“You’d rather she cut your balls off?” came the grim reply. “Be a hell of a way to spend those golden years, wouldn’t it? No balls. No wife.” He chuckled. “No pension.”
“What do you mean?” Garrett asked in a small voice.
“Son, if I don’t find out what’s in those photographs, I reckon this here inventory will find its way to Sheriff Hoffner. Maybe with a confession from your good self. And if that happens, retirement will be the least of your worries.”
Garrett shivered. “I know what’s in them; I saw them out at the house.”
The noise of a pipe clacking against teeth came through the phone. Garrett had grown to hate that sound. The old man spoke. “Tell me.”
He swallowed thickly. “They were pictures of men having sex with other men. One showed a guy with his dick in another guy’s mouth, one being jacked-off by somebody else.”
“You’re sure it was men and men, not women?”
“Not unless the women had hairy knuckles and a five o’clock shadow. But yeah, there was a chick, as well.”
“Faces?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” he answered emphatically. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t mind what you’ve asked for before; there wasn’t any harm in it. But this is illegal. I want out. And,” he added, “I don’t want your money. Keep it.”
The phone exploded with laughter. The old man coughed and sputtered before speaking again. “As you wish. I’ll let you know where to drop your phone.”
CHAPTER 27
ANGIE SCARBOROUGH WAS FINISHING a bowl of oatmeal when Officer Greg Newton tapped on her door. He pushed it open a crack and she waved him in. He opened the door wider and Cass and Mitch stepped through. A small girl darted between them, snatching a pink backpack from the corner and giggling a good-bye to her mother.
“You be good at school, you hear?” Angie called after the tiny figure. The bruises on her cheek were darkening to purple, and Cass saw a flash of pain cross the woman’s face. “I haven’t told them that their father is dead. I just couldn’t do it,” she said. “I hope they don’t find out at school today.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine today,” Mitch said. “But tell them this evening.”
“Dr. Rambo said I could go home if I ate all my breakfast.” Angie looked at the tray on her lap with a grimace. “Disgusting, but it’s gone.”
“Are you up to answering a few questions?” Cass asked.
“What do you need?”
“A few things. I want to go over your statement to make sure we got it right. And I want to show you some photographs.”
Angie’s eyes flew wide and she shook her head, pushing a hand out in front of her. “I - I don’t want to see them again.”
“Not those,” Cass said. “These are shots that we took of your house. I just want to know if anything is missing, okay?”
She nodded, face relaxing.
“Before we start, did you have help at the farm?”
“No, it was just Lenny and me.”
“You never had anybody out to help around the place?”
“The Pettigrew brothers used to come help Lenny now and again with the heavy work. But,” she pulled a face, “all of a sudden they got right smart and wouldn’t come back. It made no sense to me. We paid them well, fed them lunch. They always did good work for us.”
Cass glanced at Mitch, who nodded. “I talked to Wallace today. He told me he’d seen bruises on your arms on occasion.” Angie closed her eyes. “He also said Lenny started talking about religion, and it made them uncomfortable. That’s why they quit.”
“That man,” she breathed. “And all this time I thought they just got uppity. I’ll have to call and apologize for Lenny. He did that sometimes, started preaching to people. Usually after those meetings of his.”
“We need to know more about this group that Lenny belonged to.”
“I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
“I’ll ask a few questions. We can try it that way.”
She adjusted herself against the headboard. Mitch drifted into a corner and listened silently. “What do you want to know?”
“Who was in this group with Lenny?”
“I have no idea. I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t think he’d be too happy about it.”
“He was never with anyone you were surprised to see?”
“He never spent time with anybody other than me and the kids. There was church on Sundays and Wednesdays, and sometimes he’d go into town about the insurance business, but that was it.”
“Did anybody ever come to your house and spend time with Lenny?”
“No. The only visitors we got were from my side of the family, and sometimes the kids would have friends over. Very few adults.”
“What made you suspicious of this group?”
“You live with a man long enough,” she shrugged, “you know things about him. He was involved for a long time, before we were married. He would go out once a month or so, always called it business. Said he had to meet some of the men from the community. The meetings were at night and he never told me where he was going.” She reached for a cup on the table and sipped through the straw. “Normally, he’d have a phone with him, even if he was just out with the cows, and tell me to call if we needed anything. But on those nights, I was forbidden to contact him.”
“Even if something happened to one of the kids?” Cass asked.
“Yes. And that was unusual for Lenny. He was a good father, in spite of everything else.” Her eyes drifted across the room before coming to rest on her hands where they lay in her lap. “He’d come home from these meetings all glowing. Sometimes he’d be like a rooster, strutting around and almost crowing. It made me think he’d got a promotion or a prize. He’d be happy for a few days after, but more demanding.”
“Demanding how?”
“Quoting more scripture at me. More likely to put me in my place. ‘Correction’, he called it. That’s when he’d hit me.”
“You had no idea where he was going?”
