Avengers of Blood

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  He took the split from Highway 80 to I-20 at Terrell, set the truck’s cruise, and let his mind drift, blind to the wildflowers dying in the median from searing temperatures and lack of rain. Elaine had told him about Donna Moore and the match Kado found between the bullets used to kill the Franklins and Moore. A link between the families seemed remote unless Moore did the Franklin’s taxes. He shook his head. Almost as remote as the chance that one killer would randomly shoot the members of two different families who lived across the county from each other on one night. If this wasn’t some indiscriminate shooting spree, his detectives would have to dig deep to find a link between these people.

  His detectives. What the hell were they up to?

  According to Elaine, Cass Elliot was actively working the Franklin and Moore murders. Detective Carlos Martinez was investigating Calvin Whitehead’s brutal killing and had pulled Officer Scott Truman off patrol. Mitch Stone was back at the station in a wheelchair, for God’s sake. The mayor had wormed his way inside the station, telling Elaine that he needed an update in case the press came calling. And before she signed off, Elaine told him that Officer Ernie Munk, who never ever ever worked these two weeks in May, had just walked across the courthouse foyer in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, flapped his card at the reader, and headed straight into the station.

  Good Lord, it was out of control. Thank God he’d gotten that early flight out of Billings this morning. He absently patted the letters about Moses Franklin in his coat pocket. If things kept moving at this pace, the whole force would be upside down before he got back.

  CHAPTER 44

  “EVELYN SAID HER BOYS were involved in the Franklin shooting. What did they do?” Munk asked as he wiped mustard from the corner of his mouth.

  “Your nephews were out in Deadwood Hollow looking for a cell phone,” Cass said.

  “At night?” Munk asked.

  “It had something to do with a girl.”

  Munk held up a hand. “Enough said. What happened?”

  “They heard shots and were smart enough to hide in some brush. The shooter ran past, but they didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “He didn’t see them?”

  “Matt and Mark didn’t think so.”

  “That’s manageable. From what Evelyn said, I thought the boys had taken a shot at the Franklin house.” He glanced at Kado. From his expression of almost respect, Cass read that Munk and Kado were on their way to making peace over their differences in forensic techniques. “What caliber was the weapon?”

  Kado explained how Martha and Joseph Franklin were killed with shots from a .30-06 rifle. “We found the tree he used out in Deadwood Hollow. He stalked them, but we don’t know for how long.”

  “I can understand how somebody could confuse Moses and Joseph. Nobody could tell them apart. But why did he kill Martha Franklin?” Mitch asked.

  “He shot her first. The under-cabinet lights were the only ones on in the kitchen. Mrs. Franklin had cancer and was going through radiation treatment,” Kado answered.

  “She was bald,” Munk stated.

  “And would have been almost identical to Moses and Joseph in a dimly lit space through the scope of a rifle at one hundred yards.”

  Mitch used a fry to scrape the last smear of ketchup from his burger wrapper. “Was she cooking?”

  “Making a cup of tea. The neighbors said she and Joseph were just home from her quilting club meeting.”

  “That might explain something,” Kado said, pulling his notebook from his pocket. “Cass brought Joseph’s running shoes from the Franklin house. A red substance was in some of the cracks. It smelled like garlic or onions.”

  “Pasta sauce?” Cass asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe they bring food to those meetings and something with tomato, garlic, and onion was on the floor. Martha’s shoes were clean, though.”

  “We can check into it with the quilting club and Mojo,” Cass said.

  “And we need to look for receipts for gas.” Kado turned to Martinez. “Hazel confirmed that there is gasoline on Joseph’s gym shorts.” At Martinez’ stormy expression he quickly carried on. “But it was only a trace. Probably no more than a splash from the nozzle.”

  “I brought Joseph’s wallet and Martha’s purse to the station,” Cass said. “We’ll look for a receipt.”

  Mitch puffed his cheeks out and exhaled. “Okay, let’s eliminate Martha Franklin as a possible target. She was retired from the schools?”

