Mitch rifled through the papers on his clipboard and pulled out the list of the seven men who died in a similar manner to Calvin Whitehead. “Who are they?”
“Eric Jackson, Jimmy Holland, Arlin Ross, and Boyd Dudley. Studebaker said that Dudley died in Thayerville. You got a match on the other three?”
Mitch nodded. “They’re all here. None of them lived in Alabama when they died.”
“Studebaker said they drifted away when he started cleaning up the department and the county. They weren’t safe any longer.”
“Why did Boyd Dudley stay?” Cass asked. “Why not leave when the others did?”
“Dudley received custody of Whitman’s son and apparently the man was too deep in the bottle to make a move away from Thayerville.”
“How did Dudley die?” Kado asked.
“House fire.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
“Any sign of foul play?”
Hoffner placed the stack of folders on the evidence table. “Technically, no. It was Dudley’s habit to pass out in his recliner while drinking and watching TV. The fire started near his chair. They suspected that he had a cigarette in his hand when he fell asleep.”
“Studebaker thought there was something funny about the fire?” Mitch asked.
“Everybody did. But they couldn’t prove anything.” Hoffner took a cup of Golden Gate coffee from the carrier on the evidence table. He turned and snapped a paper towel from its holder, wiped the lid’s rim, and then took a sip. “There was some belief that Dudley abused Whitman’s son. The boy cleared out the money his father left him and ran away in 1985, when he was sixteen. He hasn’t been seen since. Studebaker’s trying to hunt him down. He said he’d check back this afternoon.”
Mitch shifted in his wheelchair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Studebaker thinks Whitman’s son came back a few years ago and fried the man who was abusing him?”
“It’s a possibility he’s considered. Boyd Dudley’s body was almost completely destroyed in the fire. His trailer basically burned down around him.”
“Nobody spotted the fire?”
Hoffner shook his head. “He lived in a remote area, well off the county road. Sounds like he was a mean cuss. Nobody went down his way without a reason.”
Mitch sucked his teeth. “There was no swastika carved into his body? No bullet hole in his leg?”
“The coroner’s report is brief,” Hoffner said, raising his coffee cup to the files on the forensic table. “It doesn’t document any damage to the body other than that from the fire.”
“No police investigation?” Cass asked.
“Coroner ruled it an accidental death. No need for one. And according to Studebaker, nobody mourned Dudley.”
“This helps,” Mitch said, leaning forward and scooting several of his files to one side. “We can focus on the other three: Jackson, Holland, and Ross. Let’s see if the local forces turned up any clues about who killed these men.”
Hoffner glanced at the clock. “Leave it until later. It’s almost time for the funerals.” He turned and left the room.
Cass waited until the door closed. “He doesn’t know you think it’s Joseph who’s alive?”
“No,” Mitch said. “I don’t want him to go off half-cocked until we know for sure.”
“What you’re suggesting is insane, you know that, don’t you?”
Mitch and Kado nodded.
“Who else knows what you’re thinking?”
“Nobody, yet,” Kado said. “But we want to tell Munk and Truman so they can keep an eye on him.”
She released a long sigh. “Since this Boyd Dudley died in a house fire, everyone involved in that lynching is dead now. Whitehead was the last one.”
“And if the Franklins hadn’t been killed, we never would have looked at Moses as a possible suspect.”
“They would’ve gotten away with it,” Cass stated.
“Yes, they would’ve,” Mitch agreed. “And they still might.”
CHAPTER 110
CELIA HEDDER TURNED OFF the shower and felt cool air wash over her skin. She whirled and came face-to-face with Emmet. The sound of her wet palm connecting with his cheek echoed in the tiled space. Emmet touched his face with his fingertips, and then reached for his wife.
“Don’t you dare, Emmet Hedder. You lost that right when you disappeared.” She jabbed at his shoulder and Emmet flinched. Her hand flew to her mouth. “There was blood, Emmet. Are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing. Just a few stitches.”
