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

by Woods, Gae-Lynn

  Two points of color rose on Hoffner’s cheeks as Mitch spoke, and even from across the room Cass could see the purple vein bulging at his temple.

  “He’s right.” Munk stuck his chin out. “The Firearm Discharge Board cleared the shooting weeks ago and everybody’s wondering why you’ve kept her off work for so long. You even ignored the petition that Officer Truman pulled together. You may think you’re losing face by signing her paperwork now, but the sooner you bring her back, the sooner you start rebuilding your credibility.”

  Cass drew a sharp breath. She’d never heard anyone stand up to Sheriff Hoffner the way Mitch and Munk had just done. Unconsciously, she leaned back in her chair and waited for him to blow. Hoffner stood motionless for several seconds, breathing evenly until the color in his cheeks lessened. He sucked air through his teeth, nodded curtly at Mitch and Munk, and spoke to the door as he pivoted to leave the squad room. “Elliot, pick up your keys, badge, and gun from Elaine.”

  Mitch lowered himself into a nearby chair and nodded at the sputtering coffee pot. “Pour me some of that, would you, Munk?”

  Cass joined them. “Do you two have any idea what could have just happened?”

  “He could have fired us,” Munk said flatly. “Me and Gabriel always come back from Houston reminded that life is far too short. I get home and vow not to tolerate his attitude and even do all right for a while, but over the next year he wears me down. With everything we’ve got going on now,” he shook his head, “there’s no excuse for not bringing you back. Besides, I figure I’m doing my job by giving him a reality check.”

  “He needed a kick in the ass,” Mitch agreed. “The man’s been off his rocker since the whole Church of the True Believer thing started. Maybe even before that.”

  Munk handed Cass a mug of coffee and she stirred in cream and sugar. “You took a big risk for me,” she said to both of them.

  “You’re my partner,” Mitch stated. “Besides, when I haven’t been drugged up over these past weeks, I’ve had plenty of time to think.” Mitch looked at her, his blue eyes piercing. “He’s the reason I got hurt.”

  “It wasn’t Hoffner –,” she began, but Mitch cut her off.

  “He refused to bring in backup, remember?”

  Cass and Munk nodded.

  “That was the wrong decision. Maybe I should’ve called the whole thing off, but we were so close. If Hoffner had been doing his job instead of playing politics and trying to impress that blonde reporter from Dallas, his head would’ve been clear and we would’ve had the backup we needed. He put both of us in danger.” Mitch sipped his coffee. “I won’t tolerate that kind of incompetence again. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Me either,” Munk added, picking up his coffee mug. “I’m starting on the paperwork from Mojo’s house.”

  “Well, thanks,” Cass said. “To both of you. I was ready to explode.”

  Mitch waved her gratitude away with a crutch before hoisting himself from the chair. “Go get your gun. You’re practically naked without it and it’s making me nervous. And then bring your truck around back. We’re going to Emmet Hedder’s place.”

  “You’re on desk duty, Mitch.”

  He grinned. “We’ll pretend the truck is a big ol’ desk on wheels.”

  CHAPTER 52

  HOFFNER FOUGHT MIGHTILY NOT to slam his office door, won the battle with his temper, and instead eased the door closed. Leaning against its cool surface, he gave the waves of rage their head, hearing again Mitch and Munk’s words, seeing the disdain on their faces. Through the red haze, his brain latched on to the methods for calming himself his leadership coach had taught him. It had worked in the squad room, and he decided to try again. Deep breaths in and out, visualizing the gentle tracks his skis left as he slalomed his way down a pristine mountain slope. Slowly, his fists unclenched and his heart slowed its furious pounding.

  He opened his eyes, a feeling of satisfaction settling in his gut. He’d mastered his emotions twice in the last five minutes – resisting both the urge to fire three of his staff and to rip his office door from its hinges. Maybe there was something to this leadership crap after all.

  Hoffner dug his fingers into his eye sockets. This had been a long, long day and he was feeling its effects. The last thing he wanted when he arrived at the courthouse was to find Cass Elliot in his squad room. But there she was, and after the hiding Mitch and Munk had given him, there she would remain. He was shocked at their insubordination, but a very small part of him recognized that they were right: he was man enough to admit that he’d waited too long to bring her back.

  She looked different from when he’d seen her at the Firearm Discharge Board review, and he hated the fact that he noticed. Her face was thinner now, or maybe harder. The leanness made her look even more like her mother. A fact that still made Hoffner desperately uncomfortable around Cass. He was grateful that she’d been far enough away that her perfume, the same scent her mother always wore, hadn’t drifted to him.

  The sound of feet hurrying past his office door startled him, and his posture slumped as he took in his office; he’d been gone less than a week and already the paperwork had piled up. He hoped written updates on each of the murder investigations were waiting somewhere in that landslide on his desk. Pushing away from the door, he crossed to his file cabinet and unlocked it to extract Cass’s personnel folder. He stopped and adjusted a frame on the wall. It held a photo of him as a young cadet, when his hair was still a deep auburn and his blue eyes burned with passion for the job. Hoffner looked wearily at that young image of himself and wondered where all the passion had gone.

