I walked into the side entrance of the Governor’s mansion without knocking, stepped through a short hallway, around a corner, and into the kitchen. The Governor’s chief of staff, Bradley Pearson was already there along with the Governor, and Officer Cauliffer. I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Morning Governor,” I said by way of a greeting.
“Jonesy,” the Governor said. “What do we know so far?” Then, without waiting for an answer, “And perhaps we should excuse Officer Cauliflower here.”
Cauliffer reddened. “It’s, uh, Cauliffer sir.”
The Governor tipped his head sideways and closed one eye. “Yes, of course. Sorry. Cauliffer. Got it.”
I caught Cauliffer’s eyes and gave him a nod that said, ‘you’re done in here.’ Cauliffer gave me a look back that said all at once, ‘got it’ and ‘thank God’ and went back outside.
The Governor looked at Cora. “Is Sandy out there? Is she hurt?”
I thought, hmm. Cora looked at me but spoke to the Governor. “She’s fine Governor. But Trooper Burns is dead, along with your neighbor directly across the street.”
I could see the Governor’s jaw muscles clench tight. “Yes, I know. It’s all over my Blackberry already.” He held his phone up and wiggled it in the air, then tossed it on the counter. Governor Hewitt McConnell was ex-military and looked it. Tall, hard and lean with a military buzz cut, slightly gray at the temples, clear blue eyes and a salt and pepper goatee he wore off and on. Today it was on. The gray in his hair and beard contrasted perfectly against his black over black three-piece suit. Pearson, his Chief of Staff, was the polar opposite. Narrow shoulders, a soft stomach that strained the buttons on his wrinkled shirt, and a polyester suit that looked capable of surviving nuclear devastation. His hair was drug store bottle black but left gray along the sides. The common consensus was he was trying for Mitt Romney, but the reality was he looked more like Pauley Walnuts from the Sopranos.
It was Pearson who spoke next. “Jonesy, ever hear of a guy named Samuel Pate?”
“Sermon Sam, the Preacher Man? Sure, who hasn’t,” I said. Samuel Pate was something of a minor celebrity in our state, a televangelist who somehow managed to attain an impressive measure of financial success over a very short period of time despite of his lack of education, verifiable credentials, and physical shortcomings. Or perhaps because of them. “Why do you ask?”
Bradley Pearson looked at me and asked a question of his own as if mine were of little importance. “What do you know about Sunrise Bank? Do you have an account there, or know anyone who works at their institution?”
“That’s three questions in a row. Which would you like me to answer,” I said. “And why does it suddenly feel like I’m the only one in the room who doesn’t know what’s going on here?”
The Governor caught the frustration in my tone and held up his hand in a peaceful manner before speaking. “You’ll have to forgive Bradley, Detective. At times I think he wishes he would have chosen a career in law enforcement. Or maybe it’s my fault. I often let him ask the difficult questions for me.”
“Maybe if we started at the beginning,” Cora said.
Pearson let out a heavy sigh, then started over. “We don’t think this attack, these murders…we don’t think the Governor was targeted. At all. We want to be clear on that. There may be political implications, and we’d like it handled in a manner befitting the office of the Governor of the State of Indiana.”
I don’t like Bradley Pearson. I know of no one who does. “I’m not sure what that means, Bradley. And who exactly is Franklin Dugan?” I asked. “The name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it.”
“He is, I mean was, the President of Sunrise Bank,” the Governor said. “He was also one of my closest friends.” I saw Pearson look at the Governor with an expression on his face that indicated there was more. The Governor seemed to notice too, because he puffed out his cheeks, exhaled loudly through his mouth and said, “He was also one of my biggest campaign contributors.
“I want you to catch this son of a bitch, Jonesy,” the Governor said. “Or kill him. Sooner the better. Elections are only nine months away, and voters have a memory for this kind of thing.”
“Especially if your platform was a reduction in capitol crime,” Cora added. Sort of dry.
I winced when she said it, but the governor just pointed a finger at her and said, “Exactly.” He stood, shot his cuffs and made a circular motion with his hand at Pearson. “Cora will fill you in on the details, Jonesy. I appreciate your efforts. You’re sure Sandy’s okay?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. Thought, hmm, again.
The governor shook his head and looked at no one. “Jesus, Barney Burns. Who’d have ever thought…” Then to Pearson. “Where’s officer Cauliflower? Perhaps he can clear us a path out of here so we can get downtown.”
I looked at Cora and was about to say something when Pearson stuck his head back in. “Uh, I just want to be sure we’re clear on something. The Governor, when he said ‘catch him or kill him’….what he was really saying was ‘catch him.’ Just so we’re clear on that, okay?”
Once Pearson was finally gone, I looked at Cora and said, “What aren’t they saying?”
“You never answered Pearson’s question. What do you know about Sunrise Bank?”
“What’s to know? They’re a bank, just like any other, aren’t they?”