Celia’s lower lip trembled. Emmet reached for her. She backed away but he pulled her close and cradled her head against his chest, absorbing the shudders that racked her body as she sobbed. He eased her from the shower and wrapped her in a towel, then led her to the bed and dried her tears with his thumb. “I needed to see you, Celia.”
“You needed to see me? I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, Emmet. I know you stopped loving me a long time ago, and I’m not sure why you’ve stayed this long. But surely you could’ve let me know you were alive.”
Emmet tightened his grip. “I’ve always loved you, Celia. I’ve never been unfaithful. There were some things that I had to do, and I didn’t want you involved.”
“Why not?”
“It was too dangerous.”
She pulled back and looked at him. “What have you gotten into, Emmet?”
“It’s complicated.”
“And I’m not smart enough to understand?”
“You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, Celia. A lot smarter than me.”
“Then tell me.”
He looked at the clock on the bedside table. “You’ll miss the Franklin’s funeral.”
“But maybe I’ll keep my husband. So talk.”
CHAPTER 111
A BEAD OF SWEAT formed on Cass’s temple and tickled as it rolled down her cheek. She resisted the urge to swipe at it until the pastor finished praying and Mojo tossed handfuls of reddish soil onto the caskets. Cass watched him closely, looking for confirmation that he was Joseph instead of Moses. The big man’s countenance was stoic, his eyes masked behind mirrored sunglasses, but the slump of his shoulders betrayed the grief he carried. Cass risked a slight movement of her head and to check on the others. They were arranged in a rough triangle to allow a full view of the cemetery and the attendees.
Mitch and Darla Stone were positioned slightly to her right. Martinez, Munk, and their wives were standing opposite, to keep a view on the area behind Cass and Mitch. Kado and Truman were stationed at the point of the triangle, covering the area behind the other two groups. Munk and Truman wore their formal uniforms while Kado and Martinez were dressed in dark suits with subdued ties. Cass had never seen Kado in a suit and was surprised at how elegant and at ease he appeared. She sighed quietly; he oozed sex appeal even in such somber circumstances. Mitch wore a pair of blue jeans with one leg cut off at the thigh, along with a suit jacket, white shirt, and tie, and looked right at home in spite of the bizarre ensemble. The wives wore simple black dresses and looked stunning, even if Gabrielle Munk’s normal sparkle appeared diminished from her time in Galveston.
Cass glanced down at her outfit and grimaced. When she started digging through her closet this morning, she realized to her great chagrin that she didn’t even own a skirt. Instead, she wore a black pantsuit with low-heeled black pumps and a maroon silk blouse. She itched to rip her jacket off and let her body cool down.
Moses stepped to the side to speak with the preacher, Hoffner at his shoulder, and Cass watched as people shuffled forward to murmur a quiet prayer at the foot of the graves. The crowd at the cemetery was massive, swelling with stiff officers sweating through their formal summer uniforms. Blacks, whites, Hispanics: everyone was flushed and batting at the air, thick and sticky as honey, with paper fans bearing the funeral home’s logo and the hopeful verses from the 23rd Psalm. A marquee was positioned near the gaping graves, rows of chairs peop
led with distant Franklin relatives and the eldest attendees. Children fidgeted and scratched at their Sunday clothes.
Bruce and Harry Elliot made their way past the graves to speak quietly with Moses. Harry was in a dark gray suit, his cottony hair hiding the cut on his scalp. Bruce wore dress slacks and a tweed jacket, every inch the professor. He also wore a large pair of sunglasses that did little to conceal the bruise on his cheek. Despite the injuries, she realized that her brothers cleaned up rather nicely. Her father’s reluctance to attend the funeral was no reflection of the degree of respect he felt for the Franklin family; rather, he hated funerals and the loss they represented. Cass had never known him to attend one, or to visit a cemetery without a bottle in hand. And in some ways she was grateful he wasn’t here. News of his drunken encounter with Officer Hugo Petchard had swept the department and the community, evidenced by the sideways glances Cass and her brothers received during the church service.
