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

by Woods, Gae-Lynn

  “Yeah, you found that earlier. So what?”

  “That’s the same stuff that was on the floor in Calvin Whitehead’s stockroom.”

  “You think Joseph Franklin was there and stepped in it? That he killed Calvin Whitehead?”

  “Well, with that and the gas on his clothes –”

  “Hang on a minute, Kado,” Mitch said. “Pull up Whitehead’s case file. She doesn’t know what Hoffner learned last night.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cass asked, circling the room to Kado’s desk.

  He swiveled the monitor to face her. She scanned the notes from Sheriff Hoffner’s phone call with Thayerville’s sheriff. “Good Lord. No wonder they never arrested anybody for the lynching. The sheriff was in on it.”

  Kado nodded.

  “So you think Joseph killed Whitehead in revenge?”

  “With help from Emmet and Donna.”

  She struggled for words. “That’s a gigantic leap.”

  “Maybe,” Mitch agreed. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense given what we know.”

  Kado started packing evidence into boxes while Mitch shuffled papers into piles. Cass returned to her chair. “There are two possible problems with your theory,” she said.

  “Tell us,” Mitch said.

  “First, has anybody else involved in the 1967 lynching died?”

  “Hoffner’s contacting that sheriff from Thayerville to find out who was involved and where they are now.” Mitch rolled his wheelchair forward, careful not to bang into anything with his extended leg, snagged a stack of file folders, and rolled backwards to his original spot by the evidence table. “These are police reports from the seven murders around the country that are similar to Whitehead’s.”

  “Five men were involved in the lynching, so after Whitehead’s death, we only need four.”

  Mitch nodded. “In these crimes, each victim was burned to death. That’s one point of similarity. A second point is that each body had at least one bullet wound somewhere. Head, chest, gut, leg. But only three had the swastika carving in the chest; were wounded in the leg; burned; and hung exactly like Calvin Whitehead. If our theory is right, then it’s very possible that these three men were part of that lynching crew in 1967.”

  “What about the fifth man?”

  “Maybe they haven’t found him yet.”

  Cass tapped a finger against her lips. “Did you match the locations where these men were murdered to Emmet Hedder’s ATM withdrawals?”

  “Most of the men lived remotely. Emmet’s withdrawals were at ATMs in the closest big cities. It’s not exact, but it links them a little closer.”

  “Okay, second thing: Joseph’s been in jail until a few weeks ago. If Donna, Moses, and Emmet have been hooking up, why would Joseph be involved in killing Calvin Whitehead? Those are his shoes that have food mashed in the tread. And his clothes with the gas on them. Did they bring him into their little scheme when he got out of prison?”

  Mitch and Kado exchanged another glance. The forensic man shrugged. “Tell her. It’s no more fantastic than anything else we’ve come up with.”

  Mitch’s eyes were bleak. “We think Joseph’s still alive.”

  CHAPTER 107

  THE HOTEL WAS SO new the smell of his coffee was overridden by the fumes from fresh paint, turning Joseph’s stomach. Saturday morning cartoons played silently on the flat screen TV, and he wished that ending this would be as easy as ordering a kit from ACME or setting the Coyote up for a dash off the nearest cliff. Emmet placed the last page on the bed and flexed his right arm.

  “Still hurting?” Joseph asked.

  “Not bad.”

  Joseph eyed a piece of hotel room stationary bearing Emmet’s distinctive scrawl. “What’s that?”

  “My will. I need you to witness it.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have one. This is as good a time as any to get it all down on paper.”

  Joseph leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands on top of his bald head. “You’re afraid of this guy?”

  “Call it prudence.”

  “You’ve never been prudent, Emmet. If you’re feeling your mortality, and I guess with this guy,” Joseph gestured at the paperwork, “that’s reasonable, you’d better make amends with Celia.”

  “She won’t talk to me, man.”

  “When was the last time you tried?”

  “A few weeks ago, when she left for her mother’s house.”

