Cain's Cross

by Dale Mayer

  Cain nodded, his gaze distant. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d love to ask him some questions though.”

  “Like?”

  “When did you see your son last?”

  “I told you, not for a long time,” Petra said.

  He looked at her sideways.

  She frowned. “Okay, fine, I think he’s been back-and-forth. I just don’t know when. He and his father get along sometimes. Last I heard, his father was upset that he stole some weapons.”

  “And are weapons such an open topic around town?”

  “No.” She groaned. “Chico has a sister, and she’s a friend of mine. But her father keeps her on a short chain.”

  “Sounds like that might not be a bad thing, considering the brothers,” he said.

  “Well, she’s about to bust out,” Petra said. “She wants to go to Rome. Her father will lose another child.”

  “Maybe it’s because of the way he is.”

  “And those loser brothers,” she said. “So we’d have a better chance of talking to her than Morgan.”

  “Lead the way,” Cain said. “I need answers.”

  “To what kind of questions?”

  “Who was paying the Chico kid to do his latest job?” he said bluntly.

  “Why?” she asked, stopping and standing in the middle of the street, her gaze going from one man to the other.

  “Because we think he killed a friend of ours and badly hurt two others,” he said.

  She wrinkled up her face at that. “Are you planning on killing him when you find him? The father, I mean?” she asked in exasperation.

  “No, not unless he gives us a reason.”

  “You should know that this town will close ranks,” she said. “If there’s any ugliness, you can’t expect any help from the law or the locals.”

  “No,” he said. “I can’t say I particularly expected otherwise.”

  “It’s always been that way here,” she said quietly. “Even if they do something wrong. It’s like the town protecting bad pennies, especially the wealthy and dangerous ones, and the rest of the world can stay out.”

  “Understood,” he said. “What I would really like to do is get access to Chico’s apartment and take a look inside.”

  “Well, he does keep an apartment in town here, but he’s never there,” she said. “What? Did you not know that already?”

  “Yeah, but we also know he went to his father’s place all the time,” Eton said.

  She turned and slowly started walking down the street again. “That’s right. He did. And it would be just like him to have an apartment, then not use it.”

  “Why is that?” Cain asked.

  “Because he’s a sneaky son of a bitch,” she said with a frown.

  “Listen. Don’t tell anybody that Chico’s dead, okay?” Eton said.

  “Hell no,” she said, “that would just get me in trouble. Better off if you guys deal with that yourselves.”

  “Exactly,” Cain said with a smile.

  They turned several more corners, and, although it was late summer, a gloominess hung in the evening. She looked up and said, “You must have brought this weather with you,” she said, “because it was a beautiful sunny day earlier.”

  “Clouds are good,” Cain said. “Too much sunshine’s not good for the soul.”

  Petra burst out laughing. “Then I wonder if there’ll ever be sunshine in my life again,” she said.

  This time when he glanced at her, he saw a look of sadness that broke his heart. He grabbed her arm again, not exactly sure why he felt the need to touch her, and said, “Come on. Let’s go take a look.”

  As they got close to the property, he noted the massive wall surrounding it all.

  “Stone walls?” Eton said.

  “Very Italian,” Cain stated.

  Pulling out her phone, she made a call.

  “Who you calling?” Cain asked.

  “Patina,” she said. “Checking to see if she’s inside.”

  Just then a vehicle pulled out the driveway. It stopped just at the street’s edge, and a woman, sitting behind the wheel, answered her phone. When she realized Petra was calling her and that her friend stood right there, Patina rolled down the window. “What’s up?”

  “Where are you going?” Petra asked, looking down at her friend.

  “I’m leaving,” she said. “My dad is in a real temper, and I’ve had enough. I’m out of here for good. I’ll call you later.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it now?”

  The young woman shook her head sadly. “Nothing to tell. He’s just really losing it, and he’s dangerous as hell. I’m done.” With that, she rolled up the window and pulled away.

  Surprised at the turn of events, Cain turned to look at Petra and asked, “Now what?”

  Chapter 4

  “I’m not exactly sure,” Petra said, “because, if Morgan’s in a temper, the firearms will be close at hand.”

  Just then a shot rang out, and it hit the stone wall at the gate. A man yelled, “You get the hell off my property.”

  She answered him in Sicilian. But he roared at her in English.

  “Does he always speak in English?”

  “Ninety percent of the time,” she said, frowning at the house. “Your daughter just left,” she called out.

  “She can stay away too,” he shouted back.

  “Why is that?” Petra asked.

  “She’s no daughter of mine.” Again more shots were fired.

  She brushed the hair off her face. “Dammit,” she said, shaking her head. “When he gets like this, he’s just impossible.”

  The man came storming out, and she sighed, as they witnessed a big, tall old man carrying a long shotgun.

  Eton and Cain shared a frown.

  She smiled up at the old man. “Patina just left. Is this how you treated her?”

  “It doesn’t matter how I treated her,” he rambled, then took several steps and stumbled.

