A dark mass careened around a tight curve and swerved into her lane. Its form was barely discernable, but Cass caught the outline of a pickup truck. She gasped and yanked the steering wheel to the right, riding the shoulder to get out of the way. She swore as the Ford lost its grip on the asphalt, spilled onto the soft verge, and went up on two wheels. Struggling to regain control, she heard an engine roar and watched as dim tail lights disappeared around the bend. Adrenaline slammed through her veins as Cass stood on the brakes and then gunned the Ford into a u-turn. She screeched to a stop again when two dark figures burst from the tree line and dashed toward a small vehicle parked on the side of the road. One collapsed to his knees by the front fender while the other stood holding his head with his hands.
She drove slowly forward, stopping when she drew alongside the car, an old Chevy Vega bathed a rusty brown in bright moonlight. It was parked with two wheels on the road’s shoulder and the other two on the verge, and was partially hidden beneath the overhanging limbs of a Chinese tallow tree. The front fender was caved in and the car’s shiny silver bumper flopped awkwardly like a broken arm. Cass looked more closely at the two figures and realized that they were only teenage boys. Neither appeared injured and she bit back a smile as she recognized them. These were the Grove twins, nephews of Officer Ernest Munk.
“Oh man,” one of the boys moaned. “She’s gonna kill me.”
“Evening, guys,” she said. “What’s going on?”
Her words broke them from their stupor, and their agonized expressions turned to horror. “Oh shit,” she heard one boy whisper. “The heat.”
“That’s a dollar,” the other whispered.
“You’re Evelyn Grove’s boys, Ernie Munk’s nephews?” she asked. The kneeling boy braced one hand on the car and stood, nodding slowly. “What were you doing in Deadwood Hollow? It’s after eight.”
The twins exchanged another glance, and one lifted a chin at the other. He turned rueful eyes on Cass and spoke with reluctance. “We lost a phone earlier today.”
“Which one are you?”
“I’m Mark,” the boy with the scraggly beard answered. He hooked a thumb at his twin. “He’s Matt.”
“How did you lose the phone?”
“During cross-country training.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You can talk and run at the same time?”
Mark shot a glance at his brother. “No, but apparently you can run and text at the same time. Just not very well.”
“Why didn’t you look for the phone when you lost it?” Cass asked.
Matt heaved a huge sigh. “Look, it was my fault –”
“Yes!” Mark hissed, smile dying as Matt scowled at him. “Sorry.”
“I borrowed Mark’s phone because a girl texted me and then I texted her back and then the coach showed up where he wasn’t supposed to be and I kind of fumbled the phone and it fell into the brush. But I don’t know exactly where I was when I dropped it, and we didn’t want to tell Mom that I’d lost it. So that’s why we were out here.”
“I think I get it,” Cass said. She nodded at the car. “What happened?”
The boys exchanged another glance and shrugged. “We don’t know.”
“A pickup nearly hit me as I was coming around that bend. Could it have been the same guy?”
“Maybe,” Mark answered. “Some dude went running past us through the woods, and then we heard a screech and started running after him.”
“What dude?”
“Dunno. But he had a rifle,” Matt said.
“Yeah, and we heard two shots just before he ran past us,” Mark added.
“Someone was poaching?” Cass asked.
Mark nodded. “Maybe.”
She opened her cell phone and walked over to the small car. Dark streaks marred the fender’s ruddy orange paint. An impatient voice answered Cass’s call on the third ring and her heart gave an annoying leap at the sound. They hadn’t spoken since her debriefing several weeks ago and she thought she’d mastered the emotions his voice was conjuring. She strained to hear his greeting over the swell of a screaming siren. “Kado?” she asked.
“Cass?” he yelled. “What is it?”
“I’ve got reports of two shots fired in Deadwood Hollow. Where are you?”
“On my way to Mojo’s house. It backs up to the Hollow, doesn’t it?”
“I think so. What’s up?”