  “How much does she know?”

  “How do you tell your wife that you’re hunting down and lynching the men who murdered your father?”

  “Celia’s about the best looking woman I’ve ever seen.” Joseph held his hands up to block Emmet’s hairy eyeball. “I don’t know why she married your ugly ass, but you’re lucky to have her. And as fragile as she looks, she’s tough. If you think you might die sometime soon, you’d best get square with her today.”

  Emmet picked up the paper and a pen. “Just sign it.”

  Joseph did.

  Emmet folded his will and slipped it into his back pocket, then sat on the bed and tapped the printouts. “The files don’t mention this Junie woman. Where’d you meet her?”

  “She works at The Golden Gate Café. Have you seen her?”

  “I go to The Coffee Shop. She’s dating a cop?”

  “Hugo Petchard.”

  “That’s clever.”

  “It would be if he knew anything about the investigations.”

  Emmet stood and refilled their cups from the hotel’s coffee pot. “What did she say to you this morning?”

  “I asked if she would kill the person who murdered her family, and she said no, but she would kill the people who murdered her family before she had the chance.”

  “Fascinating. You think she’s working with Whitman’s son?”

  “Yes.” Joseph flipped through the paperwork and extracted Whitman’s photograph. “She’s the spitting image of this man, only she wears make-up. Junie has to be a blood relative. A niece, maybe. But there is one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s been in Arcadia for six weeks. That means she’s known about y’all since before then.”

  “So?”

  “So how did she and her cousin, or whatever, find out about you? From what she said this morning, she wants revenge because you killed her family before she could. Which means that she knew Calvin Whitehead was here and that you were planning to kill him. Does that make sense?”

  “I don’t see how she could know,” Emmet said. “We identified Whitehead about eighteen months ago.”

  “Why’d you wait so long to kill him?”

  “We figured that killing somebody in Forney County would be riskiest. There was a better chance somebody would recognize us, so we wanted to kill the other men first.”

  Joseph stared at him for a long moment. “How did you figure out that Whitehead was involved in the lynchings?”

  “By accident. I stopped to get gas at The Whitehead Store and recognized his face. I’d seen Calvin Whitman’s picture in the courthouse out in Thayerville, from his time when he was sheriff. The man was supposed to be dead. So we figured he ran from Thayerville for some reason.”

  “You killed a man based on one look at his face?”

  “We weren’t trigger happy, Joseph. Moses and Donna did their own reconnaissance, and then I went back out and snapped a photograph of him with my phone. It wasn’t great, but it was good enough that we could compare it to photos on the internet.”

  Joseph digested this. “Why did Junie come here in the first place six weeks ago? How did she even know about you?”

  “What’s her last name?”

  “Archer.”

  Emmet shrugged. “The Archers are prominent people out in Thayerville. If she’s some sort of relation to Calvin Whitman, then maybe his family and the Archers inter-married.”

  Joseph chewed on this. “Did you kill anybody from Tennessee?” />
  “Why?”

  “That’s where she came from.”

  Emmet pursed his lips. “We were in Tennessee last autumn. That’s the closest we’ve been to getting caught.”

  “What happened?”

  “Bad timing. We used separate cars because two black dudes and a white woman driving the back roads in the South still attracts attention. We were turning on the main highway, off the road where our victim lived, and a cop pulled up behind us.”

  Joseph’s eyes widened.

  “No lights, no siren, but he came up fast. We always left the scene in different directions, so Donna turned left and we went right. The cop followed us for about three miles. I was driving and Moses watched him in the side mirror. It looked like he was running the plates. He even turned on his lights but sped up and went past us.”

  “That’s it?”

  Emmet shrugged. “He got a good look at us as he went past. Why?”

  “The cop was a man?”

  “Yup.”

  “Junie’s cousin, maybe.”

  “Maybe, but the guy we killed wasn’t called Archer or Whitman or Whitehead.”

  “Were you in your own cars?”