Mitch leaned forward and whispered, “See anything?”
She shook her head. “You?”
“Darla spotted Goober.” Mitch pointed discreetly past Martinez and Munk. “See him?”
Cass searched the crowd. “He dressed up.”
Mitch snorted.
“Well, he did. Those overalls are new, and I’ve never seen him in a white dress shirt, have you?”
Darla spoke in a low voice. “I saw him at Tascall’s yesterday and helped him pick it out. I tried to get him to wear a tie, too, but the thought of a noose around his neck terrified him. He decided to button the shirt to the top.”
“Did you tell him it was okay to wear that greasy ol’ baseball cap?” Mitch asked.
Darla bit her lip. “We didn’t discuss headwear.”
“There’s Petchard and Junie,” Cass said, watching as the couple edged close to the graves, holding hands. Petchard wore his formal uniform and Junie was dressed in black: a jacket and long skirt, low heels, and a simple blouse. The scarf tied around her neck was also black.
Beside Cass, Darla shivered. “Mitch introduced me to her at the church earlier. She’s stunning, but she gives me the willies.”
Cass turned to take in Darla’s profile. “What bothers you?”
Darla studied the other woman and then shrugged. “I don’t know. She made me feel… icky. Like she was sizing me up.” She grimaced. “Sorry. That’s not much help.”
Wally Pugh sidled up alongside Mitch, a camera dangling from one hand, the ever present notebook from the other. His beady black eyes shone. “Sad, isn’t it? Are you here looking for the Franklin’s killer?”
Cass cut her eyes at the reporter. “Wally, this really isn’t the time.”
“Look, I’m not trying to be crass, but people want to know who killed the Franklins and Moore. They might not be so spooked except for what happened to Calvin Whitehead. That was creepy. Sadistic, even.” He shifted and watched Moses Franklin, lifted the camera and then let it drop to his side. “Any leads on Whitehead’s murder?”
“We’re making progress,” Mitch answered. “But there’s nothing concrete.” He cut a glance at Wally. “Yet.”
Wally’s tongue flicked out to touch his lips. “You’ll let me know first?”
Mitch nodded.
“Fair enough.” The reporter turned and studied the crowd. “Who’s that with Petchard?”
“Her name’s Junie.”
“A date?”
Mitch nodded.
“Will wonders never cease?” Wally lifted the camera and discretely took a photo, and then moved away, circling nearby gravestones, his movements sinuous.
CHAPTER 112
JOSEPH ACCEPTED PETCHARD’S MUTTERED condolences and watched in amusement as the man stepped aside to scan the crowd. Petchard’s pale complexion was broiling in the late morning sun, but his jaw was set and his eyes narrowed. As the officer’s head swiveled to encompass the narrow strip of blacktop running through the cemetery, Joseph realized that Petchard was preening for his woman.
Good luck with this one, Joseph thought, watching as Junie fiddled with her phone before dropping it in a pocket on her jacket. She’s about as cold as they come.
Junie offered Joseph a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Moses,” she whispered, close enough that her breath feathered his ear.
Joseph touched his cheek to hers and lost his balance, falling into her. With the dexterity of a New York pickpocket, he palmed the phone and then steadied himself. “Sorry about that, I must be a little tired.”
“Maybe now that the funerals are over you can move on.”
“There are a few loose ends I’ll need to tie up first. But they’ll be taken care of soon enough.”
“They will?”
“Keep your eyes open, Junie, and watch what happens.”
Her smile was almost impish. “I will, Moses, and you do the same, you hear?”
CHAPTER 113
THE SINGLE PAGE OF his will was on the kitchen table, crumpled into a tight ball. Emmet watched as his wife drained the last of her green tea and put the mug in the sink. Fully dressed now, she was staring through the kitchen window, shoulders hunched nearly to her ears. At last, she turned. “I don’t agree with what you’ve done, Emmet. But I think I understand it.”
He waited.
“It’s Moses they’re burying today?”
“Yes.”
