A shift occurred in her perception, and the slender hips suddenly belonged to a child in puberty instead of a thin woman. She had viewed that photograph through the ugly filter of her own experience, and her vision hadn’t been wide enough to encompass the thought that these men could be raping a child. But Munk’s could. His own child had been missing for seven, or maybe it was eight, years. Her stomach twisted again; for some reason, knowing that this was a child was worse. How he managed to keep hold of his sanity in the face of such a horrible image was beyond Cass. She cleared her throat. “I told Edith Lovil to keep quiet about what she’d seen, but I don’t know how long she can keep her mouth shut. This is some juicy gossip.”
Munk drew a deep breath, tore his eyes from the photo of the child and studied the rest of the images. “I don’t see any faces in the ones that are right side up, do you?”
“No.”
“How many are there?”
“I counted seventeen.”
“If this is what Angie got worked up about, how did she know Lenny was in the pictures?”
“Maybe she just uh, knows what he looks like?”
Munk smiled grimly. “Maybe so.” The house was quiet. “Don’t Angie and Lenny have kids?”
“No idea. There are breakfast dishes for two in the drainer.”
“Where do you think the pictures came from?”
“With that kind of content, they were hidden. I wonder how Angie found them?”
Munk followed Cass as she stepped gingerly across the kitchen. She paused at the open door to a room containing a desk and what looked to be hundreds of books. “Do you smell vomit?”
“Yeah.” He looked around the tidy office. “Probably in the trash can.”
Cass followed his glance and waited until Munk had taken several shots before checking. “You’re right. You think he kept them in here? What is this, a library?”
“Or a study. There are plenty of places to hide photos. They’d fit in any of those books.” Munk scanned the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, checking spines for titles. “There’s a lot of religious stuff. I didn’t realize Lenny was into all that.”
“How do you know him?”
“We were in school together; he’s about my age, maybe a little older.”
Cass frowned. “Angie’s in her late twenties, early thirties? He’s what, fifteen years older than she is?”
“Something like that.”
“No offence Munk, but what’s a young chick like that doing with such an old guy?”
“Gotta be something about Lenny. He always had some magic pull for women. He didn’t marry until he was older, and it seemed odd that he picked Angie.”
“Why?” asked Cass, opening a desk drawer and scanning the labeled folders.
“She just wasn’t his type. Too racy.” He spotted a group of family photos on a far wall and moved to examine them more closely. “Looks like three kids, the oldest boy and girl are teenagers if this picture is recent.”
“Those must be Angie’s parents,” Cass said, pointing to another family grouping that included an elderly couple with a strong resemblance to the young mother. “Are Lenny’s parents still alive?”
“No. His mom died when we were in high school and his dad passed about five years ago.” He shook his head. “Let’s check through the rest of the house. You can get to the hospital, see how Angie’s doing. I’ll start on the hay dolly and sort out the pictures in the kitchen.” He reached for his phone with a sigh. “Guess I’d better call Kado and make sure he’s happy that I touch anything.”
____________
CASS EASED HER TRUCK into an empty space as a plump ginger cat reluctantly abandoned his watch over the trio of chickens scratching at the courthouse lawn and moved out of her way. She knew the chickens were safe. The cat had lost an eye to an aggressive rooster when he was just a kitten, and although he loved to stalk the birds that roamed Forney County’s square, he kept his distance. The day remained comfortable as the sun played hide and seek with the massive cotton ball clouds that drifted across the wide sky. Shops on the square were closed on Sundays, but the restaurants were busy. Congregants recently released from church services waited good-naturedly under wide awnings or beneath the shade trees on the lawn while those who finished church early ate lunch.
“Mornin’ Cass,” a familiar voice growled behind her. “Makes me want to convert to Methodism just to get fed first. They beat us Baptists to lunch every Sunday. I’ve heard the preachers aren’t as long winded, and they don’t sing all the verses.” Cass turned and smiled into the broad, friendly face of David Wayne Rusted, Arcadia’s mayor. Two teenage boys hustled over to where they stood.
