Avengers of Blood (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 2)

by Woods, Gae-Lynn

  After fleeing his home, Emmet had driven for over an hour, watching the headlights behind him for signs that he was being followed. He’d finally stopped at an anonymous motel on the outskirts of Arcadia, struggled out of the track suit he slept in and into jeans and a shirt in his truck, and rented a room for cash. If the clerk thought his request for a room at nearly three in the morning unusual, his face hadn’t expressed it. After dressing the bullet wound, Emmet stripped and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  He refreshed the bandage and poured water in the tiny coffee pot provided by the motel, slipped a sachet of grounds into the filter cup, and pressed the button to turn the machine on. The plastic packet that contained the coffee grounds was the right size to tape over the gauze, allowing Emmet to bathe without getting it wet. He stepped from the shower with more life in his eyes and rubbed himself dry with the rough towel before pouring a cup of coffee and padding back into the bedroom.

  His shoulder was throbbing. Emmet dumped the contents of his duffel bag on the bed and pawed through the suture kits, spare magazines for his 9 mm, road maps, extra boxers and socks, a box of bandages, and the painkillers. He shook the bottle and smiled as he twisted the cap off. One left. He swallowed it with a slurp of coffee and scanned the mess on the bed: no antibiotics. There were none in the medical kit he kept in his truck, either. His wife, Celia, had thought she was developing a urinary tract infection a while back, and he had given her his spare bottle of pills.

  Thoughts of his wife brought him back to last night, and he lifted his cup in a grateful toast to God that his wife had moved in with her mother. At least for one day, her absence was a blessing instead of a weeping abscess in his soul. Emmet found his phone and checked for messages. Nothing. He’d broken protocol and called Moses Franklin last night. To warn the man and to ask for help. It wasn’t unusual that Moses didn’t answer; they rarely carried the spare phones with them and only checked for messages periodically.

  He hesitated, then pushed the button for the only number programmed into the phone and waited as it rang. He didn’t expect Donna Moore to answer either, but he had to try.

  A white triangle on the door mat caught his eye and Emmet recognized a corner of newspaper. He squatted gingerly, keeping his woozy head level, and pulled the Forney Cater under the door, hanging up on the still ringing cell phone. Emmet stared in horror at the faces smiling up at him from the front page and he fell on his butt with a thud. His heart leapt into a wild rhythm, slowing only after he’d read the caption beneath each, confirming that it was Joseph and not Moses who was dead. The article contained scant details; only that Martha and Joseph Franklin were killed in their home the night before and that the investigation was continuing. Emmet’s eyes slid closed as a fistful of guilt hit him in the gut. Their deaths had to be related to his shooting. Had to be. They’d known for weeks that someone was after them. But who? And how had the shooter figured out what they were up to? They’d been so careful. He looked back down at the paper. No wonder Moses wasn’t answering his phone. But the man needed to keep watch. The murders of his mother and Joseph weren’t random. And Donna. She needed to be careful, as well.

  Emmet opened his phone and slowly punched in the number for her office, fearing her reaction to his contacting her at work but desperate to warn her.

  A wan voice answered on the third ring. “The Moore Agency.”

  “Can I speak to Miss Moore, please?”

  A snuffled breath came through the phone. “I’m very sorry to tell you that Donna died last night.”

  “What?”

  “Donna was killed last night.”

  “What happened?”

  The man’s voice broke. “I’m not sure. Her gardener called and said she’d been shot in her bed.” He hesitated. “Who’s calling, please? I’m sure I can help if you have a question.”

  “Thank you,” Emmet whispered, and closed the phone.

  Donna’s killing made it definite. The Franklins’ murders weren’t random, and when the shooter realized that Moses was still alive, he’d come after both of them. Flattening the paper across the floor, Emmet read the short article at the bottom of the page and wondered if everything they’d achieved had been worth the price they were paying now.

  The sound of wheels skimming the pavement brought his head up. He struggled to his feet, moved to the window, and peeled the curtain back. An elderly couple stepped from a station wagon and a black pickup cruised slowly past. Emmet lowered the curtain and eased to the bed, reaching for his clothes. He wasn’t safe here. He wasn’t safe anywhere.

  And neither was Moses.

  CHAPTER 40

  JOSEPH WAS SO DEEP into his search that he sensed, rather than heard, the phone vibrating on the table beside him. It was Moses’ personal phone and a glance at the number told him it was the same person who had left a message last night. He reached to answer it, then realized someone was refilling his coffee and he hit the ‘ignore’ button. He glanced up to see a skinny man holding a coffee pot. The older man flipped a graying ponytail over his shoulder and crossed his arms over his narrow chest, tilting the pot to avoid a spill. Joseph thought back to the time before he left for New York, and to the few visits home he had made since then. Slowly, it came to him.

  A small town scandal over the tattoos and long hair; avoidance because this man and his wife came from San Francisco, the epicenter of hippiedom and homosexuality; suspicion over vegetarian entrees and the liberal use of oats and sprouts in the recipes. And then a slow thaw thanks to wholesome food, music with no violent lyrics, and a safe place for kids to hang out on the weekends. The man watching him owned The Golden Gate Café and was in an excellent position to note the addition of new faces to the community and hear gossip.