Cora pursed her lips. “In many ways, they are. But did you know that there’s a bank up in the northern part of the state-I can’t remember the name-but they’re based out of South Bend. Strictly local, people walk in and out all day and deposit their checks, take out loans, the whole thing. Just a regular local bank, but, they also happen to be the third largest specialty financer in the entire country. Garbage trucks, rental cars, aircraft for regional air carriers, the works. If it runs or flies, they’ve got their hand in it.”
“Fascinating stuff, Cora, really. But what does that have to do with Sunrise or Dugan?”
“Care to guess where Pate’s ministry does their banking?”
“So like the bank up in South Bend, Sunrise does specialty financing, right?”
“You got it, Jones man. And it’s big business, at least according to the Governor. We’re talking billions of dollars in outstanding loans to religious institutions all across the country. Big, big stuff.”
I thought about that for a few minutes. “If they’re doing that much business, what’s the tie-in with Pate? He’s regional at best. Why has his name come up?”
“Pate just borrowed over five million dollars from Dugan’s bank to buy a run down church in Broad Ripple.”
“Maybe I’m not quite the detective I think I am, because I still don’t see how that would make Pate a suspect.”
“Maybe you should go over to Dugan’s office and look things over. You’ll probably revise your last statement after you do. I’ve attached his office as part of the crime scene and I sent Rosencrantz and Donatti over there as soon as I heard what happened out here. They’ve got his office locked down and are personally standing guard outside until you get there. There are only two things on Dugan’s desk. One is a copy of Pate’s financials and the other is a copy of a Texas Department of Insurance investigator’s report. They have an open file on him. He started his ministry there five years ago with the proceeds from an insurance claim that paid out over a million bucks when his Houston church turned to a pile of ash one night. He brought the money here and set up shop all over again. He calls it Grace Community Church, and it’s mortgaged to the hilt.
“And the church over in Broad Ripple? The one he just bought? It looks like it’s being held together with baling twine. I think they have a congregation of about thirty people, all dirt poor. The building is about to be condemned by the city, the lot can’t be worth more than about fifty grand and the victim, Franklin Dugan is the one who approved the loan to Pate. He’s also the guy who financed the vast majority of the Governor’s campaign when he ran for office. Word on the street is ol’ Sermon Sam is thinking about making a run at the Governor’s chair. A quick five million would make a nice campaign starter fund, don’t you think?”
Then, as if she hadn’t quite made her point clear to me, she added, “Politics. It’s good stuff, huh? By the way, Rosencrantz says the bank is calling an emergency board meeting. Should be starting anytime now. You might want to stop by at some point. When you get there, ask for Margery Brennan. She’s Dugan’s secretary, or personal assistant or whatever they’re called these days. Keep me in the loop, will you?”
I walked outside and back down to the street and saw Sandy at the back of an EMS van getting her blood pressure taken. The two news helicopters still circled overhead, their news feeds probably streaming live video of the scene direct to anyone who had their television set turned on, though there wasn’t much to be seen from the air. The crime scene technicians had erected two tents with side flaps, one covering Dugan’s body at the end of his drive, the other over the top of Trooper Burns and his squad car. I estimated a total of about fifty uniformed officers on the scene from all three jurisdictions, City, County, and State. Metro Homicide would be in charge of the scene, and my team, while technically over the Metro Homicide Task Force, would do what we do best: work the fringes, the areas outside of normal investigative procedures.
I got to Sandy just as the paramedics were finishing up. “How you doin?”
“I’m okay. Jesus, what a mess, huh?”
“That about says it. So, you’ve had a little while to think about it. Give me something I can use,” I said.
The paramedic interrupted. “If it can wait, I’d like to get her downtown. Her blood pressure is off the charts. I mean way up, and so is her pulse. You said you bumped your head, Miss?”
Sandy shot the medic a look. “It’s Detective. And yes, I bumped my head, but it’s no big deal. It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Nevertheless, we’ve got to have you looked at. You may be concussed. The docs will know for sure.”
Sandy turned to me. “Jonesy, can you do something about this?”
“I sure can. See you at the hospital.”
“Jonesy.”
“No way, Sandy. You’re going. That’s a direct order.”
“Okay, okay. But listen, before I do, you said you wanted something you could use. I think we’ve got two shooters, both with silenced weapons. The shots were muffled, like a quiet backfire from a car engine. Not even that loud really. The loudest thing I heard was the ratcheting cycle after the shots. If it wasn’t for that, I might not have even thought they were shots at all, you know?”
“Why two shooters?”
“Well, it’s the sequence. I’ve been going over it in my head. First I heard a pop, then another pop before I heard the cycle action. Then there were two more pops closer together and two fast ratcheting sounds. So that means one shot from something, a rifle maybe, that doesn’t cycle. Something with a bolt action? I’ll tell you something else too, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that the first pop sounded different-quieter-than the rest. So, two victims, two guns, two shooters, right?”
