The Devil of Light

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  Mitch breathed deeply through his nose. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “Me either,” answered Munk. “Grey said Oscar found the body down a fire trail,” he pointed to a narrow path that disappeared into the forest. “Ready?”

  Their eyes swept the ground, checking for evidence without knowing exactly what they were looking for. The dense canopy of pine branches provided relief from the sun’s heat, but gnats and mosquitoes hummed in the air, sticking to the layer of sweat that coated their faces.

  “It sure got hot in a hurry after last week’s storm,” Mitch groused, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his brow.

  “It’s supposed to rain again,” said Munk. “Big storm coming, apparently. And we haven’t hit Easter yet. We’ll have a cold snap around then.”

  “I hope the storm will wash some of this humidity out of the air. Can’t hardly breathe.” He stopped and peered farther along the path as he pulled his phone from its holster. “Where are they?”

  He dialed Grey and continued deeper into the forest until they saw a latex glove hanging from a tree branch. They pushed through the undergrowth, following the trail beaten by Grey and Bernie, emerging into a clearing isolated from the surrounding forest by huge azalea bushes heavy with blooms. The scent of decay was raw in the air. Oscar Muckleroy leaned against a tree talking to Bernie, breathing through the kerchief clutched over his mouth. Grey squatted on his haunches at the edge of the clearing and directed their gaze to its center with a lift of his chin. The tattered remnants of a decaying forearm protruded from the sandy ground, its bony middle finger fully extended in a defiant gesture.

  Cass chuckled. “Not very dignified, is it?”

  Bernie smiled. “No, but expressive. The killer secured the arm, hand, and finger to a length of metal, ensuring his greeting would remain intact for some time.”

  “Metal?”

  “Re-bar,” clarified Oscar.

  “Well,” said Mitch, “I guess we have to dig him up.”

  “And sift for trace at the same time,” sighed Kado. Munk grunted in disbelief. “Grey, is he on his back?”

  Grey uncurled his long frame and raked a hand through his dark, bushy hair. “If it’s a full body, that’s my guess. I can’t see somebody digging a man-sized hole straight down, even if he’s folded into it. It’s easier to dig shallow but long.”

  “How long has he been out here?”

  “Given the arm’s decomp, a few weeks, but we’ll need to see the full body before we can tell for sure.”

  Mitch eased around the edge of the clearing and stood next to Oscar Muckleroy. “How did you find him?”

  Oscar pointed a gnarled finger to a narrow path cutting into the clearing. “That’s an old branch off the fire trail. After I saw the Grove boy’s fire pit, I figured I better check some of the older sites and see if they’re being used. Kids like to come out here and horse around. I pushed into this clearing and, well, there it is.”

  “Who’s in the patrol car?” Cass asked.

  Grey grimaced. “Hugo Petchard. He was closest when dispatch asked for assistance.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Took a smoke break before coming out here, of all things,” Oscar grunted, lowering his kerchief to sniff for smoke. “The fool. Here he comes.”

  Petchard pushed through the azalea bushes, stopping short when he saw the rotting forearm thrusting toward the sky. “Whoa.”

  “Come on, Petchard,” Cass said as a sly grin crept across her face. “After finding that skeleton last week, surely seeing a little old rotting arm is no big deal for a tough guy like you.”

  He coughed a reply and about-faced toward the patrol car.

  “Where you goin’?” Mitch drawled.

  “I, uh, I’d better go secure the scene for y’all.”

  “Mighty considerate, but you’ll be more valuable with a shovel in your hand.” Mitch grinned. “Grey, where do you want him to start?”

  “Digging up bodies from unmarked graves is right up Bernie’s alley,” Grey said as the Englishman bent to scrounge in a case and stood with a delicate paintbrush in one hand and a small pick in the other. “I’m sure Officer Petchard will learn a lot.”

  ____________

  BERNIE AND GREY HOVERED over the fully exposed corpse while Kado and Cass sealed containers of soil samples. The afternoon had worn away as they dug, the sun falling behind nearby pine trees, leaving a soft blue sky above and cooling the clearing. Oscar left shortly after the digging began, realizing that he wasn’t suited to the task and pleased to be out of the way. Mitch and Munk finished taking photos while Cass watched Petchard disappear into the woods and listened for his dry heaves. She smiled sweetly when he trudged into the clearing, face devoid of color, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. He scowled in reply, checking the ground carefully before sitting down and leaning against a pine tree. Sandy soil streaked his uniform, arms and face. In spite of the warm temperature, Petchard had dug delicately where directed by Bernie, and without complaint in spite of the discomfort his burns must’ve caused. But in fairness, so had the others. Petchard had controlled his revulsion until the digging was done, even though the sickly sweet smell had grown more intense with every shovel of dirt, until the clearing was so thick with the stench of death that everyone but Bernie had given in and smeared Vicks under their nose. He insisted that his unfettered sense of smell was just as important as his eyesight. Cass debated silently before taking pity and tossing Petchard a bottle of cold water.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, turning to watch the scene in the middle of the clearing.

