Sheriff Bill Hoffner strode through the door and stopped, removing his Stetson and taking in the carnage. He hesitated at the sight of Porky and Mojo. A series of expressions flickered across his face before finally settling on something that looked more like constipation than regret. Mitch watched, wondering how much effort it took the man to figure out how grief should appear on his face.
He spotted Mitch in the corner and gingerly made his way across the room. “What are you doing here?” he whispered. “And why was Petchard cuffed?”
“Was cuffed?” Mitch asked, anger worming into a cold knot in his gut. “What did you do with him?”
“I uncuffed him and put him in an ambulance. That ear wound looks nasty.”
Mitch lifted an eyebrow. “It didn’t occur to you that he was cuffed for a reason?”
“What reason would that be?”
“He was in a room where two people were killed and two others wounded, including one of your detectives. When Munk and Truman got to the scene,” Mitch motioned across the room, “they found Petchard attacking one of the victims, slamming his head, or her head, into the floor. It didn’t occur to you that he might have shot someone in this room?”
Hoffner blinked. “Kado will clear him. Besides, Hugo Petchard’s not a flight risk. His entire family is here in Forney County. His father’s well-established in the community.”
“Daddy’s checkbook can send Hugo anywhere Daddy thinks he should go, Sheriff,” Mitch said softly. “By sending Petchard to the hospital, you’ve robbed Kado a clean chance of testing him for gunshot residue. But you’ve also made sure those campaign contributions continue, which I suppose trumps ensuring justice is done for the dead and wounded.”
Hoffner’s face bloomed crimson. “How dare you?”
“How dare you, Sheriff? Kado managed to process Emmet Hedder before the paramedics took him away. He found light concentrations of GSR on Hedder’s right pant leg. Grey arrived shortly after and they began processing the bodies, trying to figure out where the shots came from. There are seven guns in this room. Five nine millimeters, a sawed-off twelve gauge, and a revolver. If Petchard fired one of those weapons –”
“It’ll have his fingerprints on it,” Hoffner interrupted, nostrils flared.
“Maybe,” Mitch said. “But he’s the only person who was mobile when Munk and Truman arrived. If anyone wanted to destroy or plant evidence, such as fingerprints, he’s the only one capable.”
Hoffner deflated a bit, his eyes shifting to study the room. “And Cass? Any GSR?”
“Yes. Heavy concentrations on her right hand and arm.”
Hoffner snorted. “She’s too damn hot-headed for this job.”
Mitch looked up at the man, incredulous. “Do you have any objectivity left, Sheriff? You turn one suspect loose without checking with the officers on the scene, and you condemn one of your detectives without having a clue what actually happened.” His voice rose. “For all you know, she was saving Hugo Petchard’s worthless ass again. It wouldn’t surprise me. The moron didn’t even know his girlfriend was a man.”
All five men swiveled to face Mitch and Sheriff Hoffner. Color drained from his face and he shooed them back to work. They turned slowly to their jobs, voices muted.
“I don’t like your tone, Detective.”
“And I’m sick of your attitude toward your team, Sheriff. Cass is a damn good detective and all you can do is find fault with her. You brought Kado all the way from Oklahoma, only to run him down after one problem with corrupted DNA. Evidence is compromised all the time. Yes, possibly by the forensics department but also by anyone else who handles it. There’s no proof that Kado did anything wrong. But the rest of the force picks up on your attitude and mimics it. I haven’t been around for the last few weeks, but I’ve heard about the kind of hassle he’s taking from the men over that DNA problem. Fed by you.”
“I have no idea –”
Mitch sighed wearily. “No, you don’t. You don’t have any idea how you demoralize the very people who work so hard for you. I’ve had six weeks to think about things and you know the biggest problem with this force?”
Hoffner stared, mouth agape.
