“And people. I knew the woman at the car rental place. She was happy to let me have a look at the records for those two cars in exchange for a night out and a roll in the sack.”
Movement caught Emmet’s eye and he turned as Petchard gagged. The officer had paled beneath his sunburn and he was shaking. “You’re a man?” he croaked.
She looked at him with tenderness. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Hugo, but I needed you to help me find them.”
“But,” he pointed at her chest, “you’ve got tits.”
Junie laughed then, a sound of genuine pleasure. “And I thought you were so courteous. You’ve been a big help. And you’re such an idiot that it’s almost like killing a dumb, friendly dog.” She shifted the Glock and steadied her aim. “But it’s better for everyone if we take your genes out of the pool.”
CHAPTER 137
CASS SQUEEZED INTO THE narrow drive beside Petchard’s personal truck and turned down Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks Like a Lady”. Although Stan didn’t have Junie’s address, he had driven her home when a migraine put her out of commission. His directions were excellent, right down to the red mailbox by the road and the raggedy tire swing hanging from the tree in the front yard. Cass squinted into the sun streaming through the windshield, sweat prickling her scalp as soon as she cut the engine. A little farmhouse sat alone in a yard that was already dying in the scorching heat. A weathered barn was off to one side, two wide doors pulled together and secured with a shiny padlock. She rolled down a window. The stillness of the heavy afternoon was broken by a sputtering mechanical hum. She listened harder and realized that she was hearing a window air conditioning unit. Her phone rang.
“Where are you?” Mitch asked.
“Following a lead. Why?”
“What lead?”
“Kado found Rob Conroy’s prints on one of the envelopes Moses’ letters came in. Conroy denied he wrote them, but said he picked up a letter Junie dropped and she asked him to put it in the mail box.”
“Of course she wrote the letters,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “That actually makes sense.” She strained to hear him as he muffled the phone to speak to someone else. “Where are you?”
“Junie’s house.”
“Inside?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Get away from there and wait for backup.”
“What are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“For once, would you do what I say and ask questions later?”
Cass cranked the engine and raised the window, relishing the cool air as it washed across her face. “Fine, O Exalted One. But why?”
“It’s complicated. We think Junie Archer is Calvin Whitman’s son.”
She stopped, hand poised to slip the gear shift into reverse. “Say again?”
“Whitman’s son was sexually abused by his guardian, Boyd Dudley, and probably others. They dressed him as a girl and Dudley might’ve sold the boy as a prostitute. The son disappeared from Thayerville when he was sixteen, and nobody knew where he was until today. Truman emailed a photo of Junie to the Sheriff over there. He confirmed that the girl looks like Calvin Whitman and his son, Junior, whose nickname was Junie. Archer was his mother’s maiden name.”
She squinted into the sun.
“Cass, are you there?” Mitch asked.
“He’s a cross dresser? A transvestite?”
“I don’t know the right word, but he’s a dude that dresses like a chick.”
“It’s weird, but it fits with something Stan said about Junie using a urinal at The Golden Gate.” She raised her sunglasses and studied the farmhouse. No movement. “Where did they find the son, Mitch? What was he doing?”
“He was in Tennessee working for the state troopers as a sharp shooter.”
“A sniper? Do you think he killed the Franklins and Donna?”
“It’s not clear yet, but maybe.”
“His motive?”
“I don’t know. But the men who were involved in the lynching, the men we think Emmet, Moses, and Donna killed, were probably tied up with Boyd Dudley.”
“And might’ve abused him?”
“It’s possible.”
She pondered this. “Why did he come to Arcadia as a woman, Mitch? Why not come as himself?”
“Maybe he thought people would be nicer to him if he was a woman. Maybe he wants to have a sex-change operation. I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Whether he thinks of himself as a woman or a man, it might play into his mindset.”
“I guess we’ll figure that out later. For now, stand down until backup arrives.”