  “No, man. We drove to Shreveport and rented vehicles.”

  “If the cop was the cousin, that’s how he found you. Getting information from the rental company.”

  “I guess it’s possible. It’s about the only thing that makes sense.” Emmet went silent.

  “What are you thinking?” Joseph asked.

  “It’s time to end this. We use Junie to find him and then take him out.”

  “And Junie?”

  “We can deal with her later, or maybe she’ll just disappear after her cousin is dead.” Emmet started opening drawers in the desk. “We’ve got to take the fight to him.”

  “To do that, we have to find him. What are you looking for?”

  “A pen and paper.”

  “For what?”

  “Phone technology has come a long way in the few years you were in prison, man. We’re turning the tables on him.” Emmet checked his watch. “You’ll have to hurry, but you can get to the store and back here, and still make the funeral.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re going shopping, Joseph. After you bury your kin, we’re going to find the bastard who killed your people and Donna. And then we’re going to kill him.”

  CHAPTER 108

  THE SHOOTER DRESSED IN dark colors for the Franklin funerals. There was no point in standing out when so many cops would be present. In fact, simply attending was a bad idea, but he couldn’t resist. Besides, one never knew what kind of gossip one could overhear with so many men in uniform buzzing around. And that luscious detective, Cass Elliot, would put in an appearance. What a gorgeous creature. He wondered if he could capture an image of her with his phone and decided to try. In addition to his memories of the killings, her photo would provide a nice reminder of his visit to this intellectual wasteland they called Arcadia.

  His time in Forney County was drawing to a close. He was done toying with Hedder and Franklin; after the injury to his ear last night, slight though it was, all the fun had gone out of the stalking and terrorizing. Although the gaps in his knowledge about the investigations were growing, he was certain that the police had no idea who had committed the Franklin and Moore murders. Officer Hugo Petchard had become a waste of time as a source. He was, however, still a useful tool for gaining access to general goings on in the department. Junie had performed admirably. She was a natural at deception and he enjoyed having her around. In fact, being with her felt like slipping into a second skin, like coming home. Given that he’d be starting a new life after he left Arcadia, he might keep her on full-time.

  Taking a look in the mirror, he brushed his hair over his ears and flashed a practice smile. Not too bright, not too sad, a tad teary. It was important to fit in, even to blend in, today. Getting the facial expression right was an immense help. He turned and tried it on the black cat watching from the toilet’s tank. “What do you think, Sheba?”

  She graced him with a bored glance and then jumped from the tank to twine herself between his legs. He swore and swatted at her, then used the tape brush to remove her hair. Satisfied at last, he smoothed down his lapels and went to collect his rifle.

  Show time.

  CHAPTER 109

  “WHAT ARE YOU TWO smoking?” Cass asked, yanking the pencils from her French twist, shaking her hair loose, raking it into a tight bun, and jabbing the pencils back in. “We’re burying Joseph and his mother today.”

  “Maybe we’re burying Moses instead,” Mitch said.

  “Are you serious?”

  He nodded.

  Cass leaned forward and put her elbows on the evidence table, looking back and forth from Kado to Mitch. “What makes you think Joseph is masquerading as Moses?”

  “Several things that kind of came together,” Mitch answered. “Since his mom and brother were killed, Moses has had a total personality switch.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Perhaps, but there’s barely a glimpse of the old Moses. This Moses is quiet, observant. The old Moses couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. And this one can sit still and concentrate for long stretches of time. When he helped me chase down those crimes with similarities to Calvin Whitehead’s murder? He sat at his desk for over an hour without moving or looking up. Have you ever known Moses Franklin to do that?”

  Cass caught her lower lip between her teeth and tugged. “Never. He hates the computer. He’s usually up talking to somebody or finding an excuse to get outside. Maybe he’s worn down right now, and needs time to adjust to the new reality.”