“Hey Dad, Matt and Mark Grove are over there. We want to hear about the bones they found last night. Call us when the table’s ready.”
“No climbing the trees or the war memorial, all right?” They grinned in acknowledgment and trotted away. “My son and one of his friends, Jed Salter’s son. Good boys, but lively at times. Those bones sure got some tongues wagging.”
Cass laughed. “There’s no keeping a secret in this town.”
“Certainly not something that exciting. Any leads on who the bones belong to?”
“No, sir, not yet.”
Mayor Rusted dabbed the sweat beading his upper lip, taking in her blue cotton blouse, khaki trousers and boots. “You working?”
“Yes, sir. Do you know Lenny Scarborough?”
“I do. What’s wrong?”
“He died this morning.”
Mayor Rusted’s smooth, fat face contracted. “That’s unexpected.”
Cass paused as a watery gurgle sounded from his bowels, and wondered at his reaction. “Yes, sir. Murder usually is.”
He blinked at the word. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure yet, but we found him impaled on a hay dolly.”
“One of those metal contraptions, with two spears on it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good Lord,” he breathed, eyes growing wide. “How did that happen?”
“Angie was in shock when the paramedics got to the Scarborough’s place, and we haven’t been able to speak with her.”
“Was it an intruder?”
“We don’t know yet, but please keep the details to yourself.”
Mayor Rusted ran a dimpled hand over his sweaty face. “Those poor kids. Lenny had an investment in one of the insurance companies in town. Angie and the kids will be taken care of, but as you know too well,” he said, his gaze somber as he recalled the Elliot family history, “there’s no compensation for growing up without a parent.”
____________
MAYOR RUSTED STRODE ACROSS the courthouse lawn, moving easily for a man of his size. The hanging tree stood near one corner of the lawn and a group of elderly men, ill at ease in their Sunday best, spat discreetly and gossiped under its ample limbs as the Mayor nodded an absent greeting while fumbling a cell phone from his pocket. Cass watched him go, wondering whether she had correctly interpreted his reaction to Lenny Scarborough’s death as fear. She tried to recall the men in all the photos and compare their body compositions to the mayor’s. If she had to choose one word to describe David Wayne Rusted, it would have to be “rotund”. His body was a collection of various sized balls resting one atop another. His round head sat directly on a very large, round torso, by-passing any neck he might possess. The torso rested on two bulging thighs that gave way to bulging calves. His arms were oblong clumps of fat that ended in sausage-shaped fingers. But it was his gut that interested Cass the most. From what she remembered, none of the men in the photos she saw possessed the degree of girth owned by the mayor. He called to his son that it was time for lunch and disappeared into Arcadia’s only Italian restaurant.
She turned at last, walking slowly up a wide sidewalk to the old building, eyes scanning its curious architecture. Constructed in the late nineteenth century from cream-colored Texas sandstone, Forney County’s courthouse was a blend of plantation home and
European castle, with steep gables sporting tall windows and shutters. The town’s clock clanged in its tower as Cass keyed a code into a security pad and opened the front door. The building had been modified over the years and two leggy additions splayed to either side of the main entrance, housing improved court facilities on one side and the police department’s offices on the other. Increasing demand for residence in the jailhouse meant that it was moved off the square many years ago and was now located a short walk away. Many counties had moved their courthouses when the big retail centers sprung up on the outskirts of town, but Forney’s remained on the square and its residents seemed determined to keep the downtown area alive.
Cass crossed the dark, silent lobby and pushed through the swinging doors that led into the police station in the north wing. Once past the main hall that housed the administrative offices, she keyed in a second code to enter the secured area, designed to give the department some independence from the rest of the courthouse. She found Mitch in the squad room, pouring a cup of coffee as he finished a call.
“That was Dr. Rambo. He said to give Angie another hour or so. She’ll be groggy but able to answer questions.”
