Voodoo Daddy (A Virgil Jones Mystery) by Thomas L. Scott Page B

preach to on TV, Reverend. I’m not here to be your witness. When was the last time you saw Franklin Dugan?”
    I did not think Pate would answer, and when he did, the fire had gone out of his voice and his eyes seemed to dull a bit. “I saw him last week, at the taping of the show. He was here, as he always was.”
    “When was the last time you were at his home?” I asked.
    “I have never been to his home, Detective. Ever. Let me ask you something, if I may. Franklin was one of our biggest benefactors. Why in the world would I or anyone from this church for that matter want to see him harmed?”
    “That’s a fine question, sir. It’s also one that I don’t have the answer to. But here’s an even better one; Why is it, do you think, Reverend, that the man who was personally responsible for the approval of a five million dollar loan to your church was murdered just days after you got the money? Better yet, how is it sir, that you were able to obtain that kind of credit using an all but condemned building as collateral? Is any of this starting to make sense to you, Reverend? Would you care to enlighten me as to the nature of the investigation currently being conducted by the Texas Department of Insurance regarding your former ministry in Houston?”
    I thought he might try to defend himself, but he surprised me with his next statement and left me unable to speak. “My wife tells me of her past relationship with you when you were schoolmates. She’s an interesting woman, is she not? We’re having a viewing party this Saturday, here at our facility. We watch the broadcast with a select few members of the congregation to try and get a feel for how well our message will be received the next day. She’s asked me to invite you to attend. Would ten a.m. work for you, Detective?”
     
    * * *
     
    I left the Pate Ministry with more questions than answers. As I headed downtown for a court appearance on a previous case I spoke with both Rosencrantz and Donatti to get a feel for any information they might have gathered from their canvass of the double murder. Rosie’s voice crackled in my ear on a bad cell signal. “Found a paperboy who says he might have seen the van. He’s just a kid. Sort of a punk, little bit of smartass in him, but just a kid nonetheless. Or hell, maybe he’s completely normal and I’m just getting old. Either way, he didn’t see anything of value. No plate, no make. Says he forgot one of the houses along his route and had to double back. That’s when he saw the van. But there’s nothing there.”
    “You sure?” I said.
    “Positive, Jones man. On the plus side, techs found some brass.”
    “No shit?”
    “I shit you not, oh wise one.”
    “Prints?”
    “Yep. Probably a thumb from pressing a shell into the clip.”
    “Alright, that’s something. Let’s get it going through NCIS.”
    “Already on it.”
    “Okay. What else?”
    “Just spec if you want it.”
    “Let’s have it,” I said.
    “Alright, if you go with the theory that the banker, uh, Dugan, was the target, they probably shot Burns first then Dugan.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “I talked with Becky back at the shop and she pulled everything, and I mean everything that Burns had been involved with for the past three years. It’s all basic, no bullshit kind of stuff. Hell Jonesy, he’s been on third shift protection for the last two years and there’s been nothing going on there. He hasn’t even written a traffic ticket in over thirty-six months. No one’s got any reason to be pissed at Barney, so that leaves the banker, right?”
    “Yeah, maybe.”
    “Plus,” Rosencrantz went on, “Somebody’s always pissed at their banker about something. I mean hell, just last week I was at my bank—”
    “Stay with me here, Rosie.”
    “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Anyway, I know Barney was close to retirement, but he was still sharp, you know? Well, I don’t know if you noticed or not, but crime scene said his weapon was