“You. You tolerate incompetents like Petchard and harass your strongest people. There’s something wrong about that. I’m not sure what exactly, but I do know it’s backwards. And I know that people like Cass and Kado are mobile. They don’t have to stay here. And eventually they won’t. They’ll give up trying to work around you to do their jobs and go elsewhere.”
Hoffner bristled. “If it’s so bad here, why haven’t you left, Stone? Surely you’re a good enough detective to work anywhere. You don’t have to work for me, do you?”
“No, Sheriff, I don’t. I’ve had several offers to move to other counties and even other states over the years, the last one about six months ago. I choose to stay because this is where Darla’s family lives. Being close to them is important to her. That’s the reason I’m here.”
Hoffner’s gaze darted to the other men, who were studiously avoiding them. “Why are you bringing this up now? Here?”
“Because Cass fired her weapon and that means another Firearm Discharge Board investigation. You’ll suspend her with pay and drag your feet about signing her back on again. I’m about to come back to work. And as much as I respect Carlos, I don’t want him as a partner. I want Cass. And really, I want you to change. I want you to go home tonight and come back a different man tomorrow.” He scratched absently at the top of his brace. “Maybe I need to change some, too. And I’m willing to do that, if you’ll tell me what you want that’s different than what you already get. But I doubt that you’re capable of change, so I’m giving you some home truths now, so you can think before you act on Cass’s situation.”
“And Petchard?” Hoffner’s gaze was icy. “Your recommendation?”
“Fire his lazy, cowardly ass and go find campaign contributions from somebody else. Hell, you’ve run uncontested for years. It can’t cost much to mount a reelection campaign without an opponent.”
Hoffner glared at Mitch and slapped his Stetson back on his head. “Good work, gentlemen. Carry on.”
No one looked up as he left.
CHAPTER 151
CASS FROWNED AND TRIED to open her eyes. They were stuck shut and she struggled to pull them apart. But the effort was too much and she slid back toward a comfortable darkness.
“I think she’s waking up,” a familiar voice said. A cloth gently rubbed her eyes. “Cass? Can you hear me?”
“Mmm,” she answered.
“Get Dr. Rambo.” A chair scraped and footsteps sounded. “Cass? Wake up. I’m not working on the kitchen by myself.”
Cass recognized Bruce’s voice and her lips flitted upward. It’s about time you did some work, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. She tried again to open her eyes, but was just so tired. She heard a soft whooshing and footsteps, and then a cool hand was on her forehead.
“Detective Elliot, wake up, please. This is Dr. Ramasubramanian. We’re all anxious to see you.”
Obediently, she tried. The cloth wiped her face again, and she managed to pull her lids apart only to squeeze them shut. “Turn off the overhead lights, please,” Dr. Ramasubramanian said in his lilting voice. “And close the blinds. Thank you.”
Cass tried again and managed to keep her eyelids open long enough to see the kindly Indian doctor smiling down at her. “Ahh, there are those unusual purple eyes. Welcome back. We’ve been waiting for you. It may take a few moments, but please keep blinking. Your eyes will adjust.”
Mustering a reply, her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth and Cass tried to swallow.
“Mr. Elliot, there is a cup next to the bed,” Dr. Ramasubramanian said. Something touched her lips and she parted them, allowing a straw to slide in. “Sip slowly, please. It is only water but it will ease the dryness in your throat. You may still feel the effects of your last shot of morphine. Gentlemen, five
minutes only, please. I will be back shortly.”
She heard light footsteps and the whoosh again. Obediently she sipped, fighting the drifting tug of the drugs in her system. At last she pulled back. “Happen?” she croaked.
A hand stroked her forehead and she opened her eyes to see her father’s troubled face, his eyes still bloodshot from Friday night’s binge. “Don’t worry about that now, Cass. Just rest. You’ll be fine,” Abe promised.
She cleared her throat. “What happened?”
Bruce’s broad, handsome face appeared beside her father’s, and Harry’s bobbed into view on the other side of the bed. “You were in a shoot out, Cass,” Bruce said to her father’s frown. “Involving Junie Archer, Emmet Hedder, Mojo, and Petchard. You got hit in the shoulder.”