“Has he called her parents?”
Mitch nodded. “Her mother is down there and might have to be sedated, too. Seems she thought the world of Lenny. The kids are with Angie’s father.”
“That seems strange for a mother-in-law, but I guess Darla’s mom would be tore up if something happened to you,” Cass chuckled.
He grinned. “Don’t I know it.”
“Did you know Angie was so much younger than Lenny?”
Mitch glanced around the squad room before speaking. They were alone. “Angie was a prostitute when Lenny met her, working over on Whiskey Bend.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t remember it all, but she was going downhill fast. Arrested for drug possession. Anyway, they got married and not long after that they had a kid. Been together ever since.”
“You think he’s always beat her?”
“I’ve never heard anything about it if he has. I checked the system. Her record’s still there, but there’s nothing on Lenny.” He glanced at the clock on the wall and rubbed his trim middle. “Can you handle some lunch? I told Grey we’d bring something to the ME’s office. He should be done with Lenny pretty quick now.”
Cass was surprised to hear her stomach growl. “You think they’ve got any chicken fried steak left out at the barn?”
Mitch smiled. “Only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER 14
“WHERE ARE YOU?” DAVID Wayne Rusted demanded.
“Why Mayor,” the old man answered. “How nice to hear from you on this fine Sunday. We’re over in Shreveport for lunch. What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard about Lenny Scarborough?”
The old man paused, glancing at his wife as she waited for him to settle the bill. He’d brought her to a swank new Creole place and from the way her foot was tapping under the table, he knew she was fairly hopping to get home and report in to her sister. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and held them out to her. “Go start the car, sweetheart. I’ll be right there.”
She flashed him a look of irritation and tapped her watch, but took the keys and swept from the restaurant. Her head swiveled from side to side as she walked and the old man wondered if those eagle eyes would spot a familiar face. He clamped his cold pipe between his teeth as he watched her go, and smiled at the attractive waitress bringing him the check.
“I have, Mayor, and it’s a tragic thing,” the old man said as he scanned the bill and pulled his wallet from a hip pocket. “Where did you hear about it?”
“From Cass Elliot, one of Hoffner’s detectives. You know her?”
The old man grunted a positive reply around his pipe, running a finger between shirt collar and neck. His hungry gaze followed the young woman’s form as she wove through the tables to pick up his payment. She smiled at him over her shoulder as she headed for the cash register.
“Did you hear how he died?” Mayor Rusted sputtered. “Do you know who killed him?”
“Yes, I heard what happened, but I understand the police are still investigating.”
“This is a problem. Who’s going to gather his things?”
“Don’t worry, Mayor, it’s been taken care of.”
“What about the Circle? It has to be closed as quickly as possible.”
“All in the Lord’s good time, Mayor,” he answered, face flushing as irritation flooded up his spine at David Wayne’s panic. He reached for the credit card slip, smiled his thanks at the waitress and pushed up from the leather booth, pocketing his pipe as he surveyed the room. The food had been good; his wife had a nose for excellent restaurants. And the atmosphere was nice as well – they had a three-piece jazz band, which was pretty ritzy for Shreveport, and the waitresses looked too good to stay away for long. He’d be more generous with his tip next time. He pushed through the revolving door and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight.
“I’ll put things in motion when I’m home, David Wayne. If you would, call the other members and let them know what’s happened, but ask them to take no action until they hear from me.” The old man heard a deep breath from the phone, and knew the Mayor was calming down.
“Fine. I’ll keep in touch as I hear more.”
“You do that Mayor,” the old man replied as he opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. “You do that.”
____________
LENNY SCARBOROUGH LOOKED PEACEFUL on the autopsy table, even with his chest and abdomen splayed open under the harsh lights. He was as fit as Cass had imagined, the long taut muscles of his legs connecting to a relatively flat stomach. His shoulders were narrow but carried a wiry strength that flowed down arms bearing a farmer’s tan. Bernie worked quietly across the table from Grey, responding to requests for instruments and weighing organs.
