“I’ll be downright full of sunshine if you bring donuts from The Palace.”
Cass snorted. “I’ll wear my shades.”
SUNDAY
CHAPTER 8
“I FORGOT TO ASK last night. Did you find out who the skeleton is?” Munk asked as he joined them in the dull conference room, his round face still puffy with sleep. Cass glanced around the room and realized that they were all a little fuzzy around the edges from their late night. Bernie was again dressed in a khaki safari outfit, his wavy golden hair flattened against one side of his head from sleep. His green eyes blinked slowly as he examined the donut he held. Grey wore a dark blue fleece over his scrubs and a pair of yacht-sized tennis shoes. He balanced his head in one long, thin hand and stifled a yawn before taking another bite. Mitch was dressed in his customary starched button-down shirt and jeans, and his blue eyes were slowly coming to life as he sipped his coffee. Cass reached for the pot and poured Munk a cup, watching as he eyed the box of donuts.
Mitch swallowed a bite. “Go on. You know you want one. His name is Humberto Gonzalez. He disappeared about the time we think our John Doe was killed.”
Munk eased into a creaky plastic chair between Bernie and Grey, who nudged the donuts toward him. “Did the family know who might have killed him?”
“This is where it gets weird.” Mitch sipped a cup of coffee and talked them through their visit to Arkansas on Saturday.
“The old man disappeared last autumn, the son reported the father missing in early spring, and now the son and the rest of the family are missing?” Grey asked, slowly licking chocolate glaze from his fingers. Mitch nodded, stuffing the last bite in his mouth and wiping his fingers. “Is anyone worried about that?”
“I don’t think so. Least ways, the temporary sheriff ain’t worried. He seemed green to me,” Mitch looked to Cass, who nodded in agreement, “and I imagine he’s just riding this until the regular sheriff is back on duty.”
“Let me put it another way,” Grey said, tracing a crack in the table’s faded top. “Are you worried about it?”
“Why would I worry about people going missing in another state?”
“Because the last one who did ended up murdered and skeletonized in your state and, more importantly, your county.”
Mitch scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not sure what we can do with it. No one has reported the family missing. They might’ve just up and moved somewhere. You know, rented a new house or something.”
“Possible. But it doesn’t smell right, and these people need to know that a member of their family is dead.”
“Good point. I’ll talk to Sheriff Hoffner about it. What’s on for today?”
“I’d like to begin on last night’s bones,” Bernie answered.
“That works for me,” Grey said.
Mitch glanced at his watch and then stretched. “I’m gonna take a ride out to Possum Creek, see what this Kado guy is up to.”
Cass frowned. “He went back out? What burned?”
“He’s still out there. Worked all night. I talked to Sheriff Hoffner this morning, and he said it was a hot house.”
“Like for plants?” She cocked her head to one side. “What happened?”
“The fire department got an anonymous call from Goober.”
Cass chuckled. “He gave his name?”
“Of course. He was freaked out about a devil in the forest.”
“A what?”
“Sheriff Hoffner said Goober wanted to report a devil made out of light. But there’s no telling what he really saw.”
Cass paused, brow furrowed. “What’s in this hot house?”
“Pot.”
“So that’s why Kado’s still there.”
“Hoffner said it looked like a professional operation.”
“If it burned,” Cass asked, “what kind of forensics can he get?”
“The fire boys saved part of the building. This guy’s been dusting pots for prints all night. We’ve got to teach him to move faster. Old Comfrey would’ve been done by now. Munk, you want to come with me?”
He nodded, wiping donut glaze from his chin. Mitch raised an eyebrow and Munk shrugged, reaching for the nearly empty box. “I need a few more before I can commit.”
“Fair enough.” Mitch turned to Cass. “What about you?”
She lifted the coffee pot. “I’ll deal with Humberto Gonzalez’s paperwork.”
“You hate that stuff.”
“Almost as much as you do. So you can buy lunch.”