“No. But he almost always had mud on his boots when he came home. Not heavy like clay, more sandy. And there was that purple robe. Sometimes it was dirty, too. A couple of times it was sopping wet and he smelled like he’d been in the river. But after every trip out, he’d have me wash it. I’d hang it in the closet and it would disappear.”
“Where to?”
“Probably his study, in that briefcase. I wasn’t allowed in there.” Angie paused. “And then sometime last year it got worse. He was cross a lot, even after these meetings, and he spent more time on the other cell phone.”
“What phone?”
“He had one that wasn’t from our plan. I think he kept it locked up, but sometimes I’d peek through the door into his study and see him talking on it, real quiet and in a strange voice.”
“What kind of voice?”
“It was…,” Angie thought for a moment, and then nodded in recognition. “Subservient. Almost like he was kissin’ ass.” She squinted. “No, it was more respectful than that, but for the life of me, I can’t imagine who Lenny would talk to in that tone of voice.”
“You don’t know where he kept the phone?”
“The only place I can figure is in that briefcase of his. Did you look in there?”
“We found the book you told us about, The Church of the True Believer, but we didn’t find a briefcase, Angie.”
She blinked slowly. “It was right next to his desk. I kicked it on my way out of the study.”
“It wasn’t there when we went through the house.”
“You sure?”
Cass pulled out the digital photos and handed them to Angie. “These are the shots from the study.”
Angie examined each photo, frowning in concentration. She plucked one from her lap. “It was here. I threw up in that wastepaper basket,” she pointed, “and on my way out of the room I slammed my foot into his briefcase.”<
br />
“What did it look like?”
“Dark brown, old. It was a big rectangle with flaps on the top that laid over each other and locked.” She demonstrated with her hands. “Did you find the robe or the phone?”
Cass shook her head.
“Where did they go?” she demanded. “That briefcase was there when I left the house and ki –,” she caught her breath, “killed Lenny. Did you search the barn and the cellar?”
“Yes.”
“The attic?”
“Yes.”
“And the robe wasn’t there, or the phone?”
“No, neither.”
“Well then, someone took it all,” she announced, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to be prosecuted for killing Lenny, and I wouldn’t make up a story like this. He did belong to some group and he wore a purple robe and there was a briefcase in that study yesterday morning.” Her brows drew together. “The man was a rapist. Him and his friends. You’ve got pictures of him raping that girl. Isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t know,” said Mitch, stepping from the corner. Angie started as if she’d forgotten that he was in the room with them. “We need to talk to the district attorney. If Dr. Rambo lets you go home today, go. Just don’t leave the county. The study’s been sealed. Don’t go in there. The hay dolly is still evidence, so you can’t use it yet. All right?”
Angie buried her hands in her dark hair. “Good Lord. What a mess. And tell me Mitch Stone,” she challenged, lowering her hands, “if I can’t use that hay dolly, how are my cows gonna get fed?”
He grinned. “Call the Pettigrew brothers.”
____________
CASS PULLED THE DOOR shut and cranked the engine. “Well?”
Beside her, Mitch sighed. “I think she’s telling the truth. But, we need to talk to Sheriff Hoffner and the DA, to see what they want to do with her.”
She crossed her arms over the steering wheel, staring sightlessly through the windshield. “Whatever happened to Lorena Bobbitt?”
Mitch shivered. “The woman who sliced her husband’s hoo-hoo off?”
“Hoo-hoo? Hoo-hoo?” she said, chortling.
He shifted. “There are some things a man can’t discuss comfortably. Bobbittizing is one of them.”
“Whatever,” she said, smile dying as she glanced across the cab. “Didn’t she get off with battered wife syndrome, or something like that?”
“You think that might be a defense for Angie?”
Cass shrugged and slipped the truck into reverse, looking over her shoulder. “You think we should charge her?”
He hesitated. “In terms of pure justice, no.”
“But in terms of the law?”
“Maybe.”
CHAPTER 28
MUNK AND TRUMAN SAT, heads together, hunched over the Scarborough’s computer. They’d dragged a desk into a corner of the dingy conference room for privacy, scanned the photos from the kitchen floor, and were scrolling through those images and the shots that had been stored on Lenny’s computer. The blinds were drawn and a murky light filled the room. Munk shook his head and pulled away from the screen.
“I just can’t see Lenny involved in any of this.”
Truman pointed at an image. “That’s his hip.” He clicked to another. “And this one.”
Munk ran a hand over his pocked face and smoothed his thinning hair into place. Reaching for their empty cups, he stood. “Coffee?”
Truman nodded as Munk ambled across the room to the stout old coffee machine. He swung open the refrigerator door. “Cream?”
“Please.” Truman reached for the fresh coffee when Munk settled next to him again. “Thanks. I needed it.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Munk began.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know much about computers, but I know you can manipulate images with them. Could those pictures have been changed?”