Fragments of the event materialized in her mind and she closed her eyes, trying to fit them together.
“Shut up, Bruce. She’s not ready,” Harry whispered.
“It’s a flesh wound. She’s fine.”
“Boys,” Abe warned. “Let her rest.”
“No,” Cass groaned. “Was anybody else hurt?” She fought to keep her eyes open as the men exchanged glances. “Who?”
Bruce drew a deep breath. “Emmet Hedder got hit with some buck shot. Dr. Rambo’s picking it out and stitching him up. Mojo was hit in the chest. He died, Cass. Petchard got away with a nick to his ear.”
She blinked, her lids heavy. “And Junie?”
Abe took her hand. “That’s enough for now.”
“What happened?”
“She was shot and killed, Cass.”
“By who?”
Bruce shifted. “They’re not sure. She was hit with more than one shot.”
“By me?”
Harry scowled at his brother. “They don’t know. Kado’s out at the house now trying to figure it out.”
“Hoffner suspended me?”
“Not yet,” Bruce said. Harry jabbed him in the arm. “I mean, it’s like Harry said, Kado’s still looking into what happened. Do you remember anything?”
How can eyelids feel so heavy? Cass thought, submitting to the warm pull of the drugs. “It was the cat.”
“What?” the men asked in unison.
“The cat did it,” she whispered, and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 152
IT IS A STRANGE truth that tragedy can cause even the most cautious of people to drop their inhibitions and take extraordinary risks. Maxine Leverman punched the treadmill’s ‘stop’ button and stared at the text message. For an instant, she was furious that Cass would’ve given Mitch Stone her phone number. Then the message sank in and Maxine flew for the door, grabbing a pair of oversized sunglasses, a baseball cap, and her purse. Her defensive instincts were so well honed that she punched the ‘away’ button on the alarm keypad without thinking. But beyond that security measure, Maxine lost all sense of precaution. She stepped outside without first checking for stalkers and slammed the door, leaving it unbolted.
____________
THE THREE ELLIOT MEN hovered outside Cass’s room until an ER nurse shooed them into a private waiting area. Bruce was reaching for the door, heading for the cafeteria to find coffee, when it banged open and a thin woman stepped inside. She was in sweaty workout clothes with a cap on her head and a pair of movie star sunglasses in one hand, a purse slung over her shoulder. Her green eyes were clear and wide.
“Where’s Cass?” she demanded.
Bruce stopped short, a tickle of recognition in his gut. “Maxine?”
“Bruce? Dear Lord, you turned out nice.” She squinted. “What happened to your cheek?”
The curve of her lips rendered him speechless. He watched, dazed, as she said hello to Harry and hugged Abe. It was a well-rumored fact that Bruce Elliot had bedded most of the eligible, and some of the not-so-eligible, women in Forney County. While it was true that he had dated far and wide, his sexual exploits were not quite as extensive as legend might lead one to believe. For the simple reason that once he mastered the almost uncontrollable urges of his youth, he realized that sex without some sort of intellectual connection wasn’t very satisfying. For him, anyway. It was rare these days that he met a woman who made him look twice. But his sister’s best friend, once knock-kneed and gap-toothed, had turned into a stunning woman.
He started at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”
His father stifled a smile. “You’d better make that four coffees and some pastries. Can you handle all that?”
“Of course. Be right back.” Bruce fled, pulling the door shut behind him. He leaned against the hospital wall, somewhat amused to find that he was so attracted to the skinny woman that he was wondering where she’d like to go on their first date, while his only sister lay recovering from a gunshot wound just down the hall.
____________
A NURSE TURNED AT the sound of the door opening and nodded Maxine to a chair, then continued fiddling with the bedside equipment.
“How is she?” Maxine whispered, clutching a cup of coffee and a bear claw in a napkin.
