“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would Calvin Whitman’s son come after you and Moore and the Franklins?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Emmet said.
“We know your fathers were lynched the same night in Thayerville, Alabama. Is that the connection?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would the son of the man who murdered your fathers come after y’all?”
“I have no idea. Maybe to finish what his father started? To put an end to our blood lines?”
Munk examined him and Emmet waited. Finally, the pudgy officer spoke. “After the shooting at your house,” Munk motioned to Emmet’s upper arm, “why didn’t you come to us?”
Emmet blanched. “The cops?”
“Yeah, why not?”
He shook his head. “I started running, sir. It never occurred to me to dial 911. Maybe it was a throwback to Libya or Panama.”
“But you hooked up with Moses, a cop. You violated your little circle and called him. Why?”
Emmet’s mind raced to make the connections. “You have Donna’s phone.”
Munk nodded. “And we got a look at Moses’ call history by mistake. What were you three up to?”
“We were friends.”
“Since when?”
This was why he wanted to speak to Celia before talking to the cops. Be as honest as possible, she advised. The fewer lies you tell, the fewer chances they have to trip you up. “Since Moses responded to a call at her office and they realized how they were connected.”
Munk sat in a chair near the bed, and Martinez leaned into the wall “How did they make the connection?”
“He asked about her paintings and drawings. Have you seen them?”
Munk nodded.
“They’re bits of what she remembers from the night our fathers were lynched.”
“She was there?”
It was Emmet’s turn to nod. “She didn’t tell Moses what they were, exactly, just that something bad had happened and this was her way of working through it. He found out she was from Thayerville and the pieces kind of fell into place. Moses introduced me and Donna, and the three of us hung out occasionally.”
“Why the call circle?”
“Me and Moses had such variable schedules, sir. When one was available we’d make the rounds and see if the other two could meet up.”
Emmet held his breath while Munk digested this. “Tell me what happened at the house today,” the officer finally said. “Start with how you got out to her house.”
“We drove my wife’s car. You’ll find it on County Road 819.”
“You snuck up behind the house?”
“Yes, sir. We wanted some answers, but thought that checking the place first, finding out who was around, was the safest way to proceed.” He swallowed. “She caught us snooping and managed to get both of us inside.”
“Did you bring weapons?”
“Yes, sir. We each had a nine millimeter, and I didn’t know it at the time, but Moses had a revolver in an ankle holster.”
“Why come armed?”
“We weren’t sure who we would find or how they would react, so we thought it was best to be prepared.”
“Junie Archer?”
“She took our nines, but she had one of her own and a shotgun.”
“How did Petchard get messed up in this?”
Emmet actually chuckled, the Marine façade slipping. “I’m not sure, but the dude’s got some serious problems.” He explained about the notification system Junie had rigged over the doors. “We heard the chime and Junie hid behind the door into the living room. This police officer comes creeping into the living room, locked and loaded, and she disarms him in a heartbeat. Seems he had no clue she was a man.”
“No,” Munk agreed, “I don’t think he did. And Cass?”
“She came in after Junie fired the second shot.” Emmet carried on at Munk’s frown. “Junie got irritated with Petchard and fired a warning shot through the window and told him to shut up. He couldn’t stay quiet and she shot his ear. That’s when Detective Elliot entered the house.”
“Junie shot his ear? Was she aiming for his head and missed?”
Emmet shook his head. “No, sir. After she shot him, she told him that she’d put a bullet between his eyes next time.”
“Junie caught Cass the same way?”
“Detective Elliot was too quick for her. They ended up facing off, guns pointed at each other, Junie’s shotgun aimed at us.”
“What caused the gun fire?”
“A cat, of all things,” Emmet said. “It must’ve been hiding under the couch and for some reason, it went for Junie’s legs. I guess she lost her balance. And she was taking drugs, I think.”
“Why?”
“She acted like she had a headache, kept pressing her hand to her temple. And her eyes were a little fuzzy.” He shrugged. “It made me wonder if she had migraines and had taken something for them.”
