seat. It’d been a long time since another man had called her his girl. She kind of liked it.

Mayo threw the brick as hard as he could, and in typical Mayo fashion…he missed. He swore under his breath, jogged over to retrieve the brick, then tried again…this time putting the proper amount of lob into his throw. The brick hit its target, the window shattered, a siren started screaming from somewhere inside the building, and Mayo ran.

Murton walked out onto the pier, grabbed a chair, then made his way over to where Virgil sat, next to the cross. “What’s going on?”

“Hell if I know,” Virgil said. “Dad told me to expect a message. He said it right when you started walking over here.”

Murton thought about that for a full minute, then said, “I got nothin’.”

“Me either,” Virgil said.

“What else did he say?”

Virgil replayed the conversation for Murton, and finished with, “He also told me to never let you stop being you...no matter how hard you try.”

Murton smiled at his brother and said, “I’m not trying not to be me. And before you give me any grief about my sentence structure, let me say this: What I am doing is trying to better myself.”

“Are you?”

“What kind of question is that?” Murton said.

Virgil waved it off. “That’s not what I meant. You can let your demons of the past go, Murt. They don’t define you. Maybe you used to let them back in the day, but not anymore. There isn’t one single thing you could do that would cause me to see you any differently than I do right now.”

Murton didn’t want to talk about it, so he changed the subject. “When Dad said, ‘Don’t let your brother beat himself up over what happens next,’ what do you think he meant?”

Virgil had a funny feeling in his gut. Instead of answering Murton’s question, he asked one of his own. “Is everything okay over at your place?”

“Yeah. Becky brought all the paper home and is still parsing the data. She says she might be onto something. Anyway, she’s safe, and Ellie Rae is as well because she’s with Huma in your house. Why?”

Virgil tipped his head at the cross. “The video is running on my phone. It was Dad’s idea. He’s the one who positioned it where it is right now. It’s pointed right at your place.”

“I’m good, Virgil. The security team is at the end of the road, my system is armed, and I make a habit of clearing the place every night. We’re good.”

“Then why are we running video of your house?”

Murton stood and walked up behind Virgil’s phone. He bent down and looked exactly where the camera was pointed. Then he walked back over and sat down. “It’s not actually pointed at my house. It’s more to the right...closer to the pier and the helipad.”

Virgil looked at Murton and said, “Get Ross or Rosencrantz on the line. I want a status check on Biggatto. I think something might be happening, and if it is, we’re out of the loop.”

Murton took out his phone and hit the speed dial for Rosencrantz. As the phone was ringing, he turned to Virgil and said, “What makes you say we’re out of the loop?”

“Ever hear of a Möbius strip?”

Mayo pointed out the front windshield and said, “Here they come.” The town cops were approaching Congressman Bates’s office, their flashers blinking away, their sirens silent.

“How long are we gonna give them?” Baker asked.

“Not long,” Ortiz said. “Once they find the brick, they’ll consider it simple vandalism, call someone out to board it up, and that’ll be that.”

They waited sixty long seconds before Mayo dropped his squad car in gear, lit up his flashers, and turned in to the lot. They all climbed out, made sure their badges were visible, and Mayo shouted, “State police. What have you got?”

“Not sure yet,” one of the town cops said. “We’re getting ready to clear it right now. Be nice to have some backup, if you’re willing.”

“No problem,” Baker said. She pulled her weapon, and then the town cops kicked the door and everyone moved inside.

Ortiz had his gun in one hand, and his phone in the other. He moved straight into Bates’s office, turned on the lights and took a quick picture. Then he shouted out, “All clear. Looks like some major asshole tossed a brick through the window.”

The town cops cleared the rest of the offices, then told Mayo, Ortiz, and Baker they could go. “We’ll notify the Congressman, then hang around until the emergency board-up folks get here. Thanks for your help.”

Ortiz smiled and said, “No problem. Always happy to assist local law enforcement.”

Once they were back in the car, Mayo looked at Ortiz. “Major asshole?”

“What? I had to make it sound good,” Ortiz said. Then he turned and looked at Baker, who was riding in the back seat. “Twenty bucks says he missed on the first throw.”

Mayo shook his head. “Fuck you.” Then he started laughing and said, “I tried to line-drive it on the first try, but I was too far away and the damn thing was heavier than I thought. I think I jacked up my shoulder.”

Rosencrantz answered on the first ring, his voice barely a whisper. “Hey, Murt. What’s up?”

“Why are you being so quiet?”

“I’m trying not to wake Ross. He just went to sleep.”

In the background, Murton heard Ross say, “I’m up. Something happening?”

“Put me on speaker,” Murton said.

Rosencrantz did as Murton asked, then said, “Is Biggatto still at his hotel?”

“Yup,” Rosencrantz said. “I’m looking at the screen as we speak.”

“He hasn’t gone out?”

“Nope. His car hasn’t moved. If it had, we’d know.”

“Hang on a second,” Murton said. Then he lowered the phone and turned to Virgil. “Ross and Rosie say Biggatto is at his hotel. Hasn’t gone out at all.”

“Let me talk to him,” Virgil said.

Murton handed his phone over. Once Virgil was on the line, he said, “Rosie, I don’t want to blow the tracker on Biggatto, but I need to know for certain that he’s in the hotel.”

“I could have the Rushville PD do a welfare check,” Rosencrantz said.

“Do you have any burners with you?”

“Not my first day, Jones-man.”

“Okay, call the hotel and get put through to his room. If he answers, hang up. If he doesn’t, try one more time. If you still can’t get him, have RPD run over there and check it out.”

“Will do,” Rosencrantz said. “Something happening?”

“Not sure yet,” Virgil said. “Let us know, huh?”

Rosencrantz said he would, and ended the call.

Off in the distance, Virgil and Murton heard the sound of a helicopter approaching.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Biggatto knew he was on board a helicopter, but he couldn’t quite remember how that had come to pass. What he did know was that his wrists and ankles were bound tight with heavy-duty zip ties, and a hood was covering his head.

