Voodoo Daddy (A Virgil Jones Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

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,