  Moses, Joseph thought. I am Moses.

  “Hey Stan,” he said with a measure of wariness that he hoped the other man would perceive as weariness.

  “Hey Mojo. I sure am sorry about your mom and Joseph.”

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Something like that should never happen. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “As a matter of fact, have you noticed any strangers hanging around?”

  “Lately?”

  Joseph nodded. “In the past few weeks, let’s say.”

  Stan frowned. “There was a gray-haired man who turned up a few weeks ago. Fit, works on a computer a lot. Keeps to himself. Grapevine has it that Sarah Henderson over at the bank picked him up at her last banker convention. Her husband doesn’t know yet. Another fellow, kind of Marlboro-man looking with funny yellow eyes used to come in. That’s one who looked dangerous, but I haven’t seen him around in a while. You think somebody from out of town might’ve,” he motioned to the Forney Cater, the faces of Joseph’s mother and brother smiling up at them, “you know.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Of course. I’ll check with Sally and see if anything else comes to mind.”

  Joseph watched Stan Overheart retreat to the kitchen and suppressed the urge to shudder. During his time in New York, he’d grown accustomed to the abruptness of strangers, the sensation of being invisible on the street because so few people made eye contact. And he’d relished that anonymity, especially once he started hacking. Now, back in Arcadia, the sensation that he was always being watched, that everyone knew his business, was creeping into his bones. True or not, he would have to tread carefully.

  The phone vibrated again: a voice message was waiting. The same man’s voice told him to lay low and asked him to call, urgently. Again, the caller used no names. Joseph hesitated a moment, then flipped the phone closed. A return call could wait.

  The computer screen faded to sleep and Joseph tapped the touch pad. The web browser still held the information published by New York’s criminal justice system. Turns out that Greasy Lou Spitano was easy to find. The man was pulling five years at Riker’s Island for burglary. Spitano’s sentence started about twenty-four months after Joseph�
�s. Before getting into business with Spitano, Joseph had searched the man’s online history and hired a private detective to research his tangible life. Joseph learned that Spitano was a small-time hood and conduit for stolen credit card details to the criminal world. Since no one had come to talk to him after Spitano was arrested, Joseph had to assume that either the authorities hadn’t twigged to Spitano’s nefarious credit card activities, or that Greasy Lou was mute about the source of the card databases he exploited. Barring parole, Joseph had several years before he had to worry about Spitano hitting the streets.

  Although he had expected Greasy Lou to be simple to locate, Joseph was surprised at how quickly he found his cracker friends. The chat room they’d used before he’d gone to prison no longer existed, but the email account where each left messages for the others in the drafts folder was still functional. He dropped a short note about his legal status and asked if anyone was looking for him. Three responses came back in a matter of minutes. They knew he was out on parole and back in Texas, but no ripples about him were spreading across the internet. Each thanked him in their own way for not giving them up to shorten his sentence, and he accepted their appreciation with confirmation that he was out of the game for good now.

  Joseph sat back in the booth and sipped his coffee, feeling relief slide through his veins and letting his logical brain work. It wasn’t his criminal life that had led to the murders of his brother and mother. This meant that either the shootings were random, which Joseph doubted, or that something in Moses’ life had gotten them both killed. He thought back over the past several weeks since he’d been back in Arcadia. There was nothing about Moses’ behavior that suggested he was involved in anything illegal, or even untoward. Which left Moses’ past. His divorce just before Joseph went to prison was ugly; but Joseph thought all divorces were difficult to some extent. To his knowledge, Moses’ ex-wife was still in Houston. He checked online and found an address for her in Conroe. She’d never been a violent woman and had no reason to come after Moses or their mother. Her involvement in these deaths didn’t make sense. Joseph pushed her aside. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he wondered where to start.

  In the beginning, he realized, typing in a date. From the first day that Moses was a cop.

  CHAPTER 41

  “FILL ME IN,” MITCH said, grabbing a box of fries. “Frannie interrupted Kado’s story earlier.”

  They sat around the table in the dingy conference room, the odor of greasy burgers, onion rings, and the dust of decades worth of crumbling paper permeating the stale air. Mitch had maneuvered his wheelchair to the head of the table, sitting sideways so his leg didn’t interfere with his ability to reach the food. While Truman made the run for burgers, two officers stacked the boxes from Calvin Whitehead’s closet in a teetering pile that covered half of one wall. A knock sounded and at Mitch’s call, Mayor David Wayne Rusted’s bowling ball shaped head poked inside.

  Mitch started. “Mayor? No offense, but this area is off limits to you.”

  “I know,” he said, shifting his bulk through the door. “But in the sheriff’s absence, I wanted to see how the investigations were going. Would it be all right if I joined you?”

  Mitch glanced at the others, noted their wary expressions, then slowly nodded. “Please bear in mind that this information is extremely confidential.”

  “Of course,” Mayor Rusted said, and joined them at the conference room table.

  “Lunch?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.”

  Martinez cleared his throat and focused on Mitch. “You know about Calvin Whitehead?”

  Mitch nodded as he chewed. “Anything new?”