Munk motioned for Emmet to continue.
“The cat bolted out and then all hell broke loose.” His eyes slid closed and then slowly opened. “While Detective Elliot had Junie distracted, Moses managed to get the revolver out of its holster and hide it beneath his leg. I know he fired once at Junie, and she got us with the shotgun. She must’ve hit Detective Elliot, too, because she went down fast.” He replayed the scene in his mind. “I think Elliot might’ve fired her weapon, but I’m not sure. The shots were all close together.”
“Where was Moses when he fired?”
“Next to me on the couch.”
“Sitting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did Officer Petchard end up on top of Junie?”
“I’m not sure, sir. The shotgun blast threw Moses into me, and I lost track of what was happening.”
Emmet shifted position on the bed and winced. Munk asked if he had anything else to add, then stopped the tape. Emmet thought about Joseph’s whispered request and decided to honor it. “Can I tell you something, off the record?”
Martinez and Munk exchanged a glance, then nodded.
He took a deep breath, all sign of the Marine gone. “I don’t think it matters now, but that was Joseph who died today. Moses was murdered Wednesday night.”
“We wondered,” Munk said. “Why are you telling us now?”
Emmet touched the wound Joseph had stitched up. “Joseph was a pretty honest dude. Despite the hacking and impersonating an officer. Before he died, he asked me to make it right to protect Moses’ memory. What will you do with it?”
“I don’t know. Like you say, I’m not sure it matters.” Munk almost smiled. “From your description of the shot he took at Junie Archer, I wondered how Moses could have made it. He didn’t have that kind of aim.”
“It was close distance,” Emmet protested.
“Moses couldn’t have made that shot at any distance,” Detective Martinez said. “But Joseph? He seemed to have a gift.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Just let Moses go down as a hero.” He glanced up at them, wondering how black and white their view of the world was. “Maybe he still should.”
“Maybe he should,” the pudgy officer said. “Maybe he should at that.”
CHAPTER 154
LIGHT HAD BLED ALMOST completely from the evening sky, painting faint sienna streaks through the blinds and across the white blanket. Maxine finished her coffee and snaked a hand beneath the sheet to find Cass’s hand. The monitors beeped rhythmically although Cass stirred more frequently now.
Maxine studied her friend’s face and felt a strange pride. She’d rushed to the ER to find half of Forney County’s police force clogging the waiting room and hallway. She had managed to overhear a few comments about Cass’s role in stopping the man who had brought such death to the county these past few days. Or perhaps it was a woman. Opinion was unclear. What was perfectly clear was the consensus that Cass had acted bravely to protect a fellow offic
er whose life was in imminent danger. Although a few muttered that he wasn’t worth saving.
“I’m so proud of you, Cass,” she whispered, releasing her friend’s hand to stroke a strand of hair off her forehead. “I know you hoped you wouldn’t have to shoot anyone else. But you wiped another worthless cretin off the face of the planet, girl. It’s practice for when we find the beast that did this to us. He’s an animal and needs to be put down like one.”
Maxine saw a narrow door in a corner. She crossed the room on tiptoe, relieved to find a toilet. When she finished, she opened the door to see Cass’s eyes open, gazing at her with a confused expression.
“Max?” she croaked.
Maxine hurried to her side. “It’s all right, Cass.”
Cass blinked and tried to lift her head, falling back onto the pillow with a soft grunt. “Water?”
Maxine held a glass with a straw to Cass’s lips, stroking her hair while she drank. “Better?” she asked when Cass turned her head away.
“Thanks.” Her eyelids slipped closed.
“You remember?”
“Some.” Cass touched the bandage over her cheek. “How bad is it?”
“That Indian doctor said you’ll be fine. You won’t even have a scar.”
She looked at Maxine in horror. The beeping from one of the monitors quickened. “The scar. Maxine, who’s seen it?”
