Avengers of Blood

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  Joseph unfolded his long frame, and then bent over to look her in the eye. “Be careful out there, Junie. With big game, the prey can easily become the predator.”

  ____________

  PETCHARD TOOTED HIS WHISTLE and waved the line of mourners through the cemetery gates. He drifted to the left to look for Junie’s car and was surprised to see Mojo climbing from the passenger side with a grin on his face. He caught his breath as the tall man bent down to look back into the car

  The green eyed monster bared its talons, and Petchard fought hard to stay in place. A horn beeped and Petchard automatically motioned for traffic to resume. Mojo shut the door and tapped the top of the car, then Junie’s Honda was easing into the line waiting to exit. Out of pique, Petchard made the mourners wait until all cars had passed. He stepped back into the road and motioned the cars forward, eyes narrowed behind his mirrored shades as Junie inched forward. He raised a hand in greeting but the air whooshed from his lungs as she drove past without a glance in his direction, a wide smile curving her lips.

  CHAPTER 115

  CASS TURNED IN HER spot next to Mitch and Darla to see Maxine weaving through the thinning crowd. She looked stunning in her funeral outfit: patent leather pumps, a fitted suit whose skirt skimmed her knees, movie star shades, and a wide-brimmed black straw hat.

  She stopped next to Cass. “The forensic guy looks good in a suit, Cass. And he was checking you out earlier.”

  Mitch and Darla’s heads swiveled to look at Kado where he stood talking to Truman, and then returned to take in Cass who was blushing furiously. Darla’s brown eyes twinkled. Mitch’s mouth opened and then shut when his wife jabbed an elbow in his ribs.

  “Sorry,” Maxine said with a grin. “Thought everybody knew he was hot for you.” She leaned in to hug Cass and whispered, “You owe me donuts,” then patted Cass’s hip.

  Cass’s fingers brushed paper and she watched as Maxine drifted to another cluster of people. She pulled the note from her pocket. It was a newspaper clipping with a sticky note in Maxine’s swirling handwriting:

  We have to stop him. A dozen chocolate glazed. M

  The article confirmed that Ft. Worth police had labeled Sarah Hill’s death a murder and were pursuing her killer. A bolt of electricity shot up Cass’s spine. This was it – the race was on to see who would find this rapist first. Cass’s mind flew to the tampon box stuffed full of evidence in her locker at the station and she started when Mitch asked, “What’s that?”

  Crumpling the clipping, she stuffed it in her pocket. “Nothing. Do you think we’re done?”

  Mitch glanced at Darla, who nodded. “Can I ride with you?” he asked Cass.

  “Mitch,” his pretty wife warned.

  “I’ve got work to do. Cass can bring me home.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Darla said. “You were up before dawn and need a nap. You can ride with Cass to the courthouse. I’ll pick up lunch and meet you there, then wait for you.”

  “That’s a good deal for you,” Cass said. “I’d love it if somebody made me take a nap.”

  “If Maxine’s right, Kado might sign up for that job,” Mitch said, and winced as Cass’s fist connected with his shoulder. “Ow, woman. I’m still in a delicate state.”

  “You will be in a delicate state if you don’t mind your manners,” Darla said. “Rough him up, Cass. He needs a little polishing.”

  CHAPTER 116

  AMELIA WIGGLED FROM HER mother’s arms and raced across the lawn, Froggy the bear slapping the ground. Joseph swept her into the air and growled. She howled, planted a kiss on his check, and said, “Come make me coffee milk.”

  “I will. You take care of Froggy on the ride back to Alabama, okay?”

  She nodded and he released her, watching with a sad smile as she toddled back to the car. Joseph waved as the last of his distant relatives pulled out of the driveway and heaved a huge sigh once the front door was shut behind him. His cousins had done him the great favor of cleaning and straightening the house this morning. Someone had even dead-headed the roses. The refrigerator was still bloated with food from the visitation last night. There was literally nothing for Joseph to do but contemplate killing a man, and the fact of his own mortality.