CHAPTER 9
LENNY SCARBOROUGH TAPPED THE syringe and placed the glass vial in the pocket of his overalls. He reached through the loading chute’s weathered planks, deftly pinched together the heavy hide and inoculated Cleopatra with an antibiotic. She’d been limping for the past few days and he’d spotted the beginnings of foot rot, a dangerous condition for a cow. He’d rounded the cattle up this morning to medicate those who were showing signs of the disease. Extracting the needle, he rubbed the injection site and ran an appraising eye over his lead cow, her coat gleaming in the misty morning light. She was a Black Angus, full-blooded and full of herself, if you asked the other cows. Top of the pecking order, Cleopatra was first to the feeding trough, first at the pond and first into the loading chute when Lenny had treatments to dish out.
Fondling her ears, he slipped her a feed cube as a reward for good behavior and released the heavy headlock. She trundled through, trotting for the far gate and fresh hay. He watched to see if she would avoid the unconscious form in the corral’s cool grass. The damage inflicted by the sharp hooves of a twelve-hundred pound animal would’ve been a sight to behold, but a part of him relaxed when Cleopatra grunted once and swung wide of the body resting near the long arms of the hay dolly attached to the old farm pickup. Bruises were one thing, but severe injuries from a cow would require a doctor; that kind of intrusion into his life Lenny did not need.
The next cow in line rushed forward and he clamped the headlock around her neck to begin his examination. He sang as he worked, low voice reciting the hymns his little Methodist church used in worship. Life had been good to Lenny, and such was his faith in himself and his Lord that he only smiled briefly at the strangled sound of movement behind him. A few quiet gasps later, the corral settled back into stillness and Lenny returned to his work, so absorbed in the care of his cattle and the praise of his Lord that he was momentarily startled by the creak of the rusty pickup’s door. A derisive laugh escaped him, and he shook his head once, reluctantly impressed at this display of dogged determination.
The engine hiccupped to life, roaring as a foot was applied to the accelerator, but still Lenny did not turn from his task. He was thumping an air bubble from the syringe when the engine’s rattling changed and his senses prickled, searching for the oddity in this otherwise mundane sound. As the engine screamed and mud flew from beneath the spinning tires, the hair on the nape of his neck rose, and he turned as the tires gained purchase. The sharp point of the hay dolly’s long spike plunged into his chest, lifting him from his feet and pinning him against the loading chute’s weathered planks. Warmth spread down his chest and between his legs. His eyes met those reflected in the pickup’s rearview mirror and he was shocked at the exhausted fury burning in them. As his heart thumped its last weary beat, Lenny Scarborough’s face reflected his amazement that something so weak and worthless could’ve at last gotten the better of him.
CHAPTER 10
CASS GLANCED AT HER watch and stretched. Almost ten thirty, and she was nearly done with Humberto Gonzalez’s paperwork. She pushed back from her desk in the squad room and glanced at the group of officers who were pouring a cup of coffee before heading out. An older detective with a build as solid as a bull was pinning a photograph of an elderly woman to a bulletin board, carefully arranging the other photos so that each face was clearly visible. He turned and caught sight of Cass, smiling as he strode to her desk.
“Good work on the skeleton,” Carlo
s Martinez said, running a hand across his close-cropped steely hair.
“You heard?”
“Mitch left me a message. Humberto Gonzalez. I’ll go back out to the Mexican churches tonight and to the road crews tomorrow.”
“You think the illegals will talk?”
“It’s worth a shot. Last week, all I had was a vague description. Now I’ve got a name.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Carlos snapped his fingers. “Do you know David Cronus?”
“At the big Baptist church off the square?”
“First Baptist. He runs the outreach program for illegals. Different churches pool their resources to get food and clothes to the community, and Deacon Cronus heads it up. If you’ve got time, call him and see if he’ll spread Humberto Gonzalez’s name around. I’d call but an old lady has gone missing.”
“Who?”
“Iris Glenthorne. Know her?”
“I don’t think so. What happened?”
“She missed her bridge game last night and Judge Shackleford’s wife is worried about her,” Carlos answered, glancing at the bulletin board. Iris Glenthorne sported a full head of white hair, and her emerald eyes sparkled within the wrinkled folds of a smiling face. She was surrounded by shots of other missing people, mostly children, but several who were close to her age, as well. “At least it’s not another missing teenager, although we’re getting quite a collection of the disappeared on that board.”