“It’s okay.” Maxine snagged Cass’s free hand and held it tightly. “A nurse, the doctor, and me. That’s all I know about. I was with your dad and brothers a little while ago and they didn’t mention it.”
Her voice was frantic. “Anybody at the scene? An officer? Paramedics?”
“Maybe Cass, but calm down, honey. There was bound to be a lot of blood, right? Your scar’s not very big; the blood probably covered it completely. With all the worry about getting you to the hospital, I doubt anybody even noticed. And if they did, so what? What are they going to say? And to who?”
Cass’s breathing slowly returned to normal and the beeping subsided. Maxine’s smile was gentle. “Besides, if anybody does say anything, use my line and tell them it’s body art. Men will think you’re totally hot and women will line up to get one of their own. Hey, maybe we could start a business. Tattoos, piercings, and scars. We’ll be rich.”
Cass managed to roll her eyes before the hospital room door opened. Dr. Ramasubramanian peeked inside. “May I come in?”
Maxine stood but Cass gripped her hand. “Stay. And wash my face. It feels disgusting.”
She waited as the doctor had Cass move her fingers and hand, and watched as she lifted her arm about a foot off the bed. Cass was panting and her face was coated with sweat by the time he finished with her.
“You are very fortunate, Detective Elliot. The bullet traced a narrow path between your collar bone and scapula. Neither was injured. You will need some therapy, but will heal very quickly.”
“My face?”
“I’ve asked a plastic surgeon to look at the wound and my stitches. I hope my work will be satisfactory.” He told her where the button was so she could self-administer morphine.
She managed a brief smile. “I’ve got a budding opium habit already, Dr. Rambo. I can’t afford heroin on a cop’s salary, so I’d better kick it now.”
He patted her hand. “Try to get some rest. If that involves morphine, we will find a discount drug dealer on some street corner when you are on the outside again, okay?”
Cass raised an eyebrow. “Was that humor, Dr. Rambo?”
“Yes,” he said, chuckling as he headed for the door. “Yes, I believe it was.”
CHAPTER 155
JOHN GREY PUT HIS scissors aside and looked at the contraption wrapped around Calvin Whitman Jr.’s chest. “So that’s how he did it,” he said.
“Did what?” Mitch called from the corner.
Bernie Winterbottom looked over from his position near the fireplace, where he held a piece of string next to a bullet hole in the plaster. Bright halogen lights on poles lit the small room. “That’s quite a harness.”
“A what?” Kado called as he shut his phone. He and Truman moved to the body. “How did he do that?”
“Do what?” Mitch asked again, struggling to his feet.
Bernie knelt beside Grey and with his approval, poked at the garments, peeking inside the bra. “He used cutlets inside a strapless brassiere to push his pectoral muscles up and together, and some sort of contraption over the brassiere to help boost the effect.” He slipped a finger under the strap. “The shoulder straps are tight, very uncomfortable I would imagine, but the total impact is one of cleavage creation from a normal-sized man’s pectorals.” He turned to Grey. “May I?”
The medical examiner nodded and Bernie fiddled with the clasps and peeled each layer away. A man’s well-muscled chest was revealed, along with two entry wounds and small smears of blood.
“That’s not fair,” Truman said, and then blushed. “I mean, if a man can do that and look like a woman, imagine what a woman could do. That’s sneaky.”
Mitch finally looked over Bernie’s shoulder. “Dang. I missed it.”
“It’s a common practice for cross-dressers and even transvestites to use various means of enhancing their breasts and cleavage,” Bernie said.
“You are full of fascinating facts, you know that, Bernie? And sometimes, they’re a little scary.” At the Englishman’s blush, Mitch turned to Kado. “Well?”
“Give me a minute. Grey?”
John Grey slipped plastic rods into each wound, then unfolded himself and stood, snagging one earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing. “That clears Cass.”
“How?” Mitch said. “Hoffner will challenge it, so let’s get the story down now.”