  Bernie and Grey had murmured between themselves as the corpse was exposed bit by bit, and were engaged in a debate about how to process the decomposing body. They seemed confused by the state of the naked corpse, which had a desiccated, leathery appearance. As the others watched, both nodded, satisfied with whatever decision had been reached. Bernie dug a fresh pair of gloves from one of the pockets on his safari vest, then crouched and crept around the body, gently brushing away debris. He stopped suddenly. “This is most unusual,” he said, poking a gloved finger into matted tufts of dark hair on the corpse’s head. He turned to Grey. “I’ve rarely seen a gunshot wound to the top of a skull, have you?”

  Grey squatted next to Bernie, examined the skull, and then looked up and down the body. “This isn’t a short man. He must be close to six foot.” Grey squinted into the distance. “How do you shoot someone in the top of the head?”

  “Maybe he was bending over,” said Kado.

  “Or kneeling,” Munk offered.

  “I saw a show once,” Petchard volunteered. “Some dude fired a shot up in the air and the bullet came down in a driveway, a few blocks away. Drilled this chick in the head. An accident.” He pointed at the open grave. “Coulda happened to this guy.”

  Mitch cocked an eyebrow. “And this dude who fired the gun, did he know he’d hit this woman a couple of blocks away?”

  Petchard scratched his head. “Don’t think so. The TV show was a re-creation thing. They figured out where she was standing and that the bullet had to have come from the sky and started asking people in the area about firing guns on the day she died. Pretty smart, huh?”

  Mitch raised the other eyebrow. “So, you’re thinking maybe there’s somebody out here in the middle of the woods, right? And they point a gun up in the air and pull the trigger. And this guy,” Mitch points to the corpse, “is standing in the clearing, naked as a jaybird, right next to an open pit. And he gets that bullet in the head, and somehow survives long enough to tie a metal pole to his arm, hop in the grave and pull some dirt over his body.”

  Petchard listened with an open mouth, and then blushed. “It was just an idea.”

  Mitch winked quickly at Cass and turned to the others. “Bernie, what do you think?”

  Bernie leaned closer to the wound. “I need to look at this more closely. I’m not sure it’s a bullet hole.”

  Grey frown
ed. “What else could it be?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head and repeated his earlier statement as he continued to creep around the body. “Most unusual.”

  The group watched as Bernie muttered to himself, gently prodding the corpse and occasionally speaking to Grey, exchanging cryptic comments in a language only the two of them understood. Bernie finally stood and stripped the gloves from his hands. “I can be more precise when I’ve examined him at the ME’s office, but this is the body of a middle aged male.”

  “Time since death?” Mitch asked.

  “I’m getting different information from the portion of the body that was above ground, the arm, and the rest of the body. We’ll need more analysis, but at this point, I would hazard a guess that he’s been out here for several weeks, perhaps longer.”

  “Was he killed here?”

  “From examination of the grave, I cannot say. Kado?”

  “We found a Dubble Bubble wrapper and a very old condom, but I doubt they’re relevant. I didn’t find any evidence that he was killed here. Once we have his identity and cause of death, we can work backwards on location.”

  “Any idea on cause of death?” Mitch asked.

  Bernie shrugged. “Grey will need to perform an autopsy to be sure.”

  “But your initial thoughts?”

  “With limited analysis, all I can say with certainty is that the presence of a hole in the skull is suspicious, as is the state of the body. Grey?”

  “We’ll work on the autopsy this evening.” Grey twisted to stretch his spine. “Kado, are you happy that we leave his arm attached to that bar until we get to the ME’s office? You can have it after we finish with him.”

  “No problem,” Kado answered, packing samples into his forensic kit.

  “Mitch, would you pass me that body bag? We’re ready to move him.”

  Mitch carried the bag to shallow grave. “He kinda looks like a mummy. Think he’ll hold together while we lift him?”

  Bernie squatted again, eyes alight as he examined the corpse. “Ah yes, good observation Mitchell. This dried appearance is confusing. He looks as if decay has stopped.” He snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and looked to Grey. “I have some theories, but we need your examination equipment. Lift on three?”

  ____________

  MITCH FOLLOWED KADO AND Grey out of Logan’s Quarters and back toward town. The sun had dropped lower, drawing a veil of tangerine across the clear evening sky. A lone hawk circled high above on a thermal and looped out over the forest.

  “You want to grab something to eat?” Mitch asked.

  “Just drop me at the courthouse. I need to finish the Pettigrew brother’s statement. I promised I’d bring it to The Gate tomorrow morning and let them proofread it.