  Cass nodded.

  “Any enemies?” Mitch asked.

  “The neighbors were shocked,” Martinez answered. “They said Martha didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She lived for her sons, the church, and her quilting club. She was struggling through her cancer treatments, but the neighbors said she was upbeat and her prognosis good.”

  “A nice old lady.”

  Martinez nodded.

  “There was one drawer in her desk that was stuck,” Cass said. “It’s probably more paperwork, but it’s worth a look.”

  “I’ll deal with it,” Munk said. “And if Mojo doesn’t mind, I’ll bring her paperwork to the station to process.”

  “So Martha Franklin most likely wasn’t the target,” Mitch said. “That leaves Moses’ case files, Joseph’s arrest and incarceration, and anything in their personal lives that could’ve led to this. I told Cass I’d look into the first two this afternoon. We can talk to Moses about their personal lives later. That’s all we can do on the Franklins for now.” He looked at Cass, who was sneaking a fry from the box in front of Truman. “Calvin Whitehead. Tell us about his autopsy.”

  “Bernie’s still examining the body,” Cass said. “But he confirmed that Whitehead was alive when he was set on fire.”

  Truman coughed into his fist. “Seriously?” he croaked.

  “His throat and lungs are burned. Grey and Bernie said he swallowed whatever accelerant was used, or had it forced down his throat.”

  “Wow,” Martinez said.

  “And, from the lack of damage to his neck, it looks like they took care not to let him die when they hung him.”

  “Are you sure there was more than one perp?” Mitch asked.

  “There had to be,” Martinez said. “It would be too difficult for one person to subdue a man that big and get him up a ladder.”

  The room went silent. Kado balled up his burger wrapper and they jumped at the crackling noise. “This was personal.”

  “Bernie described it as a cold rage. And if you consider the swastika carved into his chest –”

  “The what?” Munk interrupted.

  “A swastika,” Cass said.

  “Who would do that?”

  “It’s a good question. We need to find out if there are other cases like Whitehead’s: carving on the body, hanging, and burning.”

  “Did you find any evidence at the store?” Mitch asked.

  Kado nodded. “Fingerprints, tons of debris. I need to load the prints into IAFIS and start on the debris this afternoon. Did you know him?”

  “No,” Mitch answered. He looked to Cass. “His store was out towards where y’all live, did you shop there?”

  “Sometimes, but none of us knew him very well.”

  “Any idea on motive?” Mitch asked.

  “Truman found cash in the register,” Kado said, “so it wasn’t robbery.”

  “Calvin Whitehead was ready for trouble at home,” Martinez stated. “I found four guns, but I didn’t toss the place, so he might have more stuffed between the sofa cushions.”

  “What about his shop?” Cass asked.

  Martinez looked at Truman. “He had a sawed-off shotgun and a baseball bat on the shelf beneath the register. That was it, right?”

  Truman nodded.

  “Was the shotgun fired?”Mitch asked.

  “Nope,” Martinez answered. “And the baseball bat was undisturbed.”

  “So they either caught him by surprise, or he knew his killers and trusted them enough to let them
get close.” Mitch looked at Kado. “Anything else on Whitehead?”

  “No.”

  “Did you find a cell phone?”

  “Just regular phones in the house and shop.”

  “Well,” Mitch said, “that leaves Donna Moore.”

  “The accountant? That Donna Moore?” Munk asked. “What happened?”

  “She was murdered last night, with the same weapon that killed the Franklins,” Kado said.

  Munk blinked. “This keeps getting weirder. How did they know each other?”

  “We have no idea,” Martinez said, checking the clock on the conference room wall. “But Hoffner’s burning up road. Let’s get moving in case he loses it and kicks Cass and Mitch out when he gets here.”

  “I’ll go to Donna’s office,” Cass said.

  “I’ll head over to the Franklin house and bring their paperwork back, then start on it and the boxes from Whitehead’s closet,” Munk offered.