“There’s no story to get down,” Kado said. “The science says it all. Junie was standing about here.” Kado straddled Whitman’s torso, his body facing between the couch and window. “According to Munk’s interview of Emmet Hedder, Moses was seated on the couch to Junie’s left when he fired his weapon. That must be the shot that penetrated the heart, upward and from left to right. The shot to the left shoulder is almost straight in.” He looked down at the rod in the wound. “Well, maybe with a small upward angle. It makes sense that Cass fired at or near the time that she was shot.” Kado motioned for Truman to stand where Cass had stood. “Aim at me.” Truman lifted his right hand, and Kado lifted his. “They had guns in their right hands and shot each other in the left shoulder. It holds water. She’s clear.”
“Thank God for that,” Mitch said. He peg-legged back to the chair and collapsed into it. “He’ll still suspend her.”
“He has to,” Truman piped up, “department regs.”
“There’s an exception to every rule,” Grey said, and turned to help Porky maneuver a gurney into the room. He looked at his assistant’s bloodshot eyes. “Are you sure you can handle this?”
Porky’s chin quivered but he nodded.
“We’ll make a separate trip for this one,” he said, looking at the body on the floor. “He’s caused enough grief for the Franklin family. I don’t want him in the same wagon as Moses.”
CHAPTER 156
DARLA STONE WAVED TO Maxine and closed the door to Cass’s hospital room. She turned to her husband. His face was a pale wasteland but there was peace in his eyes. “They don’t come tougher than an Elliot,” she said.
Mitch drew a ragged breath. “I know. But there’s nothing like seeing for yourself.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I wish I’d been there for her.”
“The best thing you can do for Cass is concentrate on rehab and beat her back to work. She won’t stay down for long.”
“Hey,” Mitch said, heading for the waiting room. “You owe me fried chicken.”
“What?” Darla laughed.
“You bet that Junie Archer was Calvin Whitman’s kid. You were right. That means you have to pay up.”
“Ahh, Mitch. That’s not the way it wor
ks with bets. If I was wrong, I’d have to pay up. Since I was right, you can take me to that new winery outside town.”
His face fell. “That’s the way it works?”
“Afraid so, sweetie. But that was a good try.”
They found a group of officers huddled in a corner, whispering. Wally Pugh hovered nearby, notepad in hand, nose twitching as he scented for a story. Sheriff Hoffner stood in the middle of the room, face stoic as he listened to a report from Kado. Truman stood beside Kado, offering the occasional nod.
“He’s going to suspend her again,” Mitch said.
“Does he have to?” Darla asked.
“Probably,” he admitted. “At least until the Firearm Discharge Board clears her. But there were two witnesses to this shooting –” He pivoted on his crutches. “Where’s Petchard? Was he admitted?”
“He’s gone,” Darla answered. Mitch had called his wife as soon as he learned that Cass was wounded and asked her to wait at the hospital. It was now quarter past ten. She’d been here for almost five hours. “I saw him come into the ER on a gurney, but he walked out on his own steam. His ear was bandaged but that was all the damage I saw.”
“I’ll bet nobody took a statement from him, did they?”
She shrugged.
“First thing tomorrow morning, Kado,” they heard Hoffner bark. “And I mean first thing.”
The tall man spun and nearly collided with Wally Pugh, who had edged close to the threesome. The sheriff recovered and offered a smile. He took Wally’s arm and steered the smaller man toward the exit. “What can I do for you, Mr. Pugh?”
Kado and Truman walked over.
“How was it?” Mitch asked.
“He listened,” Kado said, “but he thinks I’m skewing the results in Cass’s favor.”
“I think he’s looking for a reason to fire Cass,” Truman added. “He doesn’t seem very partial.”
“Is that why he wants the paperwork by tomorrow morning?” Mitch asked.
Kado nodded and yawned as a big black man in scrubs hurried through the emergency room doors. He spotted the small group. “I heard Detective Elliot got shot,” Jerome said, concern in his dark chocolate eyes. “How is she?”
Avengers of Blood Page 49