When he tried to move, he heard a voice say, “It looks like the drugs are wearing off.”

“How about it on the hood?” Biggatto said. It was a test. If they left the hood on, he’d have a chance. If they didn’t, Biggatto knew in all likelihood it was game over for him.

One of the men reached over and pulled the hood. “Feeling any better?” he asked.

“What’d you give me?”

“Wrong question, asshole.”

“I’m the asshole? It took three of you to take me from my hotel room.”

“You came along peacefully enough.”

“That’s because you shot me up with something.”

The man shrugged like it was of no consequence. “We did what we were told to do.”

When Biggatto made eye contact with each of the men, he was sure he’d never seen them before. “What’s the plan here? What? No comment? I wonder why that is. I guess it doesn’t matter. If the concrete block tied to my waist is any indication, I’ve already got a pretty good idea that this might not end well for me.”

“We’re reading from the same playbook, then,” the man said.

Biggatto looked out the front window of the helicopter. Off in the distance he could see the skyline of Indianapolis. Time to change tactics. “How about you land this thing, untie me, and we’ll see what everyone is made of?”

“Not gonna happen, Moses.”

“Do not address me by my first name.”

“What? You liked asshole better?”

“How much is Bates paying you? Whatever it is, I’ll triple it. I’ve got the funds to make it happen.”

“Bates isn’t paying us, you idiot, and you no longer have the funds you think you do. You should have planned ahead, Moses. You have to be prepared for every single imaginable outcome, no matter how heartbreaking it might be. Something tells me you’re a little behind the power curve on this one.”

Biggatto closed his eyes. How could he have been so gullible? All the planning, all the strategy, all the contingencies…wiped away by someone he not only trusted, but who had been there with him every step of the way.

The helicopter pilot turned toward the back of the craft and said, “Twenty seconds.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Biggatto said.

“We were asked to deliver a message. I’ll let you use your imagination to fill in the blanks. It shouldn’t be very difficult.”

One of the men reached over and put his hand on the door latch. When Biggatto started to squirm in his seat, the man next to him stuck a needle into his neck and pushed the plunger. Ten seconds later Biggatto felt his muscles begin to go slack. He couldn’t draw a full breath, and his tongue felt like it had ballooned to twice its size. When he tried to move his arms and legs, they didn’t want to respond.

“Don’t worry, Moses. We gave you just enough so you can’t fight. You asked what we gave you at the hotel? This is the same thing. I can’t remember the actual name, but it’s some sort of short-acting neuromuscular blocking agent. At least that’s what we were told. Based on the dosage we just gave you, it should wear off in about thirty seconds, except the fall will probably kill you. But who knows? If you can hold your breath long enough, you might make it. If you don’t, maybe you’ll get it right in your next life, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

The pilot pulled the helicopter into a hover at fifty feet off the ground. He turned on the massive spotlight, then nodded at the three men in back. They cut Biggatto’s ties, pulled the door open, and shoved him out, the concrete block still roped around his waist.

For reasons he’d never be able to explain, as Biggatto fell from the sky the last thought his brain processed before he hit the water was the memory of Mike Grey tossing a dead piglet into the hog pen.

The sky was flat black, the stars invisible above a thick layer of clouds. Virgil and Murton could hear the helicopter approaching, but they couldn’t see it.

Murton turned to his brother and said, “Cool?”

Virgil shook his head. “Can’t be. He would have let us know he was on his way. Besides, it’s coming from the south.”

Both men stood, and when they were finally able to see the craft, they noticed it was flying without its running lights.

“Are you armed?” Murton said.

Virgil never got a chance to answer. As the helicopter pulled into a hover over the pond, the pilot turned on a spotlight, forcing Virgil and Murton to shield their eyes. The next four seconds were something neither man would ever forget.

Murton was already running for the pier when Biggatto hit the water. He leapt off the end and dove deep into the pond, swimming as hard and fast as he could. When he got to Biggatto, it took every ounce of strength Murton could muster to pull him up to the surface.

Virgil had jumped into the water as well, but he did it from the bank instead of the pier. He was still swimming toward both men when Biggatto opened his eyes and said, “Let me go, Wheeler. It’s over. My neck is broken. I can’t feel anything.”

“Shut up,” Murton said. Biggatto’s weight was beginning to drag them both under again, and Murton wasn’t sure if he could hold on much longer. Virgil was coming fast, but he was still twenty yards away.

“I can’t live like this. I won’t. I killed Carr and that other man and buried them in Johnson’s field. Let me go.”

“I said shut up.”

“If you don’t, I’ll have someone come back and destroy your entire family.”

Murton choked on a mouthful of water, spat it out and said, “Who did this?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” Murton said. But his strength was gone, and no matter how hard he tried, he felt Biggatto slip from his grasp and disappear into the black depths of the pond water.

By the time Virgil made it to his brother, he could tell that Murton was struggling. He watched him go under to try to pull Biggatto back up, but when Murton resurfaced, his strength was gone, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Virgil wrapped his arm around his brother’s neck and towed him back toward the shore. When they finally made it, both men collapsed on the grass.

The lights started blinking on in both houses, and in the hours that followed, everyone thought the night might last forever.

State cops or not, Virgil and Murton soon found out what it was like for someone when their entire property was considered a crime scene. For the first few hours, it was pure chaos. Ross and Rosencrantz showed up after they discovered Biggatto wasn’t at the hotel and they couldn’t reach Virgil or Murton. Delroy, Huma, and Sandy gathered all the kids and took them to Ross’s and Sarah’s house. Sandy wanted to stay, but Virgil convinced her that the boys needed her with them. “Don’t worry. Murt and I will get this sorted out.”

The Marion County sheriff’s detective in charge of the scene was a friend of Virgil’s—a guy by the name of Adler O’Neil—and friends or not, he had a little trouble believing Virgil’s and Murton’s story.

“So, let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” O’Neil said. “You guys were sitting out here in the middle of the night, doing nothing, minding your own business…just a couple of brothers shooting the shit, when out of the blue a helicopter flies over and dumps this Biggatto guy into your pond.”

