Read Online STATE OF ANGER: A Virgil Jones Mystery Series (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 1) by Thomas Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thomas Scott
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those rum
punches and get him into a man thong on the beach. You might not ever see him
again.”
“Ah, Margery, come on...”
“What?”
“I’ve got to work with the guy.
Now every time I look at him…”
10
__________
V irgil
could feel the day starting to slip away. He had a court appearance scheduled
from a previous case in a little over two hours. He thought about calling
Sandy—even picked up the phone to do it—but then tossed it back on
the passenger seat of the truck. The doctor had told her to get some rest. No
sense in bugging her if she was actually doing what she’d been told. His
thoughts of Sandy made him think about what she’d said about the Governor’s
wife being out of town…how she’d been there with the Governor at his home, at
night, just the two of them…
But those thoughts were nothing
more than basic jealousy.
So. Sandy. Virgil had been drawn
to her immediately. The feeling was foreign to him. It made him feel like a
dopey little schoolboy. A middle-aged dopey schoolboy. Because they were on the
same unit and Virgil was her boss, the politics of it could get complicated.
There were rules about those sorts of things.
But… maybe fuck the politics.
And the rules .
__________
Virgil had never seen Samuel
Pate’s residence, but he had a rough idea where his house was located. One of
the television stations in town had done a feature story on Pate’s home a few
months ago and Virgil remembered the story mostly because he was so amazed at
the grandiosity on display from someone who had made their fortune by
instilling the fear of God into people who probably could not afford to buy a
second-hand bible.
The documents he’d collected from
Franklin Dugan’s office sat on the seat next to him and Virgil thought he
should at least glance at them before trying to talk to Pate. He turned into a
gas station just off the highway, picked up the papers and began to read. He
spent the better part of an hour trying to make sense of what he saw in the
documents, but after reading through them three times he discovered he had no
more detailed information than what Cora had given him earlier: Samuel Pate was
under investigation for insurance fraud out of Texas, he was talking publicly
about running for the office of Governor of the state of Indiana, and he
apparently had a banker who’d been either very generous or foolhardy. Maybe
both.
When he finally turned into Pate’s
drive, Virgil realized the story he’d seen on television a few months back did
not do justice to the level of extravagance and excess in this man’s life. On
T.V. Pate preached the way to heaven was to give most, if not all of your
earthly belongings to God through his ministry, yet it appeared he lived his
life as if the very rules he preached somehow did not apply to him.
The driveway was almost a quarter
mile in length and at the far end it split into two lanes, one that led around
the side of the house to a five-car garage, the other to a circular turn-about
in front of the three story red-bricked mansion. Virgil parked his truck just
past the front door then walked up and rang the bell. When the front door
opened he felt a surge of cool, conditioned air brush past, but when he saw the
woman on the other side of the threshold who smiled at him and said his name
aloud he was left off balance and suddenly at a loss for words.
“Well, Virgil Jones. What on earth
are you doing here? Come in, won’t you please?”
Her accent was manufactured, acquired
from her time spent in Texas, the way a person’s skin will darken after weeks
or months spent outdoors in the summer sun. But Virgil knew she had always
spoken with a Midwestern twang found the sound of the words that came from her
mouth as contrived as any meaning or sincerity they might have held.
In high school her name had been
Amanda Habern, but her married name now was Pate. Virgil had heard that a
number of years ago she and Sermon
punches and get him into a man thong on the beach. You might not ever see him
again.”
“Ah, Margery, come on...”
“What?”
“I’ve got to work with the guy.
Now every time I look at him…”
10
__________
V irgil
could feel the day starting to slip away. He had a court appearance scheduled
from a previous case in a little over two hours. He thought about calling
Sandy—even picked up the phone to do it—but then tossed it back on
the passenger seat of the truck. The doctor had told her to get some rest. No
sense in bugging her if she was actually doing what she’d been told. His
thoughts of Sandy made him think about what she’d said about the Governor’s
wife being out of town…how she’d been there with the Governor at his home, at
night, just the two of them…
But those thoughts were nothing
more than basic jealousy.
So. Sandy. Virgil had been drawn
to her immediately. The feeling was foreign to him. It made him feel like a
dopey little schoolboy. A middle-aged dopey schoolboy. Because they were on the
same unit and Virgil was her boss, the politics of it could get complicated.
There were rules about those sorts of things.
But… maybe fuck the politics.
And the rules .
__________
Virgil had never seen Samuel
Pate’s residence, but he had a rough idea where his house was located. One of
the television stations in town had done a feature story on Pate’s home a few
months ago and Virgil remembered the story mostly because he was so amazed at
the grandiosity on display from someone who had made their fortune by
instilling the fear of God into people who probably could not afford to buy a
second-hand bible.
The documents he’d collected from
Franklin Dugan’s office sat on the seat next to him and Virgil thought he
should at least glance at them before trying to talk to Pate. He turned into a
gas station just off the highway, picked up the papers and began to read. He
spent the better part of an hour trying to make sense of what he saw in the
documents, but after reading through them three times he discovered he had no
more detailed information than what Cora had given him earlier: Samuel Pate was
under investigation for insurance fraud out of Texas, he was talking publicly
about running for the office of Governor of the state of Indiana, and he
apparently had a banker who’d been either very generous or foolhardy. Maybe
both.
When he finally turned into Pate’s
drive, Virgil realized the story he’d seen on television a few months back did
not do justice to the level of extravagance and excess in this man’s life. On
T.V. Pate preached the way to heaven was to give most, if not all of your
earthly belongings to God through his ministry, yet it appeared he lived his
life as if the very rules he preached somehow did not apply to him.
The driveway was almost a quarter
mile in length and at the far end it split into two lanes, one that led around
the side of the house to a five-car garage, the other to a circular turn-about
in front of the three story red-bricked mansion. Virgil parked his truck just
past the front door then walked up and rang the bell. When the front door
opened he felt a surge of cool, conditioned air brush past, but when he saw the
woman on the other side of the threshold who smiled at him and said his name
aloud he was left off balance and suddenly at a loss for words.
“Well, Virgil Jones. What on earth
are you doing here? Come in, won’t you please?”
Her accent was manufactured, acquired
from her time spent in Texas, the way a person’s skin will darken after weeks
or months spent outdoors in the summer sun. But Virgil knew she had always
spoken with a Midwestern twang found the sound of the words that came from her
mouth as contrived as any meaning or sincerity they might have held.
In high school her name had been
Amanda Habern, but her married name now was Pate. Virgil had heard that a
number of years ago she and Sermon
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