  He stood at the mantle over the fireplace, gazing at the last photograph of his family and wondering what his mother and brother would think if they knew that he, their geeky little Joseph, was setting out to avenge their deaths. His mother would be horrified, no doubt, but Moses? Given what Joseph had learned about his twin, he thought that Moses would approve. As long as Joseph didn’t get caught.

  Following Emmet’s lead, Joseph scribbled out a will, leaving everything to his little cousin Amelia, asking that whoever probated the will liquidate his assets and establish a college fund for her. He’d debated whether to write the will as Moses or Joseph, but decided to stick with his cover story and use Moses’ name. He was scrawling a signature as his phone chirped.

  “Are they gone?” Emmet asked.

  “They just left.”

  “I’ve been following Junie’s car, man. She’s staying out in the middle of nowhere. A satellite map shows nothing around them for about a mile. Come get me.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m not going into this blind, Joseph. We’re going out there now.”

  “It’s the middle of the afternoon, Emmet. They’ll see us.”

  “She’s already gone back to town. We’ll drive past the house, park, and walk through the woods around the place. I need to get the lay of the land.”

  “And then?”

  “We’ll figure it out as we go, man. Step one, come get me.”

  CHAPTER 117

  MITCH WAITED UNTIL DARLA turned her back. He snagged a tortilla chip, swiped it through the guacamole, and popped it into his mouth. Darla turned then, dark eyes narrowing as she took in the innocent look on her husband’s face. She studied his plate, clean of the grilled chicken, black beans, and salad he had eaten in protest while the others had devoured enchiladas, chimichangas, refried beans, and piles of chips, salsa, and guacamole. Cass watched the silent marital exchange with amusement and drank the last of her iced tea.

  Martinez’ phone rang. He answered, grabbed a taco, and then pushed back from the table and headed for the door. Cass heard him giving directions to the K-9 unit who were ready to search for the missing old man. Grey, Bernie, and Porky sat at the far end of the table, studying autopsy photos from the killings Moses, Donna Moore, and Emmet Hedder might have committed. Kado had filled a plate and taken it back to the forensics room, and young Truman was sitting at the computer in the corner of the conference room, eating with one hand and entering details on the evidence taken from Calvin Whitehead’s safe and trunk with the other. Surveying the culinary wreckage scattered across the table, Cass stood and cleared the remnants of the meal.

  Munk pushed back from the table and patted his rounded belly, pulling his hand away to check the smear of sour cream sauce across his uniform’s shirt. “Thanks, Darla. That hit the spot.”

  “I’m sorry Gabrielle missed lunch.”

  “It’s always hard after a trip to Galveston.” He plucked at the stain. “It takes her a few days to get her energy back.”

  Darla dipped a napkin in a glass of water and dabbed at the greasy spot. “Mitch said you had a false alarm about Angel?”

  “Even after all this time, Gaby’s hopes soar when it happens.” He rubbed a hand over his balding head. “She has so much faith, Darla. Gaby believes that Angel is out there, waiting for us to find her.”

  Darla examined her handiwork and released Munk’s shirt. “What about you, Ernie? Do you still have faith?”

  Mitch flashed her a look, but Darla ignored him, focusing on the tubby officer.

  Munk chewed his lip, a decade of worry and weariness etched into his pock-marked face. At last, he nodded. “I do, but it’s different from Gaby’s. Her faith is visceral, intense. She can feel that Angel is alive. My faith is
more practical.” His eyes were tired when he lifted them to meet Darla’s. “I don’t know how I would survive without it.”

  She reached out and held his hand for a moment, then released it as he turned to check on Truman.

  Grey scooted the autopsy files to the middle of the table. “It’s disturbing.”

  “What’s that?” Mitch asked.

  “How similar these three murders are to Calvin Whitehead’s killing.” He snagged his earlobe with his thumb and forefinger and began to rub. “There is a progression in efficiency from the earliest murder to Whitehead’s.”

  Cass wiped the table and sat next to Mitch and Darla. “How do you mean?”