  He squinted at his desk and his heart dropped. Every item, from the phone to his desk blotter, even the business card and doo-dad holders, was slightly askew. Irritation flared. Either someone had used his office, or –. He stopped and looked more closely. From the way each object had been moved, someone had deliberately changed the alignment of his things. Childish, he thought, taking the high road as he realigned each item with the desk’s edge and the object next to it.

  Satisfied, he shuffled the tumbling mail into a pile and placed it squarely in his inbox, rummaged through the case folders and ordered them according to urgency, and then placed Cass’s file in the center of his blotter. Flipping its cover open, he ignored the photo stapled to the left-hand flap and placed his signature on the top page. He slapped the folder closed and slipped it back into his file cabinet.

  Finally, he turned to the stack of case folders. Thank God the press was still occupied with that explosion down in Watuga County. At least three people were dead and word was out that the plant’s night-shift manager was a drunk whose failures had led directly to this tragedy. Elaine was on notice that at first sight of a reporter, she was to lock the courthouse doors and notify him. He had to get up to speed on these murders; the last thing he needed was to be caught out by a reporter.

  The folder at the top of the pile belonged to Calvin Whitehead, and although he knew it was only his imagination, he could swear the smell of burning flesh wafted from the papers. Hoffner braced himself and started to read.

  CHAPTER 53

  A GUST OF OVEN-HOT wind blew the truck door into Cass’s shoulder as she helped Mitch lift his leg into the county-issue pickup. “Ow,” she breathed, sliding the crutches between his legs before pulling the seat belt out so Mitch could grab it. “This might not be such a good idea.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Mitch answered, squirming to find a comfortable position. “Just don’t have a wreck. Getting out in a hurry might be a problem.”

  Cass shut the door and turned, surprised to find a black-headed woman with porcelain skin and clear jade eyes standing behind her, purse clutched across her chest as she shifted from foot to foot. She was about Cass’s height. Her clothes were a gorgeous raw silk with a full cut, but as the wind blew them against her, her hipbones and collarbones jutted against the fabric.

  “Cass? Cass Elliot?” she asked in a breathy voice.
<
br />   “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?”

  A fleeting smile crossed the woman’s face and Cass felt a tug of familiarity. “You don’t remember me.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’m Max.” At Cass’s blank look she continued. “Maxine Leverman. Used to be Wright.”

  Joy flooded Cass and she yanked the other woman into a hug. “My God, Max, you look so different. I didn’t recognize you. How long has it been?”

  “Six years. Can you believe it?” Maxine answered. “I heard you were back at work.”

  “Speaking of,” Cass said, “I need to go. Can we catch up later?”

  “Um, sure.” She bit her lower lip. “Can we talk after you’re done with,” she flicked a wave at Mitch where he waited in the truck, “whatever?”

  “Things are kind of busy right now,” Cass hedged. “What if I call you?”

  Maxine dug in her purse and pulled out a business card containing only a phone number. A man walked past in the parking lot and Maxine watched until he was out of sight, her green eyes narrowed. She brushed another strand of hair from her face, her expression hesitant. “I need your help, Cass. Call soon, okay? As soon as you can.”

  She hurried away, head pivoting to take in the area as she made her way across the crowded parking lot.

  “Who was that?” Mitch asked as she started the truck.

  “Maxine Wright Leverman. Remember her?”

  “Really?” Mitch twisted in his seat to watch Maxine as Cass entered the street. “Of course I remember her; you two were joined at the hip from preschool. But she doesn’t look anything like Maxine. Max was fat.”

  “She was not fat, Mitch,” Cass protested. “She was a little heavy, and she grew out of it when we were in high school.”

  “Well she’s not fat now.” He settled into the passenger seat. “Actually, she looks pretty good.”

  “She looked kind of thin to me.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “Shut up,” Cass responded, hitting the siren and blowing through a yellow light before turning onto the highway. “She looked worried.”

  “Yeah, she did. That lip of hers was kind of busted up.”

  “She’s been chewing it. That’s what Max always did when she was upset.”

  “What did she want?”

  Cass shrugged and passed him Maxine’s business card. “She said she needs help and wants me to call her.”

  His eyebrows went up. “The only people who print just a number on their cards are either very rich,” he handed it back, “or very scared.”

  CHAPTER 54

  THE STATION WAS BLESSEDLY quiet when Joseph slipped through the back door behind Martinez. Shift change started in an hour, and he knew his opportunity to think through his next steps was limited. He followed Martinez to the squad room and spotted a photograph of Moses surrounded by a group of grinning kids pinned to a corkboard beside a desk.

  Joseph settled into the chair and suppressed a surge of rage at the thought that his brother would never sit here again. The intensity of the emotion startled him. This was not good. To pretend to be Moses and find the man who murdered his family, Joseph needed every ounce of cool logic available to him. Emotion only blurred his thinking. With effort, he cleared his head and examined his brother’s work space.