  He was obviously in a drunken stupor.

  She sighed and said quietly to Cain and Eton, “It’s better if we don’t talk to him right now.”

  Morgan took several more steps and tripped. He hit his head on the concrete in front of them and laid completely still. She gasped. She wanted to rush to his side, but Cain grabbed her arm. “Wait. He’s still dangerous.”

  She looked down at Morgan on the ground and said, “Outside of that gun, which he’s not even holding now, he’s nothing. He’s not dangerous. He’s just a sick old man.” She raced to his side. The two men followed. She studied Morgan. “He’s out cold. While he’s unconscious, go ahead inside through the front doors, bear to the right, and you’ll find a hallway. Take the stairs. The last bedroom on the right is Chico’s.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Go now,” she said, “while Morgan won’t know the difference.”

  *

  Cain, not wasting a moment, dashed inside, Eton with him. Neither wasted time on the drunk, who had stumbled and fallen on the pavement. They followed Petra’s directions to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Cain didn’t even want to know how she knew which bedroom was Chico’s, but, given Petra was friends with the sister, maybe it made sense after all. The door was locked. He stared at it and then faced Eton. “You think it’s rigged?”

  “No,” Eton said. “Presumably there’s still some love for the family here.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Seems to me not a whole lot of love is lost on any of them.”

  Eton already had his pick out, quickly popped the lock, and, as they pushed it, found a deadbolt. Eton noted, “You know that this means he had to leave from inside the room.” That deadbolt took a little bit longer.

  “I know, maybe out the window or some secret interior staircase,” Cain said, but the minute they opened the door, the smell hit them. Immediately pulling his shirt over his nose, he stopped and stared. “What the hell?”

  On the bed was a woma
n. Or at least what remained of a woman. She’d obviously been dead for quite some time. Cain looked back at Eton. “Let’s hope this isn’t Petra’s sister.”

  Eton’s gaze widened at the thought. He nodded with a hard clip and said, “But we need to do something about this.”

  “I know.”

  They pulled gloves from their pockets—the thin surgical disposable kind that they carried everywhere. Avoiding the body as much as they could, they searched for a very obvious cause of death and found it—a bullet through the forehead. They walked on the carpet, trying to leave as little sign of their presence as possible. The fact that they’d found a body would give them a little bit of an excuse to be here but not too much more. They opened the nearby closet, and Cain whistled. It contained nothing but heavy artillery. “This is a hell of a weapons stash,” he said.

  “Kind of makes you wonder how long it’s been here.”

  “Probably a hell of a long time,” Cain muttered. Staying out of the way of the window, they made sure nobody else would know they were here. They made a quick check through the closet, closing it up the way they had found it in the first place, noting it was there in case they needed some weapons themselves. Then Cain checked a night table, finding a small black journaling book, which he pulled out and tucked into his pocket. Also he found a stash of cash in a bag, which he left as is. He took one last look at the woman on the bed and motioned for Eton to go ahead of him. As they exited the bedroom, he stopped and looked at the lock. The two turned toward each other. Cain shrugged and said, “We’ll leave it open.” And, with that, they swept down the stairs.

  Just as they opened the front door, a bullet slammed into the doorjamb at their heads. Eton grabbed Cain, and they both fell backward. Cain looked through the window to see Petra flat on the ground outside, beside the old man. Cain called out in a low voice, “Petra, did you get hit?”

  She shook her head slightly.

  He had to get her into the house or at least farther away from here. When he went to swing open the door again, another shot was fired. He pulled out his phone and sent a message back to the team, giving them an update.

  We need cops, he typed, and a dead woman’s in the upstairs bedroom. At that, he got back a simple message.

  On it.

  Looking around at their options, Cain caught sight of a big metal lounge chair off to the side, with a thick padded seat. With the door wide open, he dashed outside, grabbed the lounge chair as a protective covering, and raced to Petra’s side. He pulled her to her feet, and together they inched their way back, holding the chair up as a shield. Several bullets struck the metal and bounced off harmlessly or were embedded in the cushions. Back up on the porch, he pulled her into the house. “What about the old man?” he asked, putting down the lounge chair inside.

  “He’s still out cold,” she said, gasping for breath.

  He faced her. “Did you see the shooter?”

  “No.”

  Just then they heard sirens far off in the distance. Nearby, a vehicle suddenly started up, and, as they watched, a big black truck drove from the neighbor’s property, around the stone wall, and took off in front of them. Cain couldn’t see the driver; the truck was too far away. He looked at Eton and said, “We need that tracked.”

  Eton was already on his phone, texting off their request.

  Cain quietly asked Petra, “What does your sister look like?”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “Red hair, about five feet, seven inches, very slim.”

  He looked at her, took a deep breath, and said, “I need to show you something, but it’s pretty unpleasant.”

  She frowned at him and said, “If it has something to do with my sister, I need to know what you’re talking about.”

  He looked at Eton, who gave a one-arm shrug. What else could they say? “A dead woman is upstairs,” Cain said.