  “The autopsy picked up a fractured skull in the first victim. The second two had deep contusions around the kidneys. Whitehead’s body showed none of those types of injuries.”

  “That tells us,” Bernie said, “that the killer or killers learned from their mistakes and gained confidence with each killing. The earlier victims had to be subdued through violence. Whitehead did not.”

  “That might be what they used the sheet for,” Truman said from the corner. “We found scraps of sheet tangled in Whitehead’s clothes. Maybe they immobilized him that way, rather than by hitting him.”

  “Quite possible,” Bernie agreed.

  Grey pushed back from the table and levered his long body into a standing position. “Sorry to eat and run, but we’ve got a full house.”

  Bernie scooted his chair around to sit next to Truman. Porky stopped and sat next to Cass, Darla, and Mitch. “I need to tell y’all something.”

  “What’s up?” Mitch asked.

  Porky rubbed at his eyebrow, devoid of the hoops and studs that usually decorated the space. “I’m worried about Moses.”

  “Why?”

  “He hasn’t been himself since his momma and Joseph died. And…”

  “We’ve noticed it, too. What’s bothering you?” Cass asked.

  Porky spoke in a whisper. “His voice. Joseph sang bass and Moses sang tenor.” He plucked at his yellow scrubs. “But at the church today, the voice coming from Moses was definitely bass, not tenor.”

  “You think it’s Joseph who’s still alive?”

  His expression was miserable. “I don’t know why he’d lie.”

  “It’s okay,” Mitch said, exchanging a glance with Cass. “We do.”

  CHAPTER 118

  JOSEPH REVERSED ONTO THE dirt track and slipped Celia’s green Camry into park, its nose facing the road. Although the overhanging trees provided shade, heat built inside the car as soon as he cut the engine. They’d avoided the county road that passed directly in front of Junie’s house and were somewhere behind it. Emmet unzipped a duffel bag and pulled out a 9 mm. He popped the magazine, checked it, then slapped it home, chambered a round, and set the safety. He handed the weapon and a spare magazine to Joseph.

  “I’ve got Moses’ gun.”

  “You can’t use his department-issue weapon, they can match the slugs.”

  “You sure we should carry? I thought you said we’re here to get the lay of the land.”

  “We are. But we’re not going in naked. Come on.” Emmet stored Moses’ gun under the seat and scowled when Joseph used the remote to lock the Camry, causing the horn to beep.

  “Sorry,” Joseph whispered. “Which way?”

  Emmet consulted the map on his phone. The GPS tracker indicated that Junie’s car was still in Arcadia. He zeroed in on the location she’d visited after the funeral and walked to the gate at the end of the little track. “See those trees?” He pointed across a pasture dotted with red cows. “Her house is through that stand of pine, about half a mile from where we are now.”

  “But, the cows, man. Those things are big. What if they don’t want to share their grass?”

  “Then we’ll shoot them.” Emmet grinned at Joseph’s startled expression. “Just kidding. They’re either pets and want to be fed, or they’ll be kind of wild and stay away from us.” He scanned the herd. “See that one?”

  Joseph followed his outstretched arm and nodded.

  “That’s the bull.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “That’s not an udder.”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “Stay away from him and the calves. If a cow comes after you, run. If they still chase you, turn around and get big.”

  “Big?”

  “Yeah, bulk up. Broaden your chest, stand up tall, put your arms out. Growl, but don’t shout. We can’t afford the attention.” At Joseph’s look of unease, Emmet added, “As long as you stay out of their way, they’ll stay out of yours. Okay?”

  Joseph wiped at the sweat beading his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want to go around the road?”

  Emmet rolled his eyes and hopped over the gate.

  CHAPTER 119

  PETCHARD CIRCLED THE SQUARE and paused to peer into the employee parking lot behind The Golden Gate Café. He caught his breath. Junie’s battered old Honda was there. Guts churning, he parked his patrol car behind the courthouse and hurried inside, out of the sweltering heat.