“Sounds right. But, you know, if you heard it wrong, missed the first ratchet because you weren’t listening for it…”
“No, I wondered about that. But I didn’t miss it. It was quiet this morning. I was quiet. And I was close.”
“Okay. You can write it up later. Right now you’re going in to get checked out.”
She raised her eyebrow at him, then let it go. “You think this is about the Governor?”
“Have you met Pearson yet?” I said.
“The Governor’s snake? Yeah, we met a few days ago. Hell of a guy.”
“Isn’t he though? Anyway, they-the Governor and Pearson-made it clear this had nothing to do with them, or at least they don’t want it to look like it did.”
“And you think different?”
“I like to keep an open mind. The Governor asked about you, by the way.”
“Yeah?” Sandy said.
“Yeah. Twice. Say, I didn’t see Mrs. McConnell up at the house. Where’s she?”
Sandy let her eyelids droop a quarter inch. “She’s been out of town for the last few days. Sister in Oregon or something like that.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do, Jonesy.”
I bit the inside of my lower lip. “Get checked out, Sandy. You did good. Really.”
Sandy just stared at me.
I looked around until I saw Metro’s lead detective, Ron Miles, speaking with one of the crime scene techs just outside the tent next to Dugan’s body. Ron’s white hair was mussed out of place and he kept running his hand over it, trying to flatten it to the top of his head. The knees on his pants were covered in dirt and grime.
“Sorry about Burns, Jonesy. Somebody told me he was your training officer?”
“Yeah, he was.”
“So, the State getting in on this?”
“Yeah, something like that,” I said. “The Governor wants us to take a peek. See if we can get in front of it sort of quick. We’ll probably just shadow you guys. See what we can see.”
“In other words, we do all the work and you guys get all the credit.”
“Naw, you can have the credit. Like I said, we just want to try to get in front of it, if we can.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s going to be easy. We don’t have jack-shit on this one.”
“Tell me what you’ve got so far,” I said.
“You spoke with Sandy?”
“Just now.”
“Okay,” Miles said. “Well, there’s that, and not much else. Not yet anyway, and most of it’s speculation at this point. One of the techs found the slug, or I guess I should say what was left of the slug that took Burns out. It cracked the front window, but didn’t penetrate. It ricocheted off the window and imbedded in the top of the dash. He says it looks like it was probably from a. 223, but he says he can’t be sure until they get it back to the lab for tests.”
“What about Dugan?”
“One to the head, two in the chest. Coroner says he’ll get what’s left of the slug fragments when he does the post. There’s some tattooing on his skull from the powder burns, so it was up close and personal.” Miles pulled the tent flap back and they stepped inside. As bad as Burns looked, Dugan was somehow worse. He ended up flat on his back, his arms out at his sides like a kid ready to make an angel in the snow. One of his slippers had fallen off his foot and lay next to his hip. I looked for a full minute then stepped back outside the tent and let the flap close after Ron stepped out. “Jesus,” I said to no one in particular.
“Yeah,” Miles said.
“So, what do you think about Sandy’s take? Two shooters?”
“I think it works. Dugan was close… foot, foot and a half. Burns wasn’t. So, if Sandy’s got the timing right-and why wouldn’t she-there must have been two. I mean, how do you shoot from a distance with one weapon and then take another weapon and run over and pop someone up close? Or better yet, why? Just doesn’t add up.”
“What if she heard it wrong?”
Miles flattened his hair with his palm. “Well, I just don’t think she did. Plus, I’ll tell you something, even if she did hear it wrong and there was only one shooter, what’s he gonna do? Take out Dugan up close and then run away with Burns just sitting there? That doesn’t work. And neither does taking out Burns first from a distance and then walking up and popping Dugan. So I think she’s on the money. Two shooters, two weapons, all at the same time.”
We talked it over for a few more minutes running through different variations on the theme, but in the end I thought the scenario held up.
“Alright, keep doing what you’re doing here,” I said. “I’m going to work a specific angle, but I want you to run this by the numbers. Let’s not let anything fall through the cracks.”
“Like I ever do. You know who’s got the best closure rate in Metro, right?”
“Yeah, I know. So do what you do.”
“I intend to. So, what’s the angle?”
I looked at him for a second. “Uh, it’s sort of complicated. Cora’s got us looking at something.”
Miles looked away for a moment, as if studying something off in the distance. “Well, I’ll keep you updated with whatever we find,” he said.
“That’ll do,” I said. I took one last look around. “Alright, I’m heading out. Find us something, Ron. I need a thread to pull on.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Jonesy. This one has that ‘might kick our ass’ sort of feel. Is this about the Governor, you think?”
“Ever met Bradley Pearson?” I said.
“Isn’t that the Governor’s chief weenie? I heard he’s sort of a snake…”