“That’s the gist of it, Ad,” Murton said.

“And this is the same guy you like for the murders of Allen Carr and Henry Stutzman?”

“That’s right,” Virgil said. “We’ve been circling him for a few days now, but we weren’t able to get enough evidence to charge him.”

“He confessed the murders to me before he went under,” Murton said.

“And this is the same guy you tried to drown in your own bar, Murt?”

“He didn’t try to drown him,” Virgil said. “You’re taking it out of context.”

“In what context does it belong, Jonesy? Because according to you, the same guy is under forty feet of water in your own pond.”

Virgil was getting a little wound up. “It belongs in the context of shit happens. We tried to save the guy, Ad.”

The entire pond was surrounded with spotlights the county crime scene crew had brought in, and everyone was waiting for the divers to arrive. O’Neil looked at Murton and said, “Was he still alive when he went under?”

“He was,” Murton said. “But with that block tied around his waist I couldn’t keep him on the surface. He said his neck was broken. I don’t know if that’s true or not.”

“Did he try to fight you?”

“No.”

“What did he say?”

Murton sighed, looked out at the pond for a few seconds, then said, “I already told you. He admitted to the killings of Carr and Stutzman.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that I recall,” Murton said. “But it’s hard to argue against a dying declaration.”

“If he actually said it.”

“You’re out of line, Ad,” Virgil said.

“Am I? Because the only thing I have to work with right now is your word that you guys didn’t do this.”

Virgil shook his head and walked away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” O’Neil said.

Virgil stopped, pointed at the cross and said, “To sit down over there and cool off before I say something that ruins our friendship. Maybe you should do the same.”

Becky walked over and sat down next to Virgil. When she glanced at the cross she saw the phone. She leaned over and checked the screen, then whispered into Virgil’s ear. “How long has that been recording?”

Virgil looked at Becky and smiled. He spent a few minutes scrubbing the video—he wanted to get rid of the conversations he’d had with both Mason and Murton, then walked the phone over to O’Neil.

“You wanted proof of what we just told you? Well, here it is.” He hit the Play button, and handed the phone over.

O’Neil watched the recording, saw Biggatto drop into the water, along with Virgil and Murton doing everything they could to save him. “So while all this is happening, you just happened to have your camera set to capture the video?”

Virgil smiled. “That pond is stocked with some of the fattest largemouth bass you’ve ever seen. At night they roll across the water and feed on the mosquitos. I was getting a video for my boys.” Then he turned, looked over at the driveway and said, “Looks like the divers are here.”

An hour later the divers had Biggatto out of the water. The medical examiner pronounced him dead—which everyone thought was either overkill, or some sort of tired morgue humor—then he did a quick field exam on Biggatto’s neck. “I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think his neck is broken. I’ll do X-rays during the post, but I’m not feeling anything out of place here.”

When the deputies searched Biggatto’s clothing, they found a knife tucked inside his pants pocket. No one knew what to make of that, the singular exception being Murton.

O’Neil finally gave up. He looked at Virgil and Murton and said, “Everyone thinks you guys and the rest of your squad run around the state and make up the rules as you go along. Maybe they’re right. I’m not sure what to believe these days. In any event, I’ll want written statements on my desk by noon tomorrow, along with a copy of that video. Don’t make me come looking for it.”

Virgil slapped O’Neil on the back. “Don’t worry, Ad. You’ll have it.”

O’Neil looked Virgil in the eye and said, “Your old man was a hell of a good guy, Jonesy. I hope the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree on this one, if you take my meaning.”

“I do,” Virgil said. “And it didn’t. Might have rolled some, but, you know…physics…what can you do? Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, we’ve got our killer, and the whole thing is over.”

Except, it wasn’t.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The next day, Sandy stayed home with the boys to ensure they weren’t overly affected by the previous evening’s incident. As it turned out they weren’t, but it did free up Mayo and Ortiz…and Baker, who would have taken the day no matter since Biggatto had been killed.

That same afternoon, Murton and Becky walked into Virgil’s office with a banker’s box full of paper. Murton set the box down on Virgil’s desk, and Becky said, “Here’s all the paper on the entire case.”

Virgil looked at the box and said, “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because you and Murt need to get it to Cora.”

Virgil gave her the brow. “And what will she do with it?”

“Hopefully find a way to synchronize your eyebrows.” Then, before Virgil could respond, Becky added, “I’m pretty sure she’ll turn it over to the feds.”

“Why?”

“Because all of the information in that box ties Biggatto, Congressman Bates, and his wife, Carmen, together in what any reasonable federal law enforcement official would consider a massive energy trading scheme that is costing taxpayers hundreds of millions of dollars every year.”

“In what way?” Virgil said.

Becky pulled a summary sheet from the box and gave it to Virgil. “In simple terms, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission provides huge tax subsidies for the installation and operation of industrial solar farms. And we’ve got proof that Biggatto and the Bateses have been sticking their greedy little hands into the federal cookie jar.”

“How, exactly, are they doing that?” Virgil said.

“Okay,” Becky said. “Here’s the short version: In recent years—over the last decade or so—there has been a massive increase in the number of solar farms structured as LLCs. At the same time, many of those same solar farms go on to declare bankruptcy, then shutter their entire operation. When that happens, the solar farm is completely abandoned by the companies. That leaves the owner of the land with solar power waste products and unresolved environmental issues that they aren’t equipped to deal with. In short, it leaves the farmers with land that they may never be able to put back into tillable, productive acreage.”

“Why are the companies filing for bankruptcy?” Virgil said.

Becky tipped a finger at Virgil and said, “That’s the question, isn’t it? It’s also how Biggatto and the Bateses were making their money.”

“I don’t understand,” Virgil said.

“Okay, let’s back up,” Becky said. “Rosie got us started on this when Biggatto showed up on our radar. As it happens, Biggatto is listed as the co-owner of a company named Brightstar, LLC. Brightstar came up when Sarah ran the plates on Biggatto’s car, remember?”