“I can’t, Mitch, I –”
“Cass,” he said, groaning. “Would you please –”
Scratching sounds came through the phone and then Cass heard Sheriff Hoffner’s voice. “Elliot?”
“Sir?”
“I am ordering you to move away from the Archer woman’s house and wait until backup units arrive. Once we have the area secured, we’ll decide how best to approach her. Do you understand me?”
“Sir, I just –”
She heard a sharp intake of breath. “Elliot, this is a direct order.”
Cass hesitated, her gaze sliding to Petchard’s pickup. She’d been back on duty for not quite three days, and already she was bucking the system. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Hoffner barked, then disconnected the call.
Cass cut the engine. “I will wait for backup. After I have a look around.”
____________
PETCHARD’S FACE FLUSHED AND he tensed. Emmet’s military experience let him visualize each move before Petchard made it, and he mentally prepared for the man’s death. Time slowed. The officer’s jaw clenched and he pushed to his feet, preparing to charge. Junie swung her arm in a blinding arc and pointed the Glock at the window, fired a single shot, and turned the gun back on Petchard, who froze mid-step. Joseph had flinched but was now perfectly still, leaning forward on the couch, hands hanging near his ankles. His eyes flicked to meet Emmet’s and then returned to staring at the floor.
“Now look what you made me do,” Junie complained. A cone of sunlight fell through a hole in the curtain and dust motes danced a dervish in the golden rod. She twitched the gun’s barrel at Petchard, urging him back to the couch. He complied, crumpling into the worn cushions and hiding his face in his hands. Emmet could barely hear her soft woman’s voice through the ringing in his ears. “Sit still while the grown-ups finish their conversation, Hugo. You’re still important to me, lover. But not for long.”
____________
CASS FLATTENED ON THE seat as the shot rang out. Heart thrumming against her ribs, she peeked over the dash. Nothing moved, not even the leaves on the trees. She opened the truck’s door, pushing it almost closed behind her. In a crouch, she backed between her truck and Petchard’s and slipped behind the barn.
The late afternoon was once again quiet, the air conditioner’s gurgling and hiccupping the only sounds. Cass eased her head up to look through the barn’s grimy window. The interior was neatly organized, if dusty. Two vehicles were parked inside, a black truck and a rust-bucket of a Honda. Junie and Petchard were both still here.
She rubbed dirt from the window and studied the pickup. It was black from front to back; even the bumpers and hubcaps were painted. Cass lowered her head and swallowed hard, thinking back to the night she’d nearly been hit by a black pickup racing away from Deadwood Hollow. When the Grove boys’ little orange Vega was smashed by someone fleeing the Hollow. The night Martha and Joseph Franklin and Donna Moore were killed. She peeked into the barn again and entered the truck’s license plate number as a note on her phone. If this was the same vehicle, they should find orange paint on one of the bumpers, and that could tie Junie a little tighter to the murders.
Sliding down the barn’s wall, she wiped sweat from her brow and refocused on the current situation. Petchard. That idiot. Leave it to Hugo to get involved with a murderous cross-dresser. S
he took a deep breath and continued to the far side of the barn where she dropped to the ground and peered around the corner. A patch of Johnson grass provided cover and she inched forward, gaze sweeping the small area. Still no movement. Cass flipped open her phone and pushed a button. “One shot fired from inside Junie’s house, Mitch,” she whispered. “How far out is backup?”
“Fifteen minutes, at least.”
“Tell them to come in silent, no sirens. Park down the road and approach on foot. From what I’ve seen so far, all the curtains are drawn. There’s a noisy air conditioner unit running, so unless Junie looks out the window and spots my truck, she won’t know I’m here.”
“Cass,” Mitch growled. “Get away from that house.”
“Petchard is in there.”
“What?”
“You didn’t give me a chance to tell you before. Petchard’s truck is here. He must be inside. And as much as I’d like to leave him to her – or him, or whatever she is – I can’t. If I can isolate their location, we’ll have a better idea of how to proceed when the backup units get here.”