  Kado shook his head. “I’m running fingerprints from the store, and we’ll work through the sludge from the storeroom and patio where he was killed. Those boxes,” he motioned to the long stack, “are his business and personal records. Maybe we’ll find motive there.”

  Mayor Rusted shifted slightly but remained silent.

  Martinez spoke again. “How about Donna Moore?”

  Mitch’s mouth dropped open. “Donna’s dead?”

  “Last night. After the Franklins were killed. How did you know her?”

  “She did our taxes,” Mitch said. “She was the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Almost apologized when we had to pay the IRS one year. Who would want to kill her?”

  “Whoever murdered the Franklins,” Kado supplied. “The shooter used the same rifle on all of them. The slugs match.”

  “How are they connected?” Mitch asked.

  Mayor Rusted’s gaze darted between the speakers.

  “We’re just getting started,” Cass said. “I’ve been through the Franklin house. Mrs. Franklin did her own taxes, and Moses does, too. So there’s not a business link.” She cocked her head to one side. “I didn’t find any records for Joseph. I’ll have to ask Moses about them.”

  Mayor Rusted’s phone rang and he flushed, then apologized and stepped outside.

  Mitch watched him leave and exhaled slowly. “That was weird.” He turned back to Cass. “Have you talked to Moses?”

  “I tried earlier, but he was at the funeral home. He said he would call later today. Kado and I went through Donna’s house. I’ve got her purse and cell phone, but she must keep all her records at her office.” Cass sighed. “Frankly, there’s so much to do that I’m not sure what to prioritize. We need Donna’s office and home phone records. I need to get into Mojo’s files to see if anything or anyone pops out, and,” she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the papers related to Joseph’s release from prison, “look at Joseph’s criminal records to see what his arrest in New York was all about.”

  “I’ll do it,” Mitch volunteered.

  “Do what?”

  “Files and records.”

  Cass frowned. “Mitch, that’s paperwork.”

  “And computer work.”

  “You hate that stuff.”

  “I’d prefer to be sweating on a crime scene with y’all, but I’d rather handle paperwork than watch daytime TV.” The conference room door swung open and Mitch didn’t miss a beat. “And Munk can help me.”

  The room went silent as Officer Ernie Munk entered, his pockmarked face sunburned, peeling, and etched with weariness. He was dressed in wrinkled shorts, running shoes, and a faded yellow t-shirt that barely stretched across his protruding belly. Munk sat heavily and reached for a box of fries. “I’m starving.”

  Cass watched as Munk chewed and studied the stack of boxes in the corner. She pushed a cup dotted with condensation toward him. “Want my shake? I haven’t started it.”

  He slipped the top off and slurped.

  She bit her lip. “You’re not due back until Friday.”

  “My sister called this morning. Evelyn. She said somebody tried to kill Moses Franklin.”

  “We’re not sure who the shooter was after, but he killed Mrs. Franklin and Joseph. Did Gabrielle come home with you?”

  He drew a deep breath, pulled his gaze from the boxes, and motioned to Kado’s burger, still in its wrapper. “You gonna eat all that, or can I have half?”

  “Half is good with me.”

  Truman dug a knife from his uniform pocket and passed it to Munk, who stared at it. “Gabrielle is still in Galveston. She had my phone so she talked to Evelyn first, then demanded that I come home.” He cut the burger in two, took a huge bite and chewed, then drank more shake. “She’s always had a soft spot for Mojo. He took vacation to come and help us when… well, in 2003, and he’s been back to Galveston with us a few times. Gaby’s family is still there and they’ll finish out the week.”

  “There was no sign of Angel?” Cass asked.

  “Same as always. Lots of possible sightings, but nothing definite.”

  “I’m so sorry, Munk.”

  He nodded. “Me too. What’s in the boxes?”

  CHAPTER 42

  THE OLD MAN SHUT his barn door and stood sweating in its shade while
he filled and lit his pipe, waiting for Mayor Rusted to speak. The sweet scent of cherry tobacco wafted on the afternoon air and he puffed contentedly, listening to sounds coming through the handset. A door closed and he heard the mayor’s breathy voice.

  “There’s no news.”

  “How can there not be any news? Whitehead has been dead for almost a day.”

  “They’re working on the Franklin murders. And there was another killing last night. Donna Moore, the accountant. They think she was killed by the same person who shot the Franklins.”

  “Damn it. Have they pushed Whitehead’s murder to the side?”

  “No. They have all sorts of debris from the fire and fingerprints from the store to go through.” Mayor Rusted’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And paperwork. Boxes of it.” He drew a quick breath. “I don’t think Calvin would’ve kept anything damaging to The Church. He was too sharp for that.”

  “As Lenny Scarborough taught us, we can’t trust what others will do.” The pipe clacked against the old man’s teeth. “There’s no indication that Whitehead’s death is the beginning of an attack against The Church?”

  “So far, the police know nothing about why Whitehead was murdered, and in such a brutal fashion.” The mayor grunted. “What now?”

  “Stay on it. I want to know what’s in those boxes as soon as the police do.”

  “That may be too late.”

  “I know,” the old man said. “I’ll see what I can do about getting in reinforcements.”