“I do,” Virgil said. “Who’s the other owner?”

“In a second,” Becky said. “In looking at Brightstar, I also uncovered four other companies: Sun Ray Solar, Solar Plains, Lumen Solar, and GridWorx. They are all LLCs, and every single one of them is under the umbrella of a holding company called EPN, which stands for Energy Production Network. In this instance, EPN is at the top of the solar food chain. When the LLCs file for bankruptcy, EPN is protected, and they get to keep the subsidies.”

“Who controls EPN?” Virgil said.

Becky smiled and said, “Carmen Bates.”

Virgil smiled right back at her. “That’s great work, Becks. The feds will have to make those arrests, but no matter, you’re going to make Cora’s day.”

“Thank you. Although I did have a little help.”

“In what way?”

Becky turned and whistled over her shoulder. When she did, Ortiz and Baker stepped into the office.

Virgil was a little surprised to see Baker, but he kept his mouth shut about it.

Becky filled the void by saying, “Ortiz helped me pin something down.” She reached into the box again, pulled out two photographs, then handed one to Virgil.

“What am I looking at?” Virgil said.

“A photograph,” Murton said.

Virgil gave his brother a look, then turned to Ortiz. “What’s going on?”

“Mayo and I could never get anyone to acknowledge that they knew or even heard of Biggatto. Take a close look at that picture you’re holding. What do you see?”

Virgil looked at the photograph Ortiz had captured on his phone when they last interviewed Susan Carr. “It looks like a vacation photo.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Ortiz said. “Susan Carr told us as much. Apparently the Carrs and the Bateses were closer than they led us to believe.”

Virgil was a little underwhelmed, and said as much. “So what? Allen Carr was the head of IDEM, and the congressman acts as the chair for the sub-committee that provides oversight for the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. It’s not much of a stretch for them to be seen together…or even vacationing together. The congressman was probably trying to schmooze Allen Carr in an effort to get him to loosen his grip on the permit applications.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ortiz said. “But when I asked Susan Carr a simple question, she gave me an answer that didn’t quite make sense.”

“In what way?”

“I asked her who took the photo.”

“Why would you ask that?” Virgil said.

“Why not?” Ortiz said. “You wanted every scrap of information, so I decided to go fishing. But she told me she didn’t know who took it.”

Virgil looked at the picture again and said, “Maybe she didn’t. She’s not looking at the camera. In fact, she’s looking at her husband, and she doesn’t seem very pleased.”

Ortiz let that go and said, “Did Sandy mention that we all paid a little visit to the congressman’s district office?”

Virgil nodded. “Yes, she did…after Bates answered her email. I assume that’s how Becky got this box full of evidence.”

“Yeah, mostly,” Ortiz said.

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean mostly?”

“When we went to Bates’s office, I saw a picture hanging on his wall.” Ortiz nodded at Becky, who handed the other photo to Virgil. “If you look closely, you’ll see that Biggatto is now in the photo with everyone else, except for Allen Carr. I’m guessing Biggatto took the first one, and Carr took the other.”

“Well, that proves everyone was lying about knowing Biggatto,” Virgil said. “But what does it matter? We’ve got his dying declaration that he killed Allen Carr and Henry Stutzman.”

“That’s true,” Ortiz said. “But in a generic sense, it’s also a little bit like saying we found a gun but couldn’t connect it to the shooter. So last night, me, Mayo, and, uh, Baker, here...we sort of went on a mini crime spree.”

Virgil let his shoulders droop. “And that’s how you got the second photo?”

“Pretty much,” Ortiz said.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I hope you didn’t get caught on camera. Where is Mayo, by the way?”

“At the doctor’s office getting his shoulder examined. He thinks he strained it somehow when he threw the brick.”

Virgil waved his hands in the air. “Stop. I don’t want to know any more about it. But, uh…good work.” Then to Baker: “You’re hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

Baker smiled and said, “Am I?”

Murton caught Baker’s eye and gave her a wink.

Virgil saw the wink and pretended not to notice. He looked at Becky and said, “You never told me who Biggatto’s partner was in Brightstar.”

“That’s because I like a big finish,” Becky said. “Carmen Bates tried to delete the Brightstar files out of the IDEM database before the troopers escorted her from the building. As a point of fact, she was able to do just that. What she neglected to do was get rid of the backup files in the cloud that had all the same information she deleted, including Brightstar, who was listed on several of the permit applications.”

“So who was Biggatto’s partner?” Virgil said.

“The only person left in the whole entire scheme,” Becky said. “When I checked the corporate filing for Brightstar, LLC, there were only two names…along with their signatures attached to the record. One was Moses Biggatto. The other was Susan Carr.”

For just a moment Virgil thought Becky might be joking, but when he saw the look on her face he knew she wasn’t. “You’re telling me that Susan Carr had Biggatto kill her own husband?”

“It sure looks that way,” Becky said. “Nothing else fits…mainly because her name is attached to the corporate records that go along with the permit that came out of IDEM…one that didn’t get filed, by the way, until after Allen Carr got disappeared.”

Virgil rubbed his face with both hands. “Christ, that woman really should go to Hollywood. She’s been playing us for over a month.”

“Damned near got away with it, too,” Murton said. “We need to pick her up before she decides to take off for parts unknown.”

Virgil looked at Ortiz. “You essentially hit the bullseye. It’s your bust if you want to go make the arrest. When is Mayo due back?”

“Not sure,” Ortiz said. “He just left a little while ago.”

“Where are Ross and Rosencrantz?” Virgil said.

“You gave them the day,” Becky said. “After last night…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’re all operating on caffeine and adrenaline, myself included.”

“I have a suggestion,” Murton said.

Baker was standing silently next to Ortiz, staring at the tops of her shoes.

Virgil asked everyone to give him a minute alone with Murton. Once the office was clear, Murton laid out his idea for Virgil.

“I don’t like it,” Virgil said.