“She’s a hard one to keep down. She keeps fighting the drugs.”
“That’s Cass.”
“Well, if you care about her, fuss when she wakes up, would you? She needs rest so her body can heal.” The nurse peeled Cass’s gown back. “This is one of the strangest scars I’ve ever seen. Do you know what happened?”
Maxine’s mouth went suddenly dry. She tightened her grip on the coffee cup as the nurse removed the gauze covering Cass’s gunshot wound. And there it was. A narrow, silky line swirling from Cass’s collar bone and along the swell of her breast, disappearing beneath the faded hospital gown. Following the same path as Maxine’s. She suspected that the cut meandered beneath the breast and ended at her areole. The scar was so faded that it almost disappeared into Cass’s skin; only a faint sheen was visible, and that only in the right light. So that’s what it will look like in another five years, she thought. True body art. I wonder if the mental scars will have faded so well by then, for both of us.
“Do you know what happened to her?” the nurse asked again.
“No,” Maxine lied. “But it is unusual, isn’t it?”
“At least the injury was superficial and won’t interfere with how the gunshot wound heals.”
Superficial, Maxine thought. If you only knew.
CHAPTER 153
MUNK AND MARTINEZ STOOD outside the exam room and took turns peeking through the small window in the door. Celia Hedder sat by the bed, holding her husband’s hand as Dr. Ramasubramanian talked to them and left a bottle of pills on the counter. He met them outside the door.
“Mr. Hedder already has a wound in his right arm that was very poorly stitched, but is healing well,” he told them. “Perhaps it is a blessing that the buckshot caught him in the same arm.” He glanced into the room. “He asked me to tell you to wait, please, while he speaks with his wife. He would like to talk to you next.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Munk said. “How’s Cass?”
“Surprisingly well. The morphine has put her to sleep. Do you need to speak with her?”
Munk nodded.
“Check with the nurse’s station. I will leave word with them when she is awake again.”
“The damage to her shoulder?”
“It is a mercy that the bullet did not mushroom as it entered her body. Nor did it fragment once inside. There is muscle trauma but the bullet missed her scapula. A minor miracle.”
“Range of movement?”
“That will depend upon how much scar tissue develops and how her physical therapy progresses.”
The three men started as the exam room door opened and Celia Hedder stepped out, wiping her cheeks. “Keep it short,” she instructed.
Dr. Ramasubramanian took her arm and led her toward the waiting room. “You have had quite a shock, my dear. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a soda?”
“I need to run an errand, Dr. Rambo, but I could use some coffee first.”
____________
EMMET HEDDER EYED MUNK’S rust-streaked uniform. “Some of that mine?”
“I think I got some of everybody’s blood on me. It was quite a scene.”
Emmet’s eyes closed. “That it was.”
“You ready to give your statement? I’d like to tape it, and Detective Martinez is here to take notes and act as witness.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, putting Emmet the Marine into play.
Munk switched on a small tape recorder. “Tell us about Junie Archer, Mr. Hedder.”
“Call me Emmet, sir,” he began. “You’re not going to Mirandize me?”
“Should I?”
Emmet chewed his lip. “No, sir,” he said. And then he explained how he and Joseph worked together and used the investigation to identify the shooter. “It was Moses who figured it out. Junie was at his house for the wake, and she mentioned that whoever replaced the head on the rooster did a good job. Moses realized there was no way she could know that the rooster tile was shattered unless she’d seen it down the scope of a rifle, or someone had told her about it. Officer Petchard never went into the kitchen after the murders, not until everything was cleaned and repaired. And Moses checked the case log; Petchard didn’t access the photos of the kitchen.”
“So you started stalking her?” Munk asked.
“Tracking her,” Emmet corrected. “Using a cell phone. We didn’t figure Junie for the actual shooter. Moses saw a photo of Calvin Whitman in the man’s murder file, and made the connection to her. We thought she must be working with his son.”
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