  She stared at him in shock and shook her head. “No, it can’t be her. She left months ago.”

  “Months and months ago, or months ago?”

  She frowned. “She left at the same time my father had his accident. So it’s been eighteen months.”

  “Any idea when the Chico guy living here would have disappeared?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. He came and went all the time.”

  “Well, before the cops get here, do you want to take a look?”

  Her face paled, but she nodded grimly.

  “If nothing else,” he said, “you could identify her, whether your sister or not.” He led the way upstairs and into the bedroom.

  A few seconds later, Petra timidly stepped around the corner, reacting to the smell. When her gaze landed on the bed, she cried out, her hand slapping across her mouth.

  Taking a step toward her, Cain wrapped his arm around her shoulders and asked, “Is it her?”

  Tears poured out of her eyes, as she looked up and nodded.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, then motioning to the door, he escorted her back outside and closed the door.

  “She’s been here all this time?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “Yes, it looks that way,” he said. “A sealant was put around the door and the windows, probably hoping to curb the smell, but also so the body would dehydrate and mummify versus decompose.”

  “I know it’s hot here but still—”

  “The flies already found it, and that was a long time ago,” he said. “So her body has decomposed some already.”

  She shuddered at his words, but the sight of her sister was worse.

  He just hoped she hadn’t noticed the incredible mass of worms and maggots in various stages on the bed.

  “How could there even be anything left of her after all this time?”

  “Depends on how many months she has been here. The forensic specialists will have to figure all that out,” he said.

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Small town. This won’t be very pretty.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But it doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be dealt with.” He paused, frowning at Petra. “Didn’t you say something about a baby?”

  She nodded. “Well, there was a pregnancy. Did it end in a baby? No, maybe not,” she said slowly. “I’m not exactly sure what the end result of that was.” Still obviously in shock, she just stared up at him. “For these last few months at least, she’s been right there,” she said. “That’s just crazy.”

  “I know,” he said. “But nothing to be done about it now. Nothing more to be done for her, except to get justice.”

  She stared at him. “This is—it’s just too unbelievable.”

  “I’m sorry, Petra,” he said. “That’s the reality we have to deal with.”

  She gazed at the scene out the front door. Then her focus landed on the old man, still outside on the ground. “Did he know?” Her voice was louder and angrier, as if she’d found a target responsible for the atrocity done to her family.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s something we may get some answers to, once he is conscious and sober. But honestly it’ll be a bit of a mess when the cops get here, which won’t be long from the sounds of it.”

  She shot him a hard look and dashed out the front door.

  Chapter 5

  Petra bent over the old man on the ground and started ripping into him. She flipped him onto his back, partially mindful of his head wound, but, at the same time, desperately in need of answers. She gave him a hard shake, and, when he groaned, she spoke loudly. “Morgan, wake up!” she snapped. “I need answers.” His eyes fluttered open, and he glared at her. She snapped back. “A dead woman is in your house.”

  But it didn’t seem to filter through the fog in his eyes. Yet he finally reacted when he saw Cain, standing behind her. The old man’s eyes widened in fear. She looked back and saw Cain standing there, like an avenging angel, his hands on his hips, glaring down at the old man.

  “Who is he?” Morgan asked in his native language.

  She an
swered in the same. “He’s here looking for your son.”

  “My son is gone,” he said, tears coming to his eyes.

  “No, not Barlow. Chico,” she said impatiently. “Chico.”

  “A bad seed.”

  “Well, that bad seed has been hiding my sister in his bedroom,” she said, her voice hard. “She’s dead.” He stared at her, and she saw the truth in his eyes. “You knew!” she gasped. “You knew and did nothing?”

  He just closed his eyes and sagged back.

  Cain reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Didn’t you say he started drinking really heavily a few months ago?”

  She looked at Morgan and then back at Cain. “You think he found out then?”

  “I think he found out but didn’t know what to do about it. He said his son Chico took off, and he obviously wasn’t planning on coming back, if that’s what was here waiting for him.”

  “Dear God,” she whispered, sitting back on her heels, her hands over her eyes. “This is the one time I’m glad my father won’t know or understand what’s going on.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Cain said.

  The sounds of the sirens grew closer.

  She stood up slowly and looked at Cain. “I just … I just—” She stopped, completely at a loss for words.

  He smiled, nodded, and opened his arms. She walked into them and burrowed against his chest. “To know that she was right here in recent months. I thought she was somewhere across Europe. I wondered about the baby, but I didn’t know and had no way to find out.”

  “I didn’t see any evidence of a child,” he said, “so maybe that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s definitely a good thing,” she murmured. “But now I feel like I should go back up there and make sure there isn’t a dead child.”

  “You know there won’t be a live one,” he said, “and, if there’s a dead one, we’ll find out when the forensics team and the cops get here.”

  She just shuddered and nodded. “They won’t like you having gone into the bedroom.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “We’ll just say that this guy said something to justify our actions.”