Munk scowled at them from his spot on the floor. “That’s ridiculous. Lenny’s not the type.”
“How well did you know him?”
“I haven’t really spoken to him since high school,” Munk said, slipping a thin volume from a shelf. “But it’s stupid to think that a man from a family like the Scarborough’s would be messed up in something like this.”
“Based on the photos,” Kado retorted, “he molested that kid and got a blow job from some guy who needed a shave. He must’ve changed plenty after high school.”
Munk released a sigh, deflating a bit. “It just seems far-fetched, that’s all.”
Mitch studied the other man, whose round face was tilted down as if he were examining the floor. He needed Munk on this case. The man was good with evidence, consistently deliberate and thorough. But the emotional strain of working on an investigation involving molested children, while not knowing what had happened – or was happening if she was still alive – to his own daughter might be too much. Mitch cleared his throat and spoke in a low voice. “Are you going to be okay with this case?”
Munk slowly twisted his head to look up, and the pain Mitch saw in his eyes stabbed into his heart. “I have to be. They’re somebody’s kids,” he said quietly.
Mitch nodded and exhaled slowly, and then answered Kado, picking up on the man’s earlier question. “Yeah, maybe cult. Except Truman doesn’t seem the kind they’d want to recruit. I mean, the point of a cult is to get someone to do something they wouldn’t normally do, like donate all their money, follow blindly and steal or kill, right? Truman’s too well grounded for any of that. He’s a smart kid, comes from a good family, knows what he wants and seems like he’s willing to work for it.”
Kado frowned. “I don’t know much about cults, but I keep going back to your question from earlier: Did anybody have any idea that something like this was going on? Seems that the answer is ‘no’. This has to be a small group or someone would have heard about it.”
Munk grunted from his kneeling position next to the bookcase and held out a cream colored card. “Found this in one of those books on Satan.”
“What is it?” Kado asked, switching on a desk lamp against the intruding evening gloom. They leaned forward to examine the small square of paper. “That’s unusual writing.”
Cass pulled a loose strand of hair to the back of her neck, hooking it around her limp French twist. “It says,” she squinted, “‘You are cordially invited to a Celebration of Illumination on the Eighteenth of October 1988 at The Sanctuary.’ No names.” She raised her head. “What’s a celebration of illumination?”
“No idea,” answered Mitch, sitting back in the desk chair.
“Bag it,” Kado instructed as Munk was slipping the card into a plastic bag. Munk glared and Kado smiled ruefully, holding his gloved hands up in apology. “Sorry.”
The screen door slammed against its frame and Truman’s boots thumped across the kitchen. He shook his head as he came into the study. “Nothing in the barn or the car.”
“All right,” Mitch said. “So far, we’ve got a dead man, photos showing homosexual acts and the rape of a child, a study loaded with books on Christianity and the devil, and an invitation to a celebration.” He held the bagged invitation out for Truman to inspect.
“And a woman with a shady past who admits she murdered her husband,” Munk added.
“That, too.” Mitch sighed deeply and stood, stretching his long frame. He glanced at the fair-haired young officer standing near the door. “Truman, are you ready to tell us who invited you to join this group?”
Truman drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “Officer Petchard.”
Munk snorted a laugh. “There’s not a cult around that would have Hugo Petchard as a member.”
“I didn’t say he was a member of a cult. He’s just the one who asked me to join.” He hesitated. “What’ll happen to him?”
Mitch pulled on his lower lip. “Nothing, for now. We’ll do some discreet checking to see if there’s anything about Officer Petchard that warrants additional attention.” He studied the young man for a moment. “Officer Truman, I’ll make a formal request to have you and Officer Munk moved from patrol to this investigation. Do you have any problem with that?”
Truman’s smooth face broke into a wide grin. “No, sir.”
“Munk?”
He flicked a glance at Kado. “If the forensic guy wants me, I’m happy to help.”
Kado nodded. “Fine by me.”
“All right,” Mitch said. “Now, what should we do with Angie?”
Munk rose to his full height and rubbed his rounded stomach as his eyes wandered over the family photos on the walls. “Lenny Scarborough was well respected. We’ve got nothing to support Angie’s claim that he beat her on a regular basis. She never reported it.” He held up a hand to stop Cass’s protests. “I know. Lots of battered women never report the abuse, and somebody did beat her up today, so it could be true. We’ve got speculation from Angie about a secret group of men who meet at night and wear choir robes.” He shrugged. “There’s no evidence of that, either.”
“What are you saying?” Cass demanded.
“Maybe she made it all up.”
“Come on, Munk.”
“Cass, she’s a prostitute, or she was a prostitute. She had a problem with drugs when she was younger. Maybe she got back into them. Maybe she was still woozy from the sedative Dr. Rambo gave her and got her facts confused. Maybe she got pissed off because her husband was having sex with men and raping girls. All I’m saying is that we’ve got no evidence to support her story, other than the pictures. Maybe they could drive a woman to murder, and to lie about the reasons why.”