  Joseph had visited the squad room with Moses several times, but long ago, when Moses had first joined the force. Little had changed in the past twenty-six years. The walls were a scuffed pale blue, the industrial carpet wearing thin between the long rows of desks. A series of cabinets ran along an interior wall, stretching from the coffee bar to the far windows. He wondered if they held paperwork, or if everything was stored electronically. From the look of the clunker of a computer squatting on Moses’ desk, Joseph placed a bet on the file cabinets.

  The desk drawers opened smoothly and he fingered through the office supplies, outdated memos, and stale packs of chewing gum. Joseph found folders containing blank forms, but no arrest reports or cell phone bills. Martinez was working at a cluster of desks across the room. Joseph turned Moses’ computer on and said a prayer to the gods of technology that the thing would fire up as it clicked, whirred, and stuttered to life. A sign-on screen finally presented itself. Moses must have been the last officer to use the machine, because his name was in the userID box.

  The chair squeaked as Joseph rocked and tried to guess his brother’s password. What password would a man who hated computers choose? It had to be short and meaningful so that someone like Moses could remember it. Joseph scanned the desk. He took a chance and picked the tethered keyboard up and flipped it over. There it was. A list of user details for a variety of systems for the officers who used this desk, taped to the bottom. Amazingly stupid, but incredibly convenient. He tapped in Moses’ password and hit enter. A surprisingly modern home screen opened up.

  Joseph found the case management system and used Moses’ logon credentials to gain access, then figured out how to sort records by userID. The list of cases Moses had worked on was impressive. Joseph opened the last document saved by Moses. He read quickly and snorted a quiet laugh. In the file, Moses recorded the explanation he gave to an inebriated gentleman about why it was improper to use the tall war memorial on the courthouse lawn as his personal urinal. When the man proclaimed that it was his civil right to pee where he pleased, Moses deftly provided the gentleman a place to rest overnight, at the county’s expense. Granted, the wording was pure official-ease, but Joseph could imagine the tongue-in-check thoughts rolling through Moses’ head as he two-finger typed the report.

  A throat cleared behind him and Joseph jerked back from the desk. A tall man, with hair a snowy white and nose so hooked it looked like a beak, was standing behind his chair. Joseph recognized him as Sheriff Bill Hoffner, and he stood slowly, wondering how Moses would act around the county’s top law officer. “Sheriff.”

  “I got back as fast as I could, Moses. I’m so sorry about your mom and Joseph.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re entitled to leave, Mojo.” When Joseph didn’t respond, Hoffner nodded at the computer. “You sure you’re ready to be here?”

  “Yes, sir. Detective Martinez thought that if the shooting is about me, I might be able to find something in my files that would give us a hint about who’s involved.”

  Hoffner glanced across the room. “Detective Martinez, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And have you found anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I understand you’ve brushed off your protection detail. I don’t think that’s wise until we know more about motive for the shooting.”

  “Yes, sir. But I think I’m fine during the day. I’ll be in the station most of the time. I’m staying with Porky Rivers for now and,” he glanced down at his civilian clothes, “I’ll have my weapon with me tonight.”

  Hoffner examined him, then nodded and squeezed Joseph’s shoulder. “We’ll keep the protection on at Porky’s during the night, then. But don’t hesitate to ask if you change your mind. And if you need to take some time off, to make arrangements or attend to personal business, let the sergeant know.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it, and I’ll take the time if I need it.”

  Hoffner released Joseph’s shoulder and headed back across the squad room.

  Joseph sank into Moses’ chair and breathed evenly, trying to bring his furiously beating heart under control. Sheriff Hoffner probably didn’t know Moses very well, given how far apart they were in the departmental food chain. But for some reason, lying to the man wearing the biggest badge in the county was unnerving.

  Maneuvering to the case system’s main screen, a name and number combination caught his attention. Joseph opened the file related to his mother and brother’s murder. Only the shell of the investigation had been loaded, probably because the detectives worked so late into the night and were sidetracked by the Whitehead and Moore murders. He closed the file and clicked qu
ickly through several others, realizing the magnitude of the work he needed to do. He thought for a moment and then crossed the squad room. “Carlos?”

  “You okay?” the older detective asked.

  “I’m not sure how far back I should search. Got any ideas?”

  “Let’s start with your family and Donna Moore.” Martinez ran his hands over his silvery crew cut, his eyes thoughtful. “How do we find that link?” He turned to his computer, opened the case file system and ran a simple search.

  A phone vibrated in his pocket and Joseph pulled it out. Moses’ personal phone. He checked the screen. Same number as the last call. He silenced the ringer and turned back to Martinez’ search. Three hits popped up, all related to DUIs earned by a man from another county. Martinez opened the driver’s license database and found Moore’s photograph. Pale face, delicate features, mounds of dark hair. “Recognize her?”

  Joseph’s breath froze in his chest and he fought to keep his jaw from dropping. This was the woman in the photograph with Moses. The white woman who was gazing at his brother with a look akin to love. Something between the two of them had gotten them both killed, and Joseph hated her on sight. He managed to shake his head. “She looks familiar. I might have seen her around town, but I don’t think I know her.”

  “Okay. Work from her home and work addresses outward, and see what crimes have been reported around both.”

  Joseph squinted at the screen. “Moore’s address is out in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but that’s just where meth cookers and drug suppliers like to work.”