“One of the brothers is dead. So is their mom.” She heard tires squeal through the phone. “Who reported the shots?”
“Matt and Mark Grove.” She looked at the two boys. “They saw the shooter.”
“Get them over to the Franklin’s house. We need a description.”
____________
FORNEY COUNTY’S FORENSIC EXAMINER stared at the phone after he snapped it shut and had to yank the pickup back onto the road when his tires hit the rumble strip. He caught Martinez flashing a dark look in the rearview mirror of his cruiser as Kado straightened the wheels and raced close behind the detective.
His blood was galloping through his veins and he knew it wasn’t due to the adrenaline rush from being called to a crime scene involving a fellow officer. Cass Elliot had occupied his thoughts and intruded on his dreams non-stop since he saw her last at the debriefing following the cult shooting. He might actually see her again tonight, and in spite of the horrific nature of the crime he was about to investigate, Kado had to suppress the surge of joy threatening to curve his lips into a smile.
CHAPTER 10
CASS ARRIVED AFTER THE first responders and searched the crowd, looking for Kado. The area was controlled chaos and she realized he would be inside by now, performing the delicate task of collecting and preserving evidence. She itched to join him. Outside, porch lights up and down the street were on, providing welcoming bubbles of light that never quite touched one another. Behind the yellow tape embracing the Franklin house, neighbors milled next to Cass, stumbling with bewilderment and whispering in frightened voices. Uniformed officers stood guard around the perimeter, hands resting on the weapons at their waists, their gazes roaming the crowd and softening at the sight of Cass before moving on. Two ambulances rumbled away from the Franklin house, empty and silent. A heavy van inched into the spot they vacated. The cadaverous medical examiner and his assistant climbed out and opened the back doors. Grey raised his hand in greeting and Porky nodded in her direction before they wheeled two stretchers up the sidewalk to the house. The acidic smell of frustration, grief, and fear rose in the air.
Cass had known Moses and Joseph Franklin as long as she could remember. She knew Moses better because he had worked as a patrol officer in Arcadia for so long, and Joseph had headed north shortly after he graduated from college. They were twins, as identical as were the Grove boys. Their joint nickname of Mojo arose simply because no one other than their mother could tell them apart. They were giants; broad, tall, and muscled, but Cass had always perceived a gentleness when she encountered Moses at crime scenes. The more violent the act, the more empathy the man seemed to exude. She respected him for this, for his lack of cynicism, his willingness to believe in the goodness of humanity. And while she wished neither man ill, she hoped fervently that it was Moses who was still alive.
The thought of twins caused her to turn toward her truck, where Martinez was questioning the Grove boys. The detective was a bull of a man, his wide chest and torso giving way to strong arms and muscled legs. His hair was close-cropped and a steely gray, and in spite of his height of nearly six feet, Martinez looked up at the boys as they answered his questions. A car screeched to a stop and a small woman darted from the driver’s door. Cass recognized Evelyn Grove as she raced to the twins, throwing her arms around the boys and pulling them to her. She pushed them away, looked at each face, then pulled them close again. The boys flashed embarrassed smiles at Martinez that faded when their mother pushed away again and popped both hands on her hips. Their heads dropped in response to her words, unintelligible a
t this distance but recognizable as a tongue lashing to anyone who had ever irked a parent’s ire. Martinez sidled away from the trio. Cass moved to meet him in the street.
“Get anything?” she asked.
“Only what you did. Two shots fired and a man running past on the trail.”
“Description?”
“White man. Dark trousers, dark shoes, hooded jacket.”
“Did they see his face?”
“Chin and hands. They said his hands were very pale. He was carrying the rifle across his chest as he ran.”
“Height, weight?”
“The boys said he was thin-ish and shorter than them.”
Cass snorted a laugh. “They’re what? Six foot five or so? Almost everybody in the county is shorter than them.”
“I know.”
Cass searched the street. “I saw the pickup that smashed into their car. It must’ve been the shooter.”