CHAPTER 17
A CAR DOOR SLAMMED and a curtain twitched in a softly lit window. The old man opened the front door and strode across the wide porch, down the steps and across the lawn to where Officer Chad Garrett waited. Even in the wan glow of a dim moon the old man could see bits of clover and rye grass clinging to his uniform’s trousers. The shine on his black shoes was clouded with muck.
“Evening, son. Good work calling this morning.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, holding out a chunky legal style briefcase and thinking it odd that, in his late forties, anyone would call him ‘son’. “Is this what you wanted?”
The old man scowled at the case’s weight. Twisting the locks and snapping the clasps open, he glanced up at Garrett and used the hood of the patrol car to balance the briefcase while he poked through it. His eyes narrowed to slits. “You take anything out of here?”
“No, sir. What’s missing?”
The old man ignored the question. “Where’d you find it?”
“In an office.”
He shut the briefcase, twirling the locks before placing it carefully on the ground and leaning against the patrol car to examine the younger man through the evening’s gloom. Digging a pipe from one pocket and a tobacco pouch from the other, he rubbed and fluffed the thin strands before trickling them into the bowl. With the cold pipe clamped between his teeth, he replaced the pouch and withdrew a silverish object he used to tamp the tobacco. He lifted one foot to scratch a lucifer across his shoe sole and waved the flame gently over the pipe, drawing steadily through the stem. Again he tamped and passed the match over the bowl, sucking the flame into the tobacco. His weathered face flickered as the flame rose and fell, fat puffs of smoke layering a veil around his head. Ritual complete, he speared Chad Garrett with his eyes. “Who was out there?”
“The paramedics came first. Then Detective Elliot showed up. John Grey, Officer Munk, Detective Stone and some foreign guy came out and worked on Lenny and the truck.”
“Foreign?” the old man asked.
“Yes, sir. He was with Grey.”
“Anyone else?”
He paused, thinking. “Scott Truman and the new forensics guy came later.”
“Who went in the house?”
“All of
them but Grey and his friend.”
“They take anything with them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What?”
“A few boxes of stuff. I don’t know what was in them.”
“Then find out.”
“I, uh, I’m not sure I can do that.”
The aroma of cherry scented smoke filled the evening air. “Why not?”
“I don’t have access to the evidence room.”
“Then get it.”
“It’s not that simple, sir.”
“Damn it son, who does have access?”
“It’s mostly the receptionist and Kado who go in there.”
“Get yourself assigned to this case.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“But I’m patrol,” Garrett protested. “We don’t work on investigations.”
The old man waved a dismissive hand as he bent to retrieve the briefcase. “Show some initiative, boy. I don’t care how you do it, but I want you to find out what they took from the house and I want it tomorrow. I’ll double the payment.”
The smoky veil dissolved and Garrett swallowed as he looked into the old man’s eyes. Their flat surface glittered in the early starlight and gooseflesh broke out on his arms at the absence of anything human in them. He searched his mouth for moisture. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Tomorrow. Or I’ll let your wife in on our little secret,” he grinned, baring long, nicotine stained teeth. “And that would be expensive, wouldn’t it?”
CHAPTER 18
MITCH EASED HIS TRUCK into the carport and watched through the window as Darla puttered around the kitchen. He couldn’t suppress a grin at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he was still amazed she had agreed to marry him. And equally amazed that her father hadn’t simply shot him and left his body for the hogs when he had asked for Darla’s hand. Their married life had been imperfect at best, thanks mostly to his insecurity and bone-headedness. But his wife had always found the courage to tolerate him, and at times forgive him, even when he was at his worst.
He had first seen her at the Dairy Queen when they were both freshmen at the local college. Mitch was still reeling from his best friend’s arrest for rape and murder earlier that same year. He and Jack Elliot had been inseparable since their first day in kindergarten. They came from vastly different backgrounds, and perhaps that was what had drawn them together. Mitch’s parents had died in an automobile accident when he was a toddler. And although the childless aunt and uncle who had taken responsibility for him met all his needs, he sensed that their expressions of affection came from duty, rather than from the heart.
Jack, on the other hand, was the first-born and adored by his parents and his younger siblings. In kindergarten, he had only two. In the years to come, the Elliot clan would expand to encompass six boys, each separated by two years, and one girl, born four years after the youngest boy. The Elliots were a poor family, considered white trash by some because of Abe Elliot’s problem with booze. But Mitch had never felt more at home than when he was with Jack. And in spite of being surrounded by siblings, Jack’s bond with Mitch had only grown through the years. Both were smart and ambitious. They had planned and schemed their way out of Forney County a million different ways. But they knew the only realistic path of escape was to leave through education. And so, as their senior year in high school had drawn to a close, the two applied to and were accepted by Forney County’s college, meager scholarships in hand. But then Jack was arrested. And everything changed.
Although more than twenty years had passed, Mitch still didn’t understand what had happened to Jack. His best friend had never spoken to him about that night. Wouldn’t even see Mitch until after he had been in the state prison at Huntsville for two years. After Jack’s arrest, Mitch was left with waves of confusion and pain crashing through his brain, threatening to derail his plans for escaping Forney County. The chaos in his head didn’t quiet until he spotted Darla. She walked into the small restaurant, ordered a hot fudge sundae, smiled at him as he waited for a burger and fries, and took his breath away. From that moment, his life had purpose again. And strangely enough, with Darla by his side, he had been content to settle in Forney County.
