that the Guard needed to cover the areas where the politicians were screaming the loudest.
The major added, “The way we’re set up, they’ll hit some kind of patrol if they try to move, unless they’ve already gotten outside the interdiction area. Then, you know, all bets are off.”
Virgil stopped and saw Duke, who had nothing much to say except that everybody was working, and it was killing his overtime budget. When he walked out of the office he glanced across the street where a number of television trucks were parked, and at that moment, Daisy Jones came around the back of the truck, saw him, did a double take, and raised a hand. Virgil went that way.
Jones was thin, blond, and fortyish, or maybe forty-five-ish, and to Virgil’s knowledge had a fondness for little white truck-driver pills, which she bought from little white truck drivers. She was also one of the smarter on-camera people he’d met; a fairly good reporter, all told.
She met Virgil in the middle of the street and took his hand and said, “Have I mentioned recently just how attractive you are?”
“No, and I can use all of the flattery you’ve got. I’m feeling pretty ragged,” Virgil said.
“I might have a few teeny, tiny questions about this murder rampage, as well,” she said. “For the Twin Cities’ most important news outlet.”
“And I might have a few teeny, tiny answers for you, if you’re willing to deal.”
“If you want to meet back at your motel, I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I’m not strong enough for that,” Virgil said. “I was thinking more in terms of you putting up the BCA phone number when I tell you how Tom McCall and Becky Welsh had sex after killing one of their victims.”
“Oh, Jesus, that’s a deal,” she said. “As long as you don’t lie too much.”
“I’ll lie hardly at all,” Virgil said. “The other thing is, you have to make it look like you spontaneously caught me in the street.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “You go back in the sheriff’s office and look out the window, and when you see me doing a stand-up, you walk out and I’ll run over and grab you.”
“Two minutes,” Virgil said.
“Make it five minutes,” she said. “I’ve got to powder my nose and fix my lipstick-we’re also shooting for network.”
Virgil went back across the street to the LEC, down in the basement canteen where he spent a few minutes in the men’s room sprucing himself up, then got a Rice Krispies marshmallow bar from a vending machine, and a Diet Coke. He went back upstairs and ate the marshmallow bar and watched as Jones set up in the street, and started doing the stand-up. Virgil took a swig of the Coke, ran his tongue over his teeth to make sure no marshmallow was stuck between them, and walked outside.
Jones was looking at the camera, then half-turned to gesture toward the LEC, did another double take when she saw Virgil walking down the sidewalk, and called, “Virgil Flowers, Virgil Flowers.” She led the cameraman over, at the same time saying into the microphone, “This is Virgil Flowers, the unconventional Bureau of Criminal Apprehension agent who brought in Thomas McCall yesterday. Virgil, could you answer a question for our audience?”
“The, uh, media relationship is being handled through Sheriff Duke’s office.”
“Just one question,” Daisy urged. “There is a very strong rumor going around that Becky Welsh and Tom McCall may have had a sexual encounter in the bed of one of their victims, moments after shooting that victim. Is that true? Can you tell us if that’s true?”
Virgil seemed to consider for a moment, then said, “Uh, I had a conversation with Mr. McCall as we were driving to the Marshall law enforcement center yesterday, and he indicated that Becky Welsh had initiated a sexual encounter with him at one of the victims’ houses, shortly after shooting the victim. We do have some physical evidence for such an encounter, but I, uh, well, that’s all I’d prefer to say at the moment.”
“So you confirm that.”
“I’ll just stick with what I said. Nice to see you, Daisy.”
“Nice to see you, Virg.”
Virgil walked away and heard her pumping excitement into her voice as she recapped the interview. He was back in his truck, getting ready to pull out, when she rattled up next to the driver’s-side window in her high heels and said, “Thanks. I owe you. And thanks for using my name.”
“Remember to put the BCA phone number up,” Virgil said.
“Would you tell me why you’re doing that?”
“No.”
“You’re trying to get Becky to call you, aren’t you?” she said. “You’re trying to get her to call, because. . because you can track the cell phone tower, and then. . Oh, my God! You’re so. . manipulative.”
“If you put that on the air, I’ll strangle you and throw your body in the Minnesota River,” Virgil said.
“I won’t say a word, until you catch her,” Jones said. “Then I’ll say a lot of words.”
The days were growing longer as they moved deeper into April, but it was late enough in the afternoon that Virgil wasn’t inclined to start the road search he’d plotted out with the prison inmates. With Jenkins and Shrake running late, it’d be nearly dark before they arrived.
And then, since every farmer within two hundred miles was now guarding his property with a shotgun in his hand, approaching lonely houses in the dark did not seem like a good idea. And if you weren’t killed by a farmer, you just might find Sharp and Welsh, who’d light you up before you knew what was happening.
Virgil called Jenkins and told him to call Shrake, and that both of them should check into a motel somewhere close by. “Call me tonight and let me know where you are. We’ll head out on the road early tomorrow.”
“How early?”
“Right after it gets light.”
Virgil looked at his phone for a minute, then dialed. He got John O’Leary on the second ring. “This is Virgil Flowers, with the BCA.”
“You got the rest of ’em?”
“Not yet. I’m glad I caught you. I need to talk to you.”
“Come on over. We’re all here-the funeral’s tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“Come on over, Virgil. I wanted to thank you anyway, for catching the first one of those little vermin.”
On his way over, he called the Lyon County sheriff, in Marshall, and asked if McCall had gotten representation.
“Yeah, he’s signed up with one of our public defenders, Mickey Burden. You need to talk to her?”
“Yeah, and maybe the county attorney. Got the numbers?”
He called the county attorney first, a Josh Meadows. “I talked to Mickey an hour ago. She’s a little pissed about that interview you did with Channel Three, and about the questioning of McCall, when you were driving him in.”
“It was all aboveboard,” Virgil said.
“That’s one of the things she’s pissed about. It’s all right there on the tape,” Meadows said.
“You gave her the tape?”
“No, but we described it to her, as a courtesy. We’re going to have to give it up pretty quick, though. She’s going for a court order right now.”
“As a personal favor to me, and since she’s going to get it anyway, could you give her a copy now? Or let her listen to it?” Virgil asked.
“I could, if you tell me why,” Meadows said.
“Because I want her to hear that McCall was holding out a critical piece of information-and that if I don’t get it, that’s another strike against him. I’ve got another thing going here, which I will tell you about when I see you, but it’s complicated. I need McCall to talk to me.”
“All right. I’ll talk to her, see what she says,” Meadows said.