Cass saw the older detective’s face harden as someone trotted into the squad room and brushed past the officers at the coffee bar. She leaned forward to see who had disturbed him. The newcomer’s eyes were bloodshot and his dark hair dusted with ash. As he drew nearer, she caught a whiff of the acrid stench of smoke. Pausing, he glanced from Cass to Carlos and back again. Her stomach flipped as his eyes met hers. They were a unique shade of gray tinged with green, and made her think of clouds before a storm. His skin was tanned, his cheekbones high and pronounced. Cass Elliot was no stranger to appreciative glances from men, but they usually generated little interest from her. Now, as his glance flicked almost imperceptibly over her body, she was flooded with warmth. She blinked in surprise before shutting down the unwelcome sensation.
He pulled his eyes from hers and stuck his hand out toward Carlos. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Tom Kado.”
Carlos shook his hand and introduced himself. “You took old Comfrey’s place in forensics.”
“Yeah,” Kado sighed. “I did.”
Carlos crossed his bulging arms over his massive chest. Kado held up his hand in a placatory gesture. “No offense. I’ve heard he was a nice guy, but his lab and procedures were a mess.”
“We never had any problem with his ‘lab’ or his ‘procedures’. Neither did the courts.” Carlos replied, a chill in his voice. “We’ll see how things go with you.”
A frown knit Kado’s brow as he watched Carlos grab his holster and leave the room without looking back. “Guess I’ve pissed him off, too.”
“You rubbing people the wrong way?”
Kado dug his knuckles into his weary eyes. “I don’t mean to, but I’ve been getting some hassle about how long it takes to process a crime scene. The old guy, Comfrey, he might’ve been fast, but he was a joke.”
Cass raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously. The lab equipment isn’t bad, but files are missing documentation, some files are completely missing, and I’ve got decades of cold case DNA to load into the system.” He hesitated, searching her face. “A good forensics program can make your job easier. It can help you do a better job. But forensic analysis takes time.”
“Then you might think about how you phrase things, Mr. Kado.”
“You’re probably right.” He rubbed his eyes again, smearing soot across his high, sharp cheekbones, and attempted a smile. “People call me Kado. You must be Detective Elliot.”
“It’s Cass. Where are you from?”
“Oklahoma.” He hesitated. “Have I pissed you off, too?”
“I liked old Comfrey as much as the rest of the guys, but I never felt comfortable with the way he handled a scene. It seemed too loose to me. I’m the new girl on the block, so there wasn’t much I could say.”
“How new?”
She straightened her shoulders. “I worked patrol in Dallas for two years and did another eighteen months here. I was promoted to detective six months ago.”
He examined her unlined face. “Impressive.”
“Call me motivated.”
“So maybe we can find a way to work together?”
She nodded slowly, fighting the tickle in her belly. “I imagine we can.”
He stretched, checked his watch, and flashed a grin that revealed deep dimples. “Any chance we can start now?”
Cass laughed. “You need an extra pair of hands?”
“I’m a one man band, so yeah, I’ll appreciate any help I can get.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ve sent one of the guys from patrol, an Officer Truman, out to the fire pit those boys found last night. Do you know him?”
“Scott Truman’s young. Why’d you pick him?”
“He’s had some recent experience with the drug business. Sheriff Hoffner said he worked undercover at a local high school for a while.”
“Yeah, at Elysian Fields. They had no idea he was a cop. I heard the building that burned last night housed a marijuana operation.”
“A big one. I wanted someone young like Truman because I can train him right. I need to get out there and see how he’s doing. Want to ride along?”
Her phone rang. “Hey Mitch… Lenny Scarborough? Did dispatch send an ambulance?… I’ll go out and let you know what’s up… You’re still buying lunch.” Cass hung up and turned to Kado, a thoughtful look on her face. “Guess my ride out to the fire pit will have to wait.”
“What’s up?”
“Some sort of domestic dispute.”
“That’s surprising?”
“Maybe. Lenny Scarborough is the last man I’d expect to beat his wife.” She stood from her desk and headed for the squad room door.
“From what I’ve seen, Texas women are pretty tough,” Kado called after her. “Maybe Mrs. Scarborough was beating on him.”