Darla glanced out the kitchen window and smiled when she heard the pickup’s door slam. That gentle curve of her lips was all it took to wash the imprint of Lenny Scarborough’s impaled body to the back of Mitch’s brain. She opened the kitchen door and Zeus tumbled down the steps, a slimy tennis ball in his mouth. Mitch wrestled it from the dog and tossed it out into the backyard. Zeus darted into the night and returned within moments, whining around the ball and wagging so hard his hindquarters swayed with each stroke of his tail. Mitch grabbed the ball again and strode out into the yard, throwing farther this time. They carried on until the greyhound by-passed Mitch, dropped the ball beside his water bowl and slurped loudly.
Mitch pushed open the kitchen door and breathed in the welcome aroma of meatloaf. His stomach let loose with a high-pitched growl and Darla laughed as she stepped into his embrace. “No lunch?”
“Lunch was a long time ago,” he muttered, breathing in the fresh citrusy scent of her perfume. At five feet four inches tall, Darla stood a full twelve inches shorter than her husband. Her head nestled perfectly into that hollow beneath his collarbone, and he loved the feel of her soft, warm body against his. This was the time of day he lived for. Holding Darla was the one thing that could make his world right, no matter how wrong it had gone.
“Sit down,” she ordered, pulling away and stepping to the stove. “The meatloaf is just coming out of the oven. Were you out at the Scarborough’s?”
He settled at the kitchen table and yawned so widely he felt his jaw pop. “Yeah.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her soft brown eyes concerned. “Gruesome?”
“You heard?”
She put food on the table and sat next to him. “Something like that? How could I not hear?”
“It was gruesome,” Mitch said as he scooped generous portions of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, butter beans and carrots onto his plate.
“Was Cass there?”
“She did great. Had no problem with Lenny’s corpse.” He paused to scoop more carrots out of the bowl. “I still can’t help but want to look after her.”
Darla sighed as she took the serving spoon from him. “She’s not a little girl anymore, Mitch.”
“I know she’s not. She’s different since she finished college and came back to Arcadia. There’s part of her that’s changed. She’s harder, in some ways, than I remember. But there’s this other part of her that’s so, vulnerable, I guess.” He lifted a forkful of butter beans to his mouth and hesitated. “That family has had so much tragedy to deal with, I don’t know what they would do if Cass got hurt.”
Darla took a sip of iced tea. “She’ll be fine. Cass has a level head on her shoulders, she’s been through the Academy, and she’s got you as her partner. What better training could she have?” She watched as Mitch took another big bite of meatloaf. “It’s so unfair.”
“What is?”
“That you can eat like that,” she pointed with the spoon to the mountain of food on his plate, “and still stay thin.”
“It’s my metabolisms,” he said around a mouthful of carrots.
“You don’t even know what a metabolism is, do you?”
“Nope. But if it lets me eat as much of your meatloaf as I want, I’m all for it.” Mitch glanced up at Darla. “You’re right about Cass.”
She chuckled. “Of course I am. Hey, I also heard that Angie Scarborough killed her husband.”
“She did.” He hesitated, and then told her everything. “There were some photographs in the house. Well, scattered on the kitchen floor. Men having sex with men and raping at least one girl. Lenny was in them.”
Darla recoiled. “A girl?”
“Young teenager, from the development of her body.”
“Wh
o else besides Lenny?”
“We don’t know. None of their faces, even the girl, were visible. Angie knew Lenny was in the photos because he had certain scars that she recognized.”
“So you can’t arrest anybody for raping that child?”
“Not until we know who they are.”
Darla took a bite of meatloaf and chewed thoughtfully. “Who’s working with you?”
“The new forensics guy, Tom Kado. He just turned up yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Seems to know his stuff. One of the younger officers, Scott Truman, got pulled onto the scene because he was working with Kado at the fire pit this morning where we found the foot bones last night. Kado brought him along as an extra pair of hands. Grey has a friend in town. An English guy named Bernie Winterbottom.”
“Strange name. What does he do? I take it he’s not a civilian if he’s helping you on an investigation.”
“Bernie works mostly with bones. I think Grey said he’s a forensic anthropologist. He’s a little strange, but seems competent.” He toyed with the food on his plate. “Munk’s on the investigation, too.”
“Ernie? Is that wise?”
Mitch shrugged. “I asked if he was comfortable working on a case where we’re looking for child rapists, and he said he was.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “I’m not sure I could do that.”
“Me either. But I’m not sure I could’ve survived everything Munk and Gabrielle have survived, either.”
“Good point.” She watched as Mitch pushed back from the table and started clearing their dishes. A frown drew lines across her brow. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Things are going to be busy over the next few days.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, blue eyes mischievous. “I thought we could spend a little quality time together tonight.”
Darla laughed and rose to help him. “You devil.”
“Every chance I get,” he confirmed.
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 8