“Cass –,” he began, but she talked over him.
“Gunshot, Mitch. Imminent danger. There are overgrown bushes by the road. Tell the officers to use them for cover. I’m turning my ringer off but I’ll call the lead officer when I know more. Who’s running point?”
“Munk, but Cass –”
She snapped the phone shut and turned the ringer to mute. Eyes still scanning, Cass stepped out into the open and darted for the house.
CHAPTER 138
MITCH STARED AT HIS silent phone. He opened his mouth to speak and looked up. The conference room was almost empty. Upon realizing that Junie Archer was probably Calvin Whitman’s son, Sheriff Hoffner ordered the officers to her house, instructed Kado to get ready to process a crime scene, and sent Elaine to the reception desk to organize more officers for backup. Only scruffy Englishman Bernie Winterbottom remained with Mitch, golden head stretched toward the computer in the corner, comparing the photographs of Junie Archer and Calvin Whitehead and Calvin Whitman.
Mitch’s vision blurred as he recalled a mad dash down an overgrown, rutted trail several weeks ago. With just that image, the metallic bite of panic coated his tongue and his heart rate increased. His last attempt to help his partner ended with himself incapacitated and Cass left alone to face a violent cult. He wouldn’t desert her again. He blinked away the memory and cleared his throat. “Bernie?”
“Yes, Mitchell?”
“Can you drive over here? I mean, in the U.S.?”
“Of course.”
“I need a ride to the Archer house.” Mitch dug his keys from his pocket. “My truck is parked out front.”
Bernie turned to him. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“It’s pure stupidity. But I have to get out there. I can’t let Cass deal with this alone. Not again.” He drew a deep breath. “Either you drive, or I do. Are you game?”
Bernie stood, smoothed down his rumpled safari jacket, and crossed the room to take the keys. “We’ll go out the back door so Elaine doesn’t see us.”
Mitch’s smile was thin. “Subterfuge. That’s good. We can use a man like you on the force, you know.”
“Thank you, Mitchell,” Bernie said, maneuvering the wheelchair through the conference room door. “But your job requires interaction with the living. I prefer dealing with the dead. It’s much less complicated.”
CHAPTER 139
KADO DASHED IN FRONT of Truman’s truck with his forensic kit raised. Squad cars squealed around them and out of the parking lot, sirens blaring. Truman slammed on the brakes and Munk jerked forward against the seat belt. Kado ran to the passenger side and yanked opened the door. “Move. I’ll get in the backseat.”
“This is not a good idea,” Munk grumbled as he unfastened his seat belt. “Are you armed?”
Kado climbed past him. “Got a spare?”
Munk slammed the door and slapped his seat belt back on as Truman sped out of the parking lot. “Have you ever shot one?”
“I carried in Oklahoma. Old Comfrey didn’t, so Sheriff Hoffner saw no reason to issue me a gun. Do you have a spare?”
Still watching the road, Truman reached down and fiddled with his ankle holster. He passed it over the seat to Kado. “Be careful with it,” he warned. “My mom gave it to me.”
“Not your dad?” Munk asked.
An eyebrow arched above Truman’s mirrored shades. “Mom’s always been the more practical of the two.”
“Do either of you know the area where Junie Archer lives?” Kado asked.
Truman nodded. “It’s kind of remote. There aren’t many houses around.”
“Any ideas on how to handle a hostage situation?”
Munk and Truman exchanged a glance. “We’ve only had one here in the last ten years or so,” Munk explained. “And that was some serious redneckery.”
“What happened?”
“A bubba took his girlfriend hostage after she set his restored Mustang on fire.”
“Ouch,” Kado said. “Why’d she do that?”
“He’d tossed her clothes, shoes, and bags into the pen where he fattened up wild hogs.”
“Moron. How did you end it?”
Truman cringed. Munk sighed. “We didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somehow, she ended up with a shotgun and killed him.”
“That’s not promising.”