“Cause of death was the spike. Mechanism was exsanguination. The spike missed his heart, and he was probably conscious for at least a few moments.”
“What a way to go,” whispered Mitch.
Grey nodded, head bent over the open chest cavity. “I won’t be able to rule on manner of death until you speak with Angie, but I agree with Bernie at this point,” he said, stopping to lift his head, “I’ll have a hard time believing this wasn’t intentional.”
“Is there anything else from the autopsy that’s relevant?” Cass asked.
“Other than having a spike driven through his chest, a banged-up right hand, one scar on his hip and another on his right rib cage, Lenny Scarborough was a pretty healthy man. Any questions?”
When the others remained silent, Bernie lifted his nose to the air, sniffed once, and asked, “Do I smell lunch?”
____________
THE OLD MAN TUGGED at his tie and wrenched open the shirt’s top button, relishing the rush of air across his sweaty throat. He hated Sundays. All that sanctimonious ‘praise the Lord’ and ‘what a glorious day, Brother’ bullshit. They’d be right back to their snide gossip and little white lies before lunch congealed on their plates. But appearances mattered, so there he was on Sunday morning with the rest of them, shaking hands and greeting with gusto. Lunch was Sunday’s only redeeming quality.
He clamped his teeth on a cold, empty pipe and sat on the bed, grunting as he leaned down to untie his dress shoes. The situation with Lenny Scarborough was disturbing – and created two problems in one: promoting someone to fill Lenny’s position and selecting a new member from among The Brethren. They were always prepared to replace a member of the Circle of Illumination, but the current candidates for new membership, those belonging to The Way, were weak. It was getting harder and harder to find like-minded men who were prepared to commit themselves wholly to The Church’s goals. He needed a certain breed, those lacking in self-confidence but with an undercurrent of anger or fear driving them toward success and powerful office. Someone requiring guidance and willing to
do the unthinkable for approval. Through the years, the old man had come to realize that there was an important difference between men who hold power regardless of their position, and those who hold powerful office regardless of their nature. To ensure the longevity of The Church, he needed a balance of both.
Above all, the old man was a pragmatist. He recognized that his beloved Church was changing. Its origins were rooted in the social upheaval of the early twentieth century, when the voices of those who felt they were entitled to live off the sweat of another man’s brow began to gather volume. Women, blacks, immigrants. They forgot their place in society and began acting on their yearning for those things, those rights, other men had earned. A select group, the old man’s grandfather among them, came together and searched the Bible for instruction on dealing with those who wished to usurp their rightful place in society. They created a new text designed to enlighten and inspire. And began pushing against the usurpers using those tools with which they were best equipped: economic sabotage.
These men held sway over jobs, loans, medical histories and official police interest in a person’s activities. Manipulation in any one of these areas could force a change in the direction of a person’s life. Rumors of a woman diagnosed with syphilis, true or not, could upend her job and marital prospects. Denial of a loan, or the calling of an existing loan, could ruin a man’s chances for advancement. But times were simpler then. Nowadays, with the changes brought about by Kennedy, Johnson and that damn Martin Luther King Jr., The Church had to move with more caution, and in some cases, exercise more extreme means of admonishing those who proved a challenge to the norm. With a slight smile, the old man once again thanked the good Lord for providing such a valuable tool as Hitch.
His mind left its reminiscing, and returned to The Church’s current problem. Yes, they’d have to be careful with the selection for The Circle of Illumination and also for the new member. The old man mentally shuffled through the current candidates until his crafty mind landed on a fresh recruit to The Way. The man had been tested and performed well. Perhaps it was time to take a chance and initiate him as one of The Brethren. And having another police officer as a member of The Church was no bad thing. He gripped the tips of his socks and pulled them off, wiggling his moist toes. He’d have to make some time to think about Lenny and his replacement.
The Devil of Light Page 6