____________
TOM KADO DRANK IN Detective Cass Elliot’s fluid movements as she wove between the desks to get to the squad room’s door, and wondered what was wrong with him. He crossed the empty room to the coffee bar and poured himself a cup.
She was gorgeous. Stunning, actually. And a bright intelligence brought light to those strangely colored eyes. They were such a deep blue they looked purple. When Cass had stood from her desk, he’d realized that they were almost the same height.
Kado shook his head and scolded himself as he strode toward the evidence room. God knew he was in no shape to handle a relationship and in reality, he didn’t even want one. Caroline had only been dead a year. Barely a year. Kado’s nostrils still flared at the phantom scent of the death that had oozed from her pores as cancer had eaten her alive. He still saw her in crowds and had to stop himself from calling out to her, had to endure the rush of hope every time he spotted a petite woman with shiny, straight black hair. She was slowly leaving him, occupying his dreams less frequently these days. But he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her completely, of not loving her. Of violating her memory by noticing other women.
Unlocking the evidence room door, Kado tried to push Cass from his mind. Cass Elliot is a colleague, somebody you work with, pure and simple, he told himself as he settled behind his computer and typed in a password. Besides, a woman with those looks probably has men waiting in line. She’s out of your league and, he reminded himself, you’re not in the game anyway.
CHAPTER 11
CASS PULLED TO A stop in front of the large white frame house and frowned at the scene. An ambulance was parked in a small pasture and paramedics were tending to someone on the ground near a truck on th
e far side of the barn. Cows stood quietly in a fenced enclosure in front of the barn, and another group milled around several long feeding troughs in a separate lot. Two cars stood in front of the house and a police cruiser was parked behind them. A police officer was near the fence that circled the pasture, bent in two as his stomach emptied its contents. An older woman waited beside him, her hand on his back. Lush clover was shin high and sparkled with dew. Cass headed toward the barn and the woman met her inside the fence, face flushed. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Detective Cass Elliot, ma’am. We received a call about a domestic disturbance. Do you live here?”
“No, I don’t. I’m Edith Lovil, I live down the road a piece,” she said, hand fluttering near her face like a wounded bird. Her complexion was sickly, eyes straining in their sockets, lips pressed tightly together. “I stopped to see if Angie wanted some eggs this morning. I keep chickens.” She ran a trembling hand through her hair and barked a laugh. “You don’t want to know about that. Best thing is to show you. Come with me.”
Edith moved with long strides toward the house and Cass hurried to keep pace with the older woman. “Ma’am, did you call the police?”
“Yes, I did. I found Angie and Lenny out there,” she answered, jerking her head toward the barn, “and came back to the house to call the ambulance. That’s when I found this,” she said, sweeping open a screen door at the top of steps.
Cass stepped into the kitchen behind Edith, following the woman’s downward glance at a collection of four-by-six color photographs scattered across the floor. Most were upside down, innocuous white rectangles against pristine linoleum. She squatted, counted seventeen photos, and squinted at the nearest shot. It showed an angled expanse of pale colors against a darker background. She looked more closely and realized that the pale colors represented two sets of legs, one set folded behind and into the other. One pair were muscled and matted with dark hair, the other frail and covered with a translucent gray down. She lifted her eyes slowly from the bottom of the photograph where the sharp jut of anklebones could be seen, following the bend of knees to the top of the image where a side view of a flabby buttock was fully visible. Behind it, its fullness cut off in the photograph, was a hairy hip where the muscled legs ended. A length of dark, engorged flesh bridged the distance between the buttock and the hip. Cass caught her breath and glanced at the next photo to see a freckled arm reaching around a corpulent belly and a fair hand grasping a short, fat penis framed by the gaping fly of a pair of faded blue jeans. Testicles had been pulled up and were resting at the base of the zipper, and in a random flash that bore no relation to the shock she felt, she considered it reckless for the owner to allow his balls to be placed in such a position. Dimpled fingers circling the enlarged organ were in sharp contrast to the dark, thick matt of pubic hair that curled around the pale skin and drifted over the sagging gut.
The Devil of Light Page 4