  “Truman can help with the sludge from The Whitehead Store and I’ll work on the fingerprints,” Kado said.

  “Gracias, amigos,” Martinez said with feeling. “No paperwork for me. I’ll find Mojo and have a chat with the quilting bee.”

  CHAPTER 45

  SHADES WERE DOWN ON the windows when Cass approached The Moore Agency. It was housed in one of the old buildings on a street adjoining Arcadia’s square, its exterior creamy Texas sandstone that matched the courthouse. A flat plaque over the door was carved with the date the building was erected – 1908. The solitary eye of a security camera peered down at her from beneath a green and white awning. She squinted through the grate protecting the glass door, spotted the distant glow from a desk lamp, and knocked. A figure darted through the shadowy office and Cass reached for her gun, finding only her belt. Her breathing quickened. The door buzzed and Cass heard a bolt click. She pushed the door open a crack and a bell tinkled above her head. No one was visible in the gloomy interior.

  “Hello?” She hesitated as she chose her words. Somehow stating that she was with the Medical Examiner’s office didn’t feel right. And even though she didn’t have the badge or gun back, she was still a detective. “I’m Cass Elliot, with the sheriff’s office. Is anyone here?”

  A narrow head popped up over a partition. “I know who you are. Come in and make sure the door catches when you close it. The press was knocking earlier. Thank goodness for that explosion in Watuga.”

  The office was sleek and modern, and Cass noted the motion detectors mounted in the room’s tall corner. A whip of a man had appeared at the swinging gate separating the reception area from the rest of the office. The head that sat atop his thin neck was the narrowest Cass had ever seen, to the point that his eyes appeared to be positioned on opposite sides of his face, like an animal of prey. A neatly trimmed brush moustache decorated the space between his lip and nose, its carroty color matching his oiled hair, which shimmered like the scales on a goldfish. The rest of his body was equally as thin as his head. He held out a trembling hand. “I’m Joshua Reed, Donna’s associate.”

  Cass shook it. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Reed.”

  “Call me Joshua. I can’t believe she’s gone,” he said, wiping his nose as he held the gate open. “I’ve made a pot of tea. Can I get you some?”

  She followed him past two offices, stacks of file cabinets, shelves bearing colored folders, and a conference area where a desk lamp burned. The walls were painted dove-gray and sported a variety of charcoal drawings like those in Moore’s home. Joshua led Cass to a small kitchen where appliances gleamed and water sloshed quietly in a dishwasher. He poured tea and handed her a mug. The liquid was a pale greenish-amber and a sweet scent wafted on the mist.

  He motioned her to the conference area, where he sat and sipped from his own mug. A sandwich sat untouched next to stacks of papers. “Mint. We grow it in the courtyard out back. Donna’s big into herbs and I find it soothing to tend to them.”

  “How long have you worked for Miss Moore?”

  “Years. Decades. Let’s see.” His fingers fluttered over the papers. He found a pen and snapped the cap off, doodling circles as he spoke. “She opened in 1989 and hired me shortly after. I was right out of high school. She sent me to classes for shorthand, word processing, spreadsheets, and even her accounting and tax software. I finished my degree while working here, and just passed the CPA exam.”

  “Congratulations. You run the office?”

  “And do some of the easier accounting work. We run payroll and keep the books for some of the businesses in town. And there’s tax season, of course.”

  “Did Miss Moore have any enemies?” Cass asked.

  Joshua leaned his head against the back of the chair, exposing the most prominent Adam’s apple Cass had ever seen. It bounced in his thin neck as he swallowed. “That’s the thing. Donna is the kindest, most generous person I’ve ever known. I can’t think of anyone who had problems with her, here or in her personal life. Well, of the very little personal life she had.”

  “She worked a lot?”

  He wiped his cheek with the back of a hand. “Always in before six and she rarely left before nine at night.”

  “Weekends?”