Murton waved him off. “What’s not to like? Baker is as tough as they come. You and I have both seen it. And not only that, she is a detective-grade plainclothes state trooper. You’re acting like she’s a rookie straight out of the academy.”

“She doesn’t have her detective’s badge yet,” Virgil said.

Murton kept pressing. “Still a state trooper.”

“She doesn’t know the ins and outs of how we operate, Murt.”

“Seems like she did last night when she went with Mayo and Ortiz to Bates’s district office. Besides, if you go with the plan I suggested to bring her into the unit, this is nothing more than a little training exercise.”

“I haven’t agreed to that yet.”

“But you know you’re going to.”

Virgil gave up. He walked over to his office door, pulled it open and said, “Ortiz, Baker, step in.”

Once they were back in Virgil’s office, he said, “This is a simple arrest. Nothing cute, nothing fancy…just go over, get her in cuffs, Mirandize her, and get her down to Central Booking. Everybody clear on that?”

Baker and Ortiz said they understood, and turned to leave. They were right at the top of the stairs when Virgil called Ortiz back to his office doorway.

“Listen,” Virgil said quietly. “I know this might seem like pretty boring stuff to you, but to Baker it isn’t. Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her get hurt, yeah?”

Ortiz promised he’d watch out for Baker, then headed for the stairs. Virgil stood at the railing and watched them walk away. Something felt wrong, though if pressed, Virgil wouldn’t have been able to say what.

When Susan Carr heard the vehicle in her driveway, she peeked out the window and saw the Hispanic cop, Ortega, or Artez, or whatever the hell his name was. She couldn’t remember because she never really paid that much attention when they’d questioned her. She was too busy putting on her act, playing the grieving wife of a missing husband, one she already knew had been killed because the whole idea had been hers to begin with.

Her bags were packed, the money already transferred to a different offshore account, and now, here she was…about to be arrested. Carr knew they were going to arrest her because the Mexican-looking cop had brought a woman with him, one she’d never seen before.

She ran back to the bedroom and grabbed Allen’s shotgun from the closet. It’d make a hell of a racket, but what choice did she have? She was fighting for her freedom now. Isn’t that what patriots did? Wasn’t that what they’d been doing all along…fighting for the people so they could have access to energy produced by the sun? Carr thought so. Time to make a stand. She pumped the action on the shotgun, then made it to the front door just as the bell rang.

She waited nearly a full minute, let a sad expression form on her face, then—somewhat awkwardly—turned the door’s handle with her left hand, the shotgun held in her right, out of view between herself and the door. She looked Ortiz in the eye and said, “Hello, Detective. Thank you for coming over. I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve already heard on the news about what happened to the man who killed my poor Allen. A simple phone call would have sufficed.”

“That’s not why we’re here, ma’am,” Baker said. “May we step inside? We have some other information to share with you.”

Carr blinked in surprise. “Well, yes, of course. Please come in.”

Baker was pumped. She was so excited about the possibility of joining the MCU she spilled the beans to Ortiz on the way over. They talked it back and forth, and while Ortiz said that he personally would love to see her as part of the unit, he didn’t think there was room. “But hey, what do I know? Maybe Jonesy will come up with something.”

Baker nodded. “Yeah, Murt’s been working some sort of angle, but he hasn’t told me what it is. Jonesy says he’s thinking about it. I hope I’m not pushing too hard.”

“Ah, I doubt it,” Ortiz said. “Besides, you can only do the protective detail gig for so long before you get burnt out.”

“Tell me about it. I mean, I loved working with Sandy. Cora is different, but I like her just as much. There’s a lot of respect between us. But at the end of the day I feel like I could scream. It’s hours and hours of sheer boredom, followed by thirty seconds of hyper intensity when we’re walking from the car to the building.”

“I hear ya,” Ortiz said. “I’ve done it before, myself. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you have.” He turned the squad car in to Carr’s driveway. “But right now you have to forget about all that and focus on what’s in front of you. Sometimes even the easy arrests can go sideways.”

They climbed out of the car and began walking up the drive. Easy arrest or not, Baker was excited and on high alert. It reminded her of her days in the military, where they taught you to be ready for anything. When Baker pulled her weapon and held it behind her back, it was more of a reflex than an intentional act. And it almost saved everyone.

No matter Baker’s comments to Ortiz regarding the doldrums of her current position as Cora’s personal protective officer, or her own thoughts of the military training that had been drilled into her over the years, the dichotomy of those events seemed to merge of their own accord when she looked at Susan Carr and said, “That’s not why we’re here, ma’am. May we step inside? We have some other information to share with you.”

Baker was watching Carr open the door wider so she and Ortiz could go inside, but something wasn’t quite right. Carr was pulling the door open with her left hand while taking tiny little steps to keep herself blocked, her eyes never leaving Baker’s face.

And when Carr knew that Baker understood what she was doing, she gave up, stepped back, and brought the shotgun to bear.

But Baker was one step ahead of her. She pushed Ortiz away—who would later admit he didn’t realize how strong Baker actually was—and kicked the door as hard as she could. Carr got knocked backward by the impact and fell on her butt. The impact caused her to pull the trigger on the shotgun and Baker was right there.

Baker felt the blast go high, right over her head. She was so close she felt the heat and pressure of the shot. But in the moment, she never hesitated. She put two rounds into Susan Carr’s chest and watched as the light faded from her eyes. Baker kicked the shotgun out of reach, then she ran back outside to check on Ortiz, her ears ringing from the gunfire.

EPILOGUE

Two days later the Marion County medical examiner released his findings on Biggatto’s death. The manner was homicide—although no one ever found out who killed him—and the cause was listed as respiratory impairment due to sustained submersion in a liquid medium…which was medical jargon for ‘he drowned.’

The X-rays of Biggatto’s neck showed it was not broken, nor were any other bones in his body, and the toxicology results came back clean.

The sheriff’s office finally accepted Virgil and Murton’s version of events and considered the matter surrounding Biggatto’s death closed.