She turned back to the window. “I wish he’d never met Donna Moore. That your Granny never told you what happened to your father and theirs. That Donna hadn’t egged you on.”
“I can’t undo it, Celia. And these aren’t nice people that we’ve killed. Their actions, the lynching, started it all.”
“What now?”
“I finish it. Or, I suppose that Joseph and I finish it. He won’t seem to let me do this alone.”
“Is he a liability?”
Emmet considered her question. “In some ways, yes. He doesn’t know how to handle a gun.”
“Donna didn’t either.”
“But Moses did. And Donna was a quick learner. She didn’t balk at what we had to do. I don’t know how Joseph will handle it once it comes time to kill this man.”
“What if you didn’t?”
“Didn’t what?”
“Kill him.”
“Then he’d kill me. And Joseph. And probably you, Celia.” He eyed her. “And I can’t let that happen.”
Slowly, she nodded. “What comes after?”
“I come home and go back to work.”
“And the police?”
“Have no idea that there’s a link between the man we’re going to kill and us.”
“What will you tell them about why you’ve been in hiding?”
“Post-traumatic stress.”
Celia rolled her eyes.
“It’ll work. A decorated soldier flips when somebody shoots at him, goes into hiding, and only comes out when he thinks the coast is clear.”
“You never were any good at backing down from a fight.” She sat and traced a pattern on the tabletop with her finger. “I don’t like it.”
Emmet’s voice was gentle. “He’s clever, Celia. I don’t know how he identified us to start with, but he tracked us to Arcadia and used GPS devices to follow us around town. I don’t have a choice. I have to finish this. For Moses and Donna. For me. And even for you. I can’t risk that he’ll hurt you as a way of getting to me.”
“And then you’ll come back to me?”
“Yes, I will.”
Celia licked her dry lips. “How can I help?”
CHAPTER 114
THE CROWD AT THE cemetery was thinning and Joseph spotted Petchard opening the door to a battered Honda. He watched as the skinny man gave Junie a chaste kiss and ushered her into the car. Petchard about-faced and marched to the main road and traffic duty.
Fingering the two cell phones in his pocket, Joseph excused himself from the small group gathered at the graves and trotted toward the Honda. As he drew near, Junie disappeared from view and
then popped up again, scowling. Joseph tapped on the passenger’s window and the frown morphed into surprise, and then a flirtatious smile. As she leaned across to open the door, Joseph squatted. “Is this yours? I found it on the ground.”
She snatched the phone from him and powered it on. As she worked, Joseph eased the second cell phone under the passenger seat. “Thanks for finding it,” Junie said, checking the screen. “I hadn’t realized I’d lost it until just now. I was about to panic.”
Joseph uttered a silent prayer that she hadn’t noticed his movements. Via his shopping list this morning, Emmet requested only a prepaid cell phone and a roll of duct tape. Once Joseph returned to the hotel with both items, Emmet powered up Joseph’s laptop and activated, and then charged, the phone. Joseph watched as he created an anonymous account at a website offering free real-time GPS tracking and downloaded software to the phone. Once that was done, Emmet showed Joseph an online map with a red dot in the center. “That’s the phone,” he’d told Joseph. “We’ll know exactly where she goes.”
“What’s the duct tape for?” Joseph asked.
“Ideally, you want to get the phone inside her car. If you can’t manage that, tape it beneath the bumper or inside a wheel well. Our biggest risk is that she drives through a puddle or goes through a car wash. But the phone doesn’t have to work for long.”
“Why not?”
“We’ll be done with Junie and her cousin before the weekend is out.”
Joseph felt a small wave of triumph and said to Junie, “No problem. They’re so small these days, they’re hard to keep track of. Are you working this afternoon?”
“Just to help re-open the café.”
“And then what?” Joseph asked.
“I’ll probably take a nap and get ready for tonight.”
“Big plans?”
She smiled. “A little hunting, I think.”
“Squirrel and turkey are in season.”
“Oh, I don’t waste time on small prey. I’ll be hunting something bigger. The most dangerous game of all, in fact.”
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