me, and my aid, Bradley Pearson.”
“Your wife doesn’t even know?”
The Governor took a sip of scotch then shook his head. “No, she does not. We were never able to conceive and I thought the cruelty of it all, the fact that I had a child by another woman, would break us apart. So no, I never told her. How did you put it together?”
“Murton had a lot to do with it,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a copy of the birth certificate that had been in the safe deposit box and handed it to the Governor. “He gave me this. Amanda Pate had the original before Murton got hold of it. How she got it, I don’t know. I guess we’ll never know.”
The Governor passed a stack of pictures over to me and I leafed through them. They were all pictures of Sidney Wells, Jr. at various ages in her life. And then he told me his story.
“Her name was Sara Wells. One night I stayed at the hotel where she worked. It was as simple as that. She was stuck in a bad marriage, I was stuck in a bad hotel, and when we met in the bar, I’m telling you, Jonesy, it was magic. She stayed with me that night and we met every chance we got for the next year and a half.”
“And when you found out she was pregnant?”
“I’m not sure I understand your question. Is it my honor you’re asking about?”
“I’m asking you what happened next.”
The Governor looked at nothing and spoke to me. “She told me she knew the baby was mine. She said she knew it to be true because Sid had been to the doctor. He had a low count or something. I asked her to divorce Sid so she could marry me, and she told me she would. My God, Jonesy, we were happy. That’s where we were when everything changed.
“My call sign that day was Voodoo. You know what’s funny? I remember almost every single detail of that day except the one that matters. The one where I picked up the phone and filed my flight plan. I had the option of going to Indy or Ft. Wayne first. For some reason I picked Indy. If I’d have picked Ft. Wayne…” He let it hang there.
“She might still be alive today,” I said.
The Governor pointed his finger at me. “Wrong. She would still be alive. I’d probably be flying for the airlines and we’d have a ton of kids. Instead, the woman I loved and my only child are dead because of me.”
“Governor…”
He held up his hand to stop me. What he said next didn’t surprise me, but it made my stomach turn just the same. “I’m sorry about your father, Jonesy. I really am. But what’s done is done. I see no criminal involvement on my part in this matter. The Pate’s and the Wells’ are gone. I’ll consider the matter closed as soon as I have my daughter Sidney’s original birth certificate. You do have that, don’t you?”
I did indeed have it. It was in my pocket.
I had two choices.
One, give the birth certificate to the Governor and be complicit in hiding his secret, one that would all but destroy his political career if it ever came out, or two, include the birth certificate in the official file, and let the Governor fend for himself.
I stared at him for a long time.
He stared right back.
“You put me on Pate right out of the gate,” I said. “Why?”
“That was Bradley’s doing, though I agreed to it,” the Governor said. “We knew he was being looked at by the FBI, but they were dragging their feet.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely accurate, Sir. In fact, with all due respect, it’s flat out wrong.”
“It’s neither right or wrong, Jonesy. It’s politics. How long do you think I would have lasted in my next campaign against Sermon Sam once he started digging up old news stories about me punching out of my plane and taking out that hotel? Or better yet, how long would I have lasted once everyone found out that the woman I was sleeping with, the woman who just happened to be married to that idiot Wells was at work and in the hotel that morning? Not very long, I can tell you that,” the Governor said.
“And what about the shootings?”
The Governor took another drink of his scotch. “What about them? Sidney Wells was a psychopath. He was trying to destroy me by murdering family members of anyone and everyone he thought was even remotely responsible for the crash that day. He knew all along I was Sidney, Junior’s father. If Pate’s wife and my daughter were having some sort of illicit affair, as you allege, then the plan must have been put together by them. Who knows?”
I tried to hide the contempt in my voice, but I don’t think I succeeded. “And who cares, right?”
I picked up a few more of the pictures and looked through them. I thought the Governor’s priorities were about as far out of line as they could be, but in truth, who was I to judge? After a few minutes I did what I thought was the right thing-which may eventually be my downfall-and reached into my pocket and gave him the document. When he used my formal title I immediately knew I’d made the wrong choice.
“Thank you, Detective Jones. That will be all.”
I gave him a chance to correct himself, but he didn’t take it. “Are you sure about that, Sir?”
When he looked away and didn’t answer me, I pulled myself out of the chair and walked out of his office.
Sandy touched my arm and pulled me out of my thoughts. “Hey, you with me, big guy?” she said. We stood next to the edge of the pond behind my house and when I looked out across the water I saw it wrinkle in spots, the blue gill hungry, nicking at the surface.
“Why did you want to come out here?” I said.
Just then, a landscape truck pulling a back-hoe on a lowboy trailer turned off the road and came up the drive. I lost sight of it for a moment, then it came around the side of the house and stopped next to the out building I use as a storage space for my lawn equipment.
“You’re about to find out,” Sandy said. “We wanted to do something. For you. Me, Murton, and Delroy. ”
I watched as Murton backed the tractor from the trailer and drove over to where we stood, about ten yards from the edge of the pond. He lowered the bucket on the backhoe and scooped out a pile of soil then placed it carefully in a mound a few feet away from the hole. He repeated the process two more times, then turned the tractor around, winked at me like he may have just noticed my presence and drove back to the truck. When he returned the next time Delroy rode along with him. There was a Weeping Willow tree in the bucket of the tractor, its root ball enclosed with burlap and twine. Murton lowered the bucket next to the hole opposite the pile of dirt, shut down the engine and climbed from the operator’s seat, a small package in his hands.
“Hey Jonesy. Sandy,” he said, as he handed me the package. It was wrapped in plain white paper, the kind a butcher would use at a meat market, and tied across both ends with brown string that knotted in the middle. The paper wrapping was stiff, but the contents of the package soft and pliable. I let a question form on my face and I saw Sandy nod at Murton. “It’s the shirt your father was wearing at the bar when he was shot,” Murton said. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Virg. I spent a year undercover with the Pate’s and never once looked at Amanda. I could have prevented the whole god damned thing.”
Sandy walked over and wrapped her arms around Murton and when she did, his eyes locked on mine. “It’s alright,” I said. “It’s time to let go of the past, Murt.”
I held the package against my chest, my father’s blood wasted and dry under a wrap of string and paper. I looked at Sandy. “He was telling me he loved me,” I said. “In the bar, when you came out of the bathroom. He didn’t say the words, but that’s what he was telling me.”
Murton walked over to the tractor and pulled a shovel from the side rack and stood next to the hole. Sandy and I walked over and I got down on my knees and placed my father’s bloodied shirt at the bottom of the hole. Then I stood back and watched as Sandy and Murton and Delroy wrestled the willow tree into the hole and filled the remaining space from the pile of dirt.
“Willow trees use more water than just about any other tree,” Murton said to no one. “I don’t know how I know that.” Then he looked away. I thought there was more he wanted to say, and I think Delroy thought the same thing.
“The ground water will soak tru the paper and into dat shirt, mon. Your father’s blood, it will flow tru dat tree just like it do your own heart, Virgil Jones.” I think it was the first time I had ever heard Delroy say my full name.