Federal authorities arrested Nathan and Carmen Bates. Over the next few weeks a full and complete investigation into the financial dealings between the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, IDEM, and EPN, revealed that the east coast energy companies had paid a premium on solar-generated power equal to seventy-five times the normal wholesale rate…all of which had been passed on to their customers. When the news broke and the word hit the financial markets, the Wall Street lawyers and their prosecutorial adversaries started lining up on both sides like it was the first play of the Super Bowl.

In a very carefully worded statement, a Federal Energy Regulatory Commission spokesperson stated that the attempt to take Carl Johnson’s land by eminent domain had been nothing more than a clerical mixup, a result of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing. When asked about Moses Biggatto, Congressman Bates, his wife, or any of the subsidiaries under EPN’s corporate umbrella, the Commission’s official response was the same with every question: “No comment.”

In a not so carefully worded TV interview, Carl Johnson told the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission that they could go pleasure themselves…except he didn’t actually use the word ‘pleasure.’ Mike Grey stood by his side, and when Johnson finished his statement, Grey spat a wad of tobacco juice at the reporter’s feet, then wiped his orange mountain-man beard with the heel of his hand. His middle finger might have been extended more than necessary, or maybe his other fingers just naturally curled inward.

The spat and the gesture that went with it had gone viral, but Grey being Grey, never knew it. He had a farm to take care of.

Baker’s shooting of Susan Carr was deemed justified by both the local authorities and the state police. At the final hearing behind closed doors, the superintendent of the state police awarded her a silver detective’s shield, and thanked her for her heroic efforts that in all likelihood saved the life of a fellow state detective.

Detective Rafael Ortiz had to watch a replay of Baker getting her silver shield on Mayo’s phone from a hospital bed. When Baker shoved him out of the way, he fell from the porch, hit the cement walkway just right, and shattered his pelvis. Happy to be alive, and doped up on the good stuff, he turned to his partner and said, “Don’t let her size fool you. She’s strong as an ox. Maybe next time we should let her throw the brick, huh?”

A few days later, Virgil walked into the statehouse and made his way to Cora’s office. He nodded at Baker, but didn’t speak to her at all.

Baker watched him go inside and thought, Shit. I pushed too hard.

Virgil and Cora were speaking in hushed tones, because there was a bit of truth to what Baker had told Murton…the walls were a little thin.

“I’d hate to lose her,” Cora said.

“Believe it or not, I understand how you feel,” Virgil said. “I can’t begin to tell you how many times Sandy and I have talked about her…how good she is at her job, and all that. But the truth of it is, if you don’t make a change, it sounds like you’re going to lose her anyway.”

“Because of me?” the governor asked.

“Not at all, Cora. She adores you. She’d give her life for you. But if she’s going to go, what would you rather have her do…work with the MCU, or sit along the side of the road with a radar gun?”

“Those aren’t the only two options, Jonesy, and you know it.”

“Right now they are. I spoke with the superintendent after he bumped her to detective. There’s no room for her anywhere—not as a detective, anyway—except at the MCU while Ortiz is recovering.”

“What about after he’s healed? Who would she partner with?”

“Well, we, uh, have a plan for that,” Virgil said. “Gonna need your help to pull it off though.”

Cora listened to Virgil’s plan, then said, “And everyone else is on board with this?”

“Yeah. But listen, to give credit where credit is due, the whole thing was Murt’s idea.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Cora said. “When do you want to do it?”

“How does tonight sound? We’ll do the deed, then all have dinner together.”

Cora told Virgil that would work, then said, “Make sure it isn’t grilled chicken, okay?”

Virgil ignored Cora’s comment and walked out of the governor’s office, and when he did, Baker tried to intercept him. He shook his head and said, “Not now, Baker. I’ve got too much on my plate as it is.” Then he walked away.

Later that same day, Rosencrantz was sitting in his squad car with Lucy. She looked over at him and said, “I’m nervous.”

“So am I,” Rosencrantz said.

The statement surprised Lucy. “Why in the world would you be nervous?”

Rosencrantz dodged the question by saying, “Ross brought something to my attention not long ago, and I’d like to speak with you about it.”

“What’d he say?”

“He told me that nearly every time I mention my house, I still refer to it as Carla’s. Have I done that with you? I honestly can’t remember if I have or not.”

Lucy took hold of his hand. “It’s happened a couple of times. But I want you to know that I understand why, and it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Thank you for saying that, but it still bugs the hell out of me. I’m doing my level best to move forward, and I’m deeply in love with you, Lucy Hall, but there’s this part of my brain that doesn’t seem to want to get on board with the fact that the house is just a house…and it’s all mine.”

Lucy leaned over and kissed Rosencrantz, then said, “I love you too. Give it time, Tom. Eventually you’ll come to see it as your own place. Yours and yours alone.”

Rosencrantz squinted an eye at Lucy and said, “But that’s not what I want. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“I don’t understand.” Then her eyes got wide and Lucy said, “Unless you’re asking what I think you’re asking.”

“I am,” Rosencrantz said. He pointed out the window at the building they were parked next to. “No matter what happens in there, I was wondering if you’d like to move in with me. Your name will go on the deed, and it will be our house. What do you say?”

Lucy popped the door, turned back to Rosencrantz before she got out, and said, “Forget about the paperwork and all that nonsense for now. Put me on the deed when you ask me to marry you.” Then she got out of the car, leaned down in the open window and said, “Let’s start packing up my apartment tonight. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it,” Rosencrantz said. “But good luck, anyway.”

When Lucy walked inside the Shelby County Sheriff’s office, the entire building seemed to be a live demonstration of what chaos looked like. The phone lines were all ringing at once, two deputies bumped into each other and dropped their paperwork all over the floor, someone was yelling something about the coffee maker not working again, and for some odd reason a baby goat was locked up inside the holding cell.

Lucy took it all in and found herself having second thoughts about asking for the job. But then she decided it was nothing more than a series of small situations that had managed to spin out of control all at once. It was, she thought—the goat notwithstanding—no different than working at the diner in Rushville.