“On the plus side, she rid Forney County of one righteous asshole and saved the taxpayers a load of money,” Truman said.
“How’s that?” Kado asked.
“We suspected he was moving drugs and weapons, but couldn’t catch him at it. She did save us the cost of a trial,” Munk conceded. His phone rang. “Mitch?”
He pressed his free hand against his ear. “Say again?... She isn’t?… Bernie? Mitch, that’s not a good… I know, I know. Fine. Just hang back, okay?”
Munk snapped the phone shut and leaned into the headrest.
“What is it?” Truman asked.
“Cass says one shot was fired from Junie Archer’s house. She’s out of her truck and scouting the place to see if she can figure out where it came from.”
Kado paled.
“And Mitch?” Truman asked.
“He convinced Bernie to drive him out to Junie’s house.” Munk shook his head. “A cross-dressing murderer, a nitwit cop who doesn’t realize his date has a dick, a cripple, and a forensic anthropologist. This just keeps getting better.”
CHAPTER 140
JUNIE SHIFTED HER ATTENTION back to Emmet. “There are things we need to clear up before you die. Are you ready to talk?”
He nodded.
“In another life, we would’ve made a good team. How many have you and your friends killed?”
Emmet’s glance involuntarily flew to Officer Petchard, who sat with his head cradled in his hands.
“Don’t worry about spilling the beans in front of Hugo,” Junie said. “I’m the only one leaving here alive.”
“Maybe we can talk about that,” Emmet said.
“Doubtful. You killed Arlin Ross in Tennessee,” she stated.
Emmet nodded. “It was dumb luck that we killed Ross while you were on patrol in that area?”
“I’d just found him and started scouting him, but yes, it was luck that we were in that area at the same time.”
“When you pulled up behind us at that stop sign, did you know what we’d done?”
She shook her head. “I saw you pull out of the blacktop road to Ross’s house and that made me wonder. Very few people travel that road. I almost stopped you to find out what you were up to.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t until after his murder was called in that I made the connection.” Junie hesitated, and then seemed to reach a decision. “I knew somebody else was killing the people that I was after. At the time, I was grateful for the help. Did you kill Eric Jackson a
nd Jimmy Holland?”
Emmet nodded. “What gave it away?”
“The bullet wound through their legs, but more importantly, the swastika.”
“That was risky. But I didn’t figure any of the locals would be smart enough to match the details to another crime.”
“They weren’t,” Junie said. “The only reason I made the connection was because they were on my list. I managed to get copies of Jackson’s and Holland’s autopsy reports. It pissed me off at first, but I decided it didn’t really matter who was murdering them. The important thing was that they died. The brutality was a nice touch.”
“Why were you after them, Junie?” Emmet asked.
“They were part of a longer list. After my father ‘died’ – and we’ll come back to him in a minute – I landed with Boyd Dudley.”
“Did you kill him, or was his burning to death an accident like the investigation concluded?”
There was genuine pleasure on her face. “I wanted to save him for last, to see if he could figure out that someone was coming for him, and who it was. But in the end,” she giggled, “I couldn’t help myself.”
Petchard stirred. His green eyes burned when he looked up at her. “I should arrest you for murder, you bitch.”
“Language, Hugo,” Junie admonished. “And if you speak again without being spoken to, I’ll put a bullet through your brain. Understand, lover?”
The room had grown chilly from the chugging air conditioner, and Petchard shivered. Slowly, the fire in his eyes died. Joseph remained perfectly still, sitting on the edge of the sofa with his hands hanging near the carpet. Emmet willed his friend to remain silent.
“Why the long list?” Emmet asked.
“Dudley didn’t think he was getting enough cash to compensate for his trouble in taking care of me, so he sold me.”
“Whored you out?”
“Every man on that list was a pervert who found some bizarre way to abuse me. They treated me worse than their dogs.” Petchard flinched at her words. “That’s right, Hugo, the mouth you so desperately wanted to kiss has given many a blow job.”
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