  “Okay, how about this: the new Moses, his reports are flawless. Complete sentences with punctuation, good grammar, and no typos.” Mitch shifted in his wheelchair and reached for another coffee. Cass nudged the carrier toward him. “And, I’ve caught him typing really fast. Using all his fingers. By the time I get to his desk he’s gone back to two fingers. But when nobody else is in the squad room, I can hear him tapping away. If my chair is angled the right way, I can see him typing. It’s bizarre.”

  Cass cracked a smile. “I guess that’s one solid piece of evidence that this isn’t Moses. He used to bribe me with donuts from The Donut Hole to write his reports. If they were from The Palace, I might’ve caved. Anything else?”

  Kado turned to his desk. “Look at this.”

  Cass joined him and examined the computer screen. “What is it?”

  “Carlos went to the shooting range with Moses on Thursday night. Look how Moses performed.”

  She leaned in. “He doesn’t get scores like this.”

  “And see what Carlos wrote?” Kado asked, scrolling farther down the page.

  “‘Moses shows greatly improved marksmanship when using his left hand to aim. Observed him manipulating the safety and releasing / installing a magazine and noted no concerns with his continued use of a right-handed gun’,” Cass read out loud. She looked across the room at Mitch. “I’ve never known him to do anything left-handed. Have you?”

  “No. Basketball, softball, writing, eating. All with his right hand.”

  Cass sat and stared at the forensics table. “He was using a laptop at The Golden Gate Friday morning. Moses always eats at The Coffee Shop. But he said he was using Wi-Fi at The Gate to research Joseph’s crime.”

  “I can’t imagine that Moses even knows what Wi-Fi is, can you?” Mitch asked.

  “He said Joseph was teaching him, but it seems strange that his brother dies and suddenly he’s using hotspots.” She studied the ceiling tiles. “If you’re right, and Joseph is pretending to be Moses, why? He’s a felon impersonating an officer. That’s a serious crime. Why take the chance he’ll get caught?”

  “Revenge,” Kado said, rolling his chair from the desk to the forensics table. “He wants to keep up with the investigations so he can find the person responsible.�
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  “And do what?” Cass’s expression was incredulous. “I don’t know Joseph at all. He was gone to New York by the time I joined the force here. But if twins are opposites, Moses is the one with all the emotion. I could see him tracking somebody down and killing them.” She stopped then, realizing what she had said. “Maybe it is possible that he was involved in Whitehead’s murder, but we need more than strawberries and tomatoes smashed in his shoe tread and gas on his clothes. Back to Joseph, if he’s the one who’s alive. Do you really think he wants to kill whoever shot his mom and brother?”

  “Maybe his job is just to figure out who did the killing,” Mitch said, “and let Emmet follow through. Emmet was a Marine, remember?”

  The door to the evidence room creaked open and Sheriff Hoffner stepped inside. His cool blue glance slid over Cass as he squeezed past Mitch’s leg. He stood silently, a stack of files in one hand and a single piece of paper in the other. Mitch shot Cass a warning glance and then asked, “Find anything, Sheriff?”

  “Sheriff Studebaker came through with some history. Whitman’s decision to fake his death makes a sort of sense now.” He scanned the paper in his hand. “When I asked Studebaker about the lynching in Thayerville, he asked which one I was talking about.”

  “Good Lord,” Kado said, crossing his arms over his chest. “How many were there?”

  “Five in Magnolia County during Whitman’s tenure as sheriff.”

  “He was sheriff for twenty years?” Mitch asked. “That’s a lynching every four years.”

  “Most occurred early in his tenure. What’s notable about that many lynchings in one place is that no one from outside the county came to investigate. Studebaker said the civil rights people came in and tried to stir things up, but they never lasted long.”

  “Somebody scared them off?” Mitch asked.

  Hoffner nodded. “For some reason, the federal government finally got involved in mid-1978 and started looking into both the lynchings and the level of corruption in Sheriff Whitman’s department.”

  “Whitman got scared and ran,” Cass said.