“Plates?”
“The light over the back license plate was out. No plates on the front.”
“Color?”
“Dark. Probably black. Even the bumpers and hubcaps. Its headlights were off when it came around a curve and nearly hit me. I could hardly make out that it was a pickup. Did anyone in the neighborhood see anything?” Cass asked.
“A few people heard the shots. Nobody saw anything unusual.”
“Moses and Joseph are both living here, aren’t they? Which one is it?” she asked softly.
The detective turned to look at the house, raising his hands to his temples and rubbing small circles. “He had a towel around his waist, Cass. Both of the Mojo’s rooms had wallets, cell phones, and car keys in them. We’re trying to find the other brother to make sure.”
She looked more closely at Martinez. His eyes were bloodshot and the faint glow of a street light emphasized the exhaustion lining his face. “Are you all right?”
He exhaled slowly. “We need you back. And without Mitch…”
“I know. Where’s Danny?” she asked, referring to Martinez’ long-time partner.
“His back.”
“Again?”
“Still. Dr. Rambo never released him after the last time it went out.” He looked out over the crowd. “Did you hear about the murder at Calvin Whitehead’s store?”
“No. When?”
“This evening.”
“What happened?”
“Goober found a corpse in the courtyard behind the shop. It was hanging and burning.”
Cass covered her mouth. “Poor Goob.”
“He was pretty upset. But the amazing thing was that he smelled smoke and went to find out what was burning.”
“He went toward danger?”
“Brave, huh?”
“I’d say so. Do you know who the victim is?”
“We’re pretty sure it’s Whitehead, but Grey wanted to wait until he got the body back to the ME’s office before he checked for a wallet.”
“Why wait?”
Martinez grimaced. “The body’s in pretty bad shape.”
“I know Calvin Whitehead. I fill up at his station sometimes. He’s a big guy, white hair. Nobody else works there.”
“Family?”
“None that he’s ever talked about.”
“This crime was personal.”
“How so?”
“Somebody carved a swastika into his chest.”
“Good Lord,” Cass said. “Any leads?”
“Not yet. That shop is so remote. How did he stay in business?”
“I have no clue. He carried milk, bread, the basics, and his hours weren’t great. Maybe he owned the shop outright.”
“Maybe. Too bad he doesn’t have family.” Martinez grinned. “You might get to go to the morgue tonight for an ID.”
Cass smiled. “I’ll actually look forward to it.”
“Any idea when you’ll be back?”
“Nope. Was there a lot going on before tonight?”
“Aren’t you reading the Cater?”
“Not every day. All the coverage, the speculation, I got tired of it.”
“You remember the old lady that went missing a few weeks ago? Iris Glenthorne?”
An image flashed through Cass’s memory of Martinez pinning a missing person’s photo to the bulletin board. Iris Glenthorne’s face was creased in wrinkles as she smiled for the camera, her full head of white hair complementing her sparkling green eyes. Cass nodded. “It was right before The Church of the True Believer stuff went down. You found the car, but not the woman. She had Alzheimer’s?”
“Never diagnosed, but her friends said that her memory was going. We found her car with the keys still in the ignition and her purse on the seat. Almost seven weeks later, we’ve found her body.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“Yes and no.” Martinez glanced out over the crowd and lowered his voice. “We’ve got a decomposing body, and from what Grey can tell us, there’s no sign of foul play.”
“But?”
His steely gaze returned to Cass. “We found her in a location that we’d already searched.”
“What do you mean?”
“We searched that location the day after she went missing, again three days later, and again, ten days later.”
“Who searched it?”
“All three times, it was Hugo Petchard.”
Cass took a step back, hot anger coloring her face. “He’s back on duty?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I thought…,” she started, and then fell silent. Officer Hugo Petchard had been involved with The Church of the True Believer, and while all they could pin on him was stupidity, Cass quietly held him responsible for the entire miserable incident down in the river bottoms. She was stunned to think that Petchard was back on the force while she remained suspended. She swallowed her anger down. “Maybe he missed something.”