She set her purse on the desk behind the counter, answered the phone lines as quick as she could by asking everyone to please hold, then helped the deputies get their paperwork in order. Once that was accomplished, she stepped into the break room and got the coffee maker working. She also grabbed an empty bowl from the cupboard, filled it with water, and placed it inside the holding cell for the goat.

She’d no sooner finished all that when Ed Henderson walked out of his office, looked around and said, “Hi Lucy. What the hell happened? I thought I was going to have to pull the fire alarm to regain control of this place.”

“I took care of it…although there are three people waiting on hold, and I don’t know what to do about the goat.”

Henderson ran his fingers through his hair. “Ah, Jesus…the goat. Don’t even ask.” Then, “Uh, what can I do for you? Is Rosie okay?”

Lucy smiled. “Yup. He’s waiting for me outside. I heard you might be looking for someone to take over for Betty.”

Henderson shook his head, then started for the door. “Give me two minutes. I’ll be right back.”

Henderson went outside and found Rosencrantz leaning against the hood of his squad car. He walked over that way, pointed his finger at him and said, “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” Then, with a smile on his face, he said, “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Rosencrantz laughed. “Gonna give her the job, huh?”

“Are you kidding? I’m already thinking about giving her a raise. You can pick her up at six tonight.” Then he turned to go back inside, but Rosencrantz stopped him.

“Hey, Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“She said yes. We’re going to start packing up her place tonight.”

Henderson smiled and said, “Told ya.”

Virgil, Sandy, Murton, Becky, and Mac were all sitting out on the back deck, waiting for Cora to arrive. Down on the helipad, Cool was tinkering with something inside the helicopter’s engine compartment.

“Think she’ll go for it?” Becky said.

“I don’t see why not,” Virgil said. “We’re going to need someone to cover for Ortiz for quite a while. Julia said he won’t be able to go back on active duty for months.”

“That’s not the part I’m talking about, and I think you know it.”

“Ah, she’ll do it,” Murton said.

“What makes you so sure?” Sandy asked.

Murton gave Sandy a big toothy smile and said, “Because it was my idea.” Then he tipped his chair back and peeked around toward the front of the house. “Here they come.”

Mac looked at Sandy and said, “I assume since your husband’s latest case has been closed that you’ll be back to work soon?”

“I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning,” Sandy said.

Cora walked up on the deck with Baker in tow. “What’s bright and early Monday morning?” Cora said.

“That’s when I get Sandy back,” Mac said. Then he took note of everyone present, and finished with: “My goodness…it’s like a gubernatorial gala around here. I’m glad we’ve got Baker on our side.”

Baker gave Mac a lazy nod, but didn’t say anything.

Virgil looked at Cora and said, “Are we going to drag the whole thing out, or are we just going to do it?”

“Let’s just get on with it,” Cora said. Then she turned to Virgil and Murton and said, “Walk with me. Baker, you too.”

Cora led them down toward the helipad, then they all walked about halfway out on the pier. Cora looked around and said, “You guys did this yourselves, huh?”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. It was a little more work than I imagined, but I think it looks pretty nice.”

Cora nodded her approval, then turned to Baker. “Cool will be giving me a ride back later in the helicopter. He’ll also be serving as my protective detail when he drives me home this evening. May I see your detective’s badge, please?”

Baker pulled her badge out and handed it over. Cora examined it closely, then looked at Baker and said, “I remember an incident from a number of years ago. I also remember it being one of the saddest moments I’ve ever experienced.”

Baker looked at Cora and said, “Ma’am?”

“I had to do something I took no pleasure in, but I did it anyway. Jonesy was pretty upset with me, but fortunately it all worked out for the best. I’m hoping you’ll agree.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, ma’am,” Baker said.

“No, I don’t suppose you are. How about I just show you?”

“Show me what?” Baker said.

“What Jonesy did when I fired him,” Cora said. Then she took Baker’s shiny new detective’s badge and flung it into the water, where it dropped out of sight. “God, that felt good.”

Then she looked directly at Baker and said, “You’re fired.”

Baker was so stunned she could barely get any words out. “But, I⁠—”

Cora held up her index finger. “Whoops, I almost forgot the best part.” Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a gold badge. “Welcome to the Major Crimes Unit, Baker. It’s been an honor to have you by my side. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m about to get a little misty. That’s my way of saying I need a drink.” Then she turned and started walking away.

“Madam Governor?” Baker said.

Cora stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Cora laughed and said, “Don’t thank me just yet. Jonesy has a few things to tell you. See you up at the house.”

Murton gave Baker a hug and said, “I told you he’d come around.”

Virgil gave his brother a frown. “What? I was on board with the idea the whole time. I just needed to think a few things through.”

Murton looked at Baker and rolled his eyes.

Baker tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. Once she got herself under control, she looked at Virgil and said, “Why did Cora say, ‘Don’t thank me yet?’”

Virgil didn’t get a chance to answer…at least not right away. Murton clapped Baker on the back. “Okay, I’m going to join Cora for that drink. I sure as hell don’t want to be around for this next part. Safety first, and all that. See ya.”

Virgil looked at his brother and said, “Chicken.”

Murton stopped. “This is the one and only time I hope you’re speaking of your grilling techniques.” Then he hurried off the pier.

Baker put her hands on her hips and said, “Jonesy, what the hell is going on?”

Virgil pulled his shoulders in and turned his palms up. “What? You wanted in, you’re in.”

“What was Cora talking about?”

Virgil didn’t realize it, but he found himself backing away from Baker as he spoke. He was inching closer and closer to the water the whole time. “It’s really just a few minor details.”

Baker was matching him step for step. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, you’ll be filling in for Ortiz until he returns to active duty.”

“Uh-huh. Then what?”

“Well, you’ll also cover for anyone who wants or needs to take advantage of their paid time off.” Virgil looked behind himself quickly and noticed he was running out of pier.

“Keep going,” Baker said. “What will I be doing when all of those things are covered?”