  “Usually.”

  Cass remembered the cross pendant from Moore’s possessions. “Where did she go to church?”

  He shook his head. “Donna hasn’t been to church since her mom died. Said she couldn’t stand all the hypocrisy.”

  “Any family?”

  “Her father died way back, and her mother passed away a few years ago. Donna never married. I’m not sure she even dated.”

  “Was she…” Cass hesitated. “Did she have female friends?”

  “If you want to know if Donna was a lesbian, the answer is no. She had friends, girls who went to the same high school, but they rarely saw each other.”

  “Are there any clients who owe her money?”

  “We have a few people who pay the bills for their tax work in installments. But nobody’s late on their payments.” He sat up straighter and cheek-walked to the edge of his chair, where he perched. “Even if they were, I’m the person who calls to remind them to pay. So it’s me they would be mad at. Not Donna.”

  Cass watched as he scrabbled the papers together and slid them into a folder. “Where were you last night, Mr. Reed?”

  He winced. “I knew you’d ask that question. They all do on television. And really, it’s the right question.”

  “Sorry?”

  His lips trembled. “She left everything to me. All this.” He gestured at the office. “The business and the house. Everything. I’m the only one with motive.”

  Cass watched in surprise as he folded his arms on the table, dropped his head onto them, and wailed.

  CHAPTER 46

  JOSEPH FELT A PHONE vibrate in his pocket as he stepped from The Golden Gate into the blazing afternoon. He pulled it out and saw the serial number on the back. “Franklin.”

  Martinez asked if now would be a good time to talk. The coffee in Joseph’s stomach turned sour and he recommended that Martinez meet him at The Golden Gate, then went back inside.

  “Is it okay if I meet Detective Martinez here?” he asked as Stan jotted down his order.

  “Of course. I’ll be right back with your food.”

  Acid burbled in his throat as he waited for Martinez to arrive. This whole impersonation thing was getting serious. Thanks to the letters Moses and his mother had sent to him in prison, Joseph knew enough about Moses’ professional life to grasp some of the lingo and have a general feel for what his brother did as an officer day-to-day. Beyond that, Joseph was in the dark. His improv skills were about to be tested.

  The café’s door opened and a broad man with close-cropped steely hair entered the cool space. Joseph recognized Martinez from games he and Moses had played with the community’s teenagers. Martinez was adequate with a basketball, but it was his physical strength that let him muscle his way up and down the court. He sp
otted Joseph and slid into the booth across from him.

  “Listen Mojo,” he said, dabbing sweat from his forehead. “I should have said on the phone that I’m really sorry about your mom and Joseph. I know this is a hard time, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “It’s okay,” Joseph told him, leaning out of the way as Stan approached with a tray.

  “Turkey and hummus on wheat.” Stan asked. “Fruit salad and a Dr. Pepper. Carlos?”

  “Just a soda for me.”

  “Done.” Stan strode back to the kitchen and returned moments later with another drink. “I’ll check back in a minute.”

  “Healthy stuff,” Martinez said, motioning to the plate. He frowned at the computer box on the seat next to Joseph. “A laptop? Man, you hate those things. What’s up?”

  Joseph swallowed, his brain working furiously. The fact that Moses hated computers, was in fact a dedicated two-finger man when it came to a keyboard, were details that everyone knew. Why would Moses have a laptop, and more importantly, be using it right after his mother and brother were murdered? He decided to try honesty. “Joseph made me buy it and learn how to use it.” He cleared his throat. “I just thought I could have him with me a little longer if I kept the laptop around.” He looked down at his plate. “Stupid, huh?”

  “No, man. It’s not stupid at all.” Martinez scratched his nose. “Maybe you could teach me to use one.”

  “I’m a total beginner. You’d be better off asking one of those kids of yours to teach you.”

  “They don’t have the patience. You’d think they were born with a laptop in one hand and a cell phone in the other. All this stuff is second nature to them.”