Truman scrolled back and forth between the photographs. “They look genuine to me, but I imagine that’s the idea.” He shrugged. “Maybe. You’d have to have the original pictures to start with, wouldn’t you? Shots of two different men?” He flipped to an image and double clicked. It filled the screen and they looked over their shoulders to check that the room was still empty. “You could use that one, I think. His…” He pointed to the screen, blushing. “His, the uh… it isn’t touching the other guy’s mouth. So that should be simple. But this one.” He reduced the image and found another, again filling the screen with it. “I don’t know how you make an arm curve around somebody’s body like that, or wrap their fingers around… you know.”
“Who would know about something like that?”
“Somebody out at the college might.”
“Is there a computer class out there?”
Truman shrugged. “I went to college in Chambers.” He jumped as the conference room door swung open and quickly minimized the image.
“Hey Truman. You working on Lenny’s computer?” Mitch asked as he strolled across the room. Cass stopped at the coffee machine, filling two mugs before joining them in the corner.
“Yes, sir. Munk wondered whether the images could’ve been altered. Maybe taking two photographs and putting them together. Anybody around here know about that stuff?”
“There’s software that’ll let you do that,” said Cass, handing a mug to Mitch. “Bruce should know somebody out at the college. You want me to call him?”
Munk sighed. “We’d better check with Sheriff Hoffner first. Whoever knows about this stuff will need to see the image to figure out if it’s been manipulated.” He lifted his chin toward the computer. “How do you explain that stuff?”
“And what if they recognize themselves in one of those shots?” Cass asked quietly.
“Whew,” Mitch answered, blowing out a long breath. “I don’t suppose,” he started, looking at both Munk and Truman, “that you recognized anybody in those pictures?”
Munk choked a laugh while Truman blushed. “No, sir. You want to have a look?”
“No thanks,” he grinned, holding up a hand. “Maybe I should’ve asked if you noticed any unique characteristics that could help us figure out who these people are, or where they are, particularly in relationship to that girl. Somebody missing a finger, or like Lenny, with a scar in a certain place? I mean, it’s not like we can ask all the guys around here to drop their trousers and let us have a look, but if there’s something obvious, we should use it.”
Truman cleared his throat. “One guy has red hair. That’s got to be unique.”
“Show me,” Mitch said. They watched as Truman scrolled through several images showing a fair-skinned, freckled hand or a splash of orange pubic hair. “This is worse than a John Doe. How do we figure out who these men are? They may not even be from around here.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Truman said, leaning back in his chair. “What if we tried to figure out how many men are in these pictures? It’ll take some work, and a strong stomach, but if we can figure out how many there are, and what characteristics each has, that might help us narrow it down.”
“And see if you can pull anything out of the background in these shots. Knowing where they were taken would help.” He eyed Truman closely. “I’d prefer it if we keep distribution of these pictures limited. You up to this?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be fine.”
“Munk, what are you working on?”
“I’ll do the comparison on the prints from the house. Did you bring back Lenny’s prints from the autopsy?”
“They should be in the evidence room. Cass?”
“I want to take a look at The Church of the True Believer, see what it’s about. If Lenny kept the photos in it, it must’ve meant something to him. Maybe it’ll give us a clue.”
“All right. I’ll talk to Sheriff Hoffner and the DA. See you around lunch time?”
CHAPTER 29
THE OLD MAN’S TRUCK bumped across the rutted pasture and stopped under the protective shade of an ancient p
ecan tree. He had the phone snugged between his ear and bony shoulder. The air was blowing on high, and he turned the knob to slow the blast so he could hear.
“You get any details?”
“Not really,” Officer Greg Newton confessed. “She was talking about a group Lenny belonged to, same as yesterday. She was worried that his briefcase has gone missing from the study. Said it was there yesterday morning when she went to kill Lenny.”
“She said that?”
“Yes, sir. That’s at least twice she’s confessed.”
“Why haven’t they arrested her?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
The line was silent for a moment. “When are they releasing her?”
“Today.”
“You going home with her?”
“My orders were to stay with her at the hospital. I’ll find out.”
“Good,” the old man grunted.
“Is there anything else? I need to get back to her room.”
“That’s fine, Newton. The Celebration of Illumination will be soon, on short notice. Make sure you’re ready.” He snapped the phone shut and stared into the distance for some time, searching the quilted patterns of the past and wondering if it was possible for one damaged thread to unravel all the others. Movement in the pasture broke his concentration. A tall, slim man broke away from the crew and trotted to the truck. He pushed the cowboy hat back on his head, exposing a strong face with narrow features and golden eyes, and placed a strong arm on the doorframe as the window rolled down.
“Morning, sir.”
“How’s it going?”
“Just fine. Another couple of days and you can get your herd back out here.” Hitch turned to look at the sleek shine of the five-strand barbed wire fence. A shirtless youth glistened in the early sun as he lifted and dropped the heavy driver over a gleaming silver and green fence post.
“Men any good?”
“Yes, sir. Picked them up this morning.” Hitch nodded toward a burly man with a bristly moustache. “Victor’s the boss. How is your construction project going?”
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 12