“Well, you’re a trained pilot. We thought that since you’re such a skilled aviator, we’d send you back to flight school to learn how to fly helicopters.” Virgil suddenly realized that he’d run out of pier. The heels of his boots were hanging off the edge. When he began to loose his balance, he started windmilling his arms to stay out of the water.

Baker was smiling, but there was no light in her eyes. She planted her feet, grabbed Virgil by the shirt and said, “But I don’t like helicopters, Jonesy. You know this.”

Virgil was still waving his arms in a circle like he was trying to take flight himself, his words coming faster and faster as he spoke. “But it’s the only way, Em. Really. I think with a little training, you’ll come to enjoy it. Plus, when you’re not working with us, you’ll be working with Cool, who, as you know, is really part of the team anyway, so it all works out. It’s like a hybrid position. It’s also very much like what Becky does for⁠—”

“Jonesy?”

“Yeah?”

Baker stepped closer, gave Virgil a kiss on the cheek and said, “Thank you.”

Virgil let out a nervous little laugh. “You’re welcome. Jeez, for a minute there, I thought you were going to⁠—”

Then Baker let go of Virgil’s shirt. When he hit the water, everyone up on the deck cheered. Baker gave them all a perfect stage bow, then walked over to Cool, who high-fived her, and said, “Jets, my ass.”

Baker just laughed and kept on walking.

Virgil dragged himself out of the pond and let everyone have their fun. It wasn’t long before he was laughing right along with them. He went inside, took a quick shower, changed clothes, then fired up the grill and made steaks for everyone.

They came out perfect.

Later that evening, after nearly everyone had eaten and left, Sandy was inside helping Huma get the boys ready for bed, and that left Virgil and Baker alone on the deck.

“I’ll tell you something, Jonesy…something I probably should have said a long time ago, but this is a hell of a nice setup you and your family have here.”

“Thanks, Em. I hope you know when you use the word ‘family,’ that you’re included as well.”

“Ah…I know. Murton told me as much. And thank you. But I’m speaking of the property, its location, and the fact that you and Murton are so close...in more ways than one.”

“I’m a lucky guy, Em. Listen, are you okay with taking on more flight training…you know, doing the whole helicopter bit when needed?”

“Sure. Want to know why I’ve never liked being on board one of those things?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“It’s because I wasn’t in control. But teach me how to fly them, and it won’t bother me a bit.”

Virgil gave her a friendly frown. “Well, that’s good to know, but couldn’t you have just told me that instead of letting me fall into the pond?”

“Of course. But it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.”

Virgil shook his head and laughed. “Well, you’re certainly going to fit right in.”

“Hope so,” Baker said. “There is one thing that’s bothering me, though.”

“What’s that?”

“When the superintendent gave me my detective’s badge, it was the first time I’d ever had one. It might sound silly to you, but there was some real sentimental value to that thing for me, except now it’s gone.”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all, Em. You’ll get it back.”

“How?”

Virgil thought back on the day he got his own badge back, and how it all happened. He looked at Baker, but pointed at the pond. “I’m just guessing, mind you, but I think you’ll probably find it resting on top of that cross down by the water’s edge.”

Baker turned, saw her silver detective’s badge right where Virgil said it would be, then turned back and said, “How in the heck did you do that?”

Virgil looked down at the cross and smiled at his father. “Ah…it’s a long story. Maybe one of these days I’ll tell you more about it.”

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

I hope you enjoyed this story. If by chance you missed this book’s dedication at the beginning, it reads as follows:

In loving memory of Rex Horein:

Farmer, Father Figure, Mentor, and Friend.

I wrote the vast majority of the manuscript with a broken heart. In fact, there were many times I didn’t think I’d be able to finish this one because I was quite literally sick with grief after Rex’s passing. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I managed to listen to the voice that urged me on and kept me going. The voice, you see, belonged to the man to whom this book is dedicated.

I had the honor of knowing Rex Horein for nearly 53 years. Rex was many things to me; chief among them, a surrogate father when I needed him the most.

When I was only ten years old we moved to Wakarusa, Indiana, and it wasn’t long before my family and Rex’s all became part of each other’s lives. Rex taught me how to drive when I was only eleven years old. He taught me the meaning behind a hard day’s work and the self-worth that went along with it.

He also taught me that if you believed in what you did, the fruits of your labor would come to pass in ways you might not ever imagine. He was positive, friendly, kind, funny, full of life, slow to anger, and quick to laugh.

And even if you could somehow manage to brush all that aside, know this: Rex was a farmer. He fed people. He fed his family, he fed his neighbors, and in his own way, he helped feed a nation.

I’ll tell you something else, and it’s the God’s honest truth: He fed me when I needed it most. It didn’t come from his barn, his fields, his kitchen, or his freezer. It came from a place where I believe all farmers live: It came from his heart. That, my friends, is a true legacy.

Rex will be forever missed by many people—myself included—until the moment arrives when we all meet again, when our sins are forgiven and our past mistakes are long forgotten. It’s a place where I believe we will all live under the bright and shining sun in unity, at peace with each other, the way we were always meant to be.

One big family,

Thank you for reading State of Vengeance. If you’re enjoying the series, then there’s good news:

Virgil and the gang will be back soon in

State of Wrath.

— Also by Thomas Scott —

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Thomas Scott is the author of the Virgil Jones series, and the Jack Bellows series of novels. He lives in northern Indiana with his lovely wife, Debra, and his trusty sidekicks and writing buddies, Lucy, the cat, and Buster, the dog.

You may contact Thomas anytime via his website ThomasScottBooks.com where he personally answers every single email he receives. Be sure to sign up to be notified of the latest release information.

Also, if you enjoy the Virgil Jones series of books, leaving an honest review on Amazon.com helps others decide if a book is right for them. Just a sentence or two makes all the difference in the world. Plus, rumor has it that it’s good for the soul.

For information on future books in the Virgil Jones series, or to connect with the author, please visit:

ThomasScottBooks.com

And remember:

Virgil and the gang will return soon in State of Wrath!