Martinez shrugged, his eyes flat. “Maybe.”
“You don’t think so?”
“At best, Petchard is an incompetent fool. But I don’t think he could’ve missed finding her body. Not all three times.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Somebody grabbed her and dumped her body when they were done with her.” He placed his hands behind his head, huge biceps bulging, and sighed into a stretch. “Sheriff Hoffner hinted that he wants me to drop it, but there’s something hinky about what happened to Iris Glenthorne. And with the Whitehead murder and now these two, we don’t have people with the right skills. That’s why we need you back.”
Cass silently accepted his compliment. “Do you know why Hoffner’s dragging his feet?”
“I haven’t heard –,” Martinez began, swiveling at the sound of running feet.
A tall black man in shorts and a Forney County Police t-shirt materialized from the dark void at the corner of the block, feet pounding the asphalt, arms pumping a frantic rhythm in time with his legs, face a mask of fury. Street lights painted streaks of gold across his bald head as he passed beneath them. He wove through the crowd, hurdled the crime scene tape in a single stride, and held up a huge hand to the officer who tried to stop him from entering his home.
The neighbors grew silent as the air filled with the wretched sounds of Mojo’s grief. Cass and Martinez exchanged a glance. He walked back to the Grove boys who were watching the house with their mother, her anger forgotten in recognition of what another family had lost. Cass moved to the tape barrier and waited.
____________
KADO ROSE FROM HIS position near the window at the sound of scuffling. A tall man, identical in almost every way to the two bodies on the floor, forced his way into the kitchen, one uniformed officer clinging to his left arm, another to his waist. The overwhelming power of Mojo Franklin’s anguish drove him forward and he seemed oblivious to the men struggling to hold him back. Kado moved to block the opening to the kitchen, but he needn’t have bothered. Mojo stepped through the door, looked past Kado to see his brother and mothe
r dead on the floor, and collapsed to his knees, taking both officers with him. Sweat slicked his head and face and huge drops were jarred from his nose when his fell. He lifted his face to the ceiling and uttered a tormented cry. The three men in the room were stunned into silence. Kado glanced at the medical examiner whose hands were suspended motionless over Mojo’s mother. Porky had a gloved hand stretched toward Grey, offering a thermometer. Kado blinked at the sight of Porky wiping his wet cheek against his shoulder.
He spoke in a low voice between Mojo’s sobs. “Porky, do you know these guys?”
The thin man nodded.
“Grey,” Kado said, “maybe if Porky talked to Mojo…”
“Yes,” he said, taking the thermometer. “Porky, would you mind?”
The young man stripped off his gloves and stood, unsteadily at first. The small silver studs and barbells rimming his ears and eyebrows glinted in the overhead lights as he moved. Easing around the corpses, he placed a dark hand on Mojo’s shoulder and squeezed. “Come on, man.”
Mojo’s eyes were unfocused when he looked up at Porky, his lips peeled back in a crescent of pain. “My momma…”
“I know. Grey and Kado will take care of them. Come on.” Porky placed a hand beneath Mojo’s elbow and helped him to his feet. The two men stood, their dark complexions nearly identical, and Porky nudged the larger man from the kitchen, the officers following warily in their wake.
Kado looked at Grey. “Was that Moses or Joseph?”
Grey shrugged. “I guess we have to wait until he calms down to find out.”
“Can you work without Porky?”
“With one body, maybe. But with two, I could use help. Who’s available?”
“Martinez is outside,” Kado offered.
Grey glanced at the gore spattered around the stove and the crimson pools on the floor. “He hates blood.”
“But he dealt with the Whitehead scene fine.”
“That was roasted meat. No blood, no problem. Who else?”
“Ernie Munk is on vacation. Scott Truman is at Whitehead’s store. We were going to use him out there, but do you need him here?”
Avengers of Blood (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 2) Page 5