  The station was cool and blessedly quiet. The locker room was empty and he stripped out of his sweaty dress uniform, showered, and put on a fresh uniform. He was heading to the station’s exit when the sheriff’s voice stopped him. “Office Petchard.”

  He about-faced, ice water running through his veins. “Sir?”

  The Sheriff took in his sunburned face. “You didn’t wear any sun protection?”

  “No, sir. I forgot.”

  “You might want to put some lotion on that. It looks bad enough to blister.” He waited for Petchard to nod. “Just back from the cemetery?”

  “Yes, sir. It took a while for all the traffic to clear.”

  Hoffner hesitated. “Thank you for taking on that assignment. It was hot work today and it looks like you’re suffering because of it.”

  Petchard lost the battle to keep his eyebrows from jumping on his forehead. Appreciation of any kind from the sheriff was rare, and over something as simple as traffic duty, was unheard of. But Petchard had never been one to miss an opportunity to brown nose. “Of course, sir. I was happy to do it. For the department and for Mojo.”

  Hoffner nodded. “Someone called and said there were kids playing behind the elementary school. Not on the playground, but near the administration building. Take a ride over and see what’s going on.”

  Inwardly, Petchard groaned but he turned smartly on his heel before the sheriff could see his pained expression. “Don’t worry, sir,” he called over his shoulder. “Consider it done.”

  CHAPTER 120

  JUNIE GRIMACED AND LIFTED a hand to her temple.

  “You okay?” Stan Overheart asked. He took the tray of salt and pepper shakers and helped her into a chair.

  “Headache.”

  “Looks like a bad one.”

  She opened one eye. “It’s a whopper.”

  Sally put her bony hand on Junie’s forehead. “No fever. It’s probably from the heat this morning. Although you’ve looked a little peaked lately. You might’ve picked up a bug.”

  Stan checked his watch. “Go home. Get some rest and come back tomorrow morning if you feel up to it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Can you drive? We can close up and run you home.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll drive slowly.”

  “Call if you need anything,” Sally said.

  Junie managed a smile. “Definitely.”

  CHAPTER 121

  CASS STARED AFTER THE skinny morgue assistant as he left the conference room. “Maybe it is true.”

  “That Joseph’s the one who’s alive?” Darla asked. “Are you serious?”

  Mitch nodded.

  His pretty wife sat back, frowning. “Why?”

  “We’re not sure yet, but it’s a dangerous decision, being Moses.”

  “Well, I doubt he’s doing it for fun, Mitch. There must be a very serious rea
son for him to pretend to be Moses.”

  “That’s what worries me.”

  The conference room door opened and Mayor Rusted’s round face peered in. “May I join you?”

  “Sure,” Mitch said. “What can we do for you?”

  The mayor pulled his bulk into the room and closed the door. “I understand that you’re making progress on the murders.”

  “Did you talk to the sheriff?”

  “At the cemetery.” The mayor wiped a sheen of sweat from his face with a handkerchief. “You’ve learned more about Calvin Whitehead’s life? Found an old trunk of his?”

  Mitch nodded slowly. “We did.”

  “Is it true that he was a Klansman?”

  “It looks that way, although we’ve found no indication that he was active in this area.”

  “I see.” Mayor Rusted shuffled toward the table. “You found nothing else unusual?”

  “How do you mean?” Mitch asked.

  “If he was Klan at one point, he could’ve belonged to other immoral groups at some time.” He leaned closer. “The Church of the True Believer, perhaps?”

  Mitch studied the fat man, his gaze inscrutable. “We’ve found no indication that he had a connection to The Church, Mayor.”

  “Good, good.” Mayor Rusted straightened, rubbing his hands together. “Well, it’s good to know they’re not active again. That was a nasty business. And the investigations into the Franklin and Moore murders?”

  “Coming along.”

  “Good,” he repeated, reaching for the door. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work. Thank you, Detectives.”

  With a soft click, he was gone. Mitch stared after him.

  “What’s wrong?” Cass asked.

  “I’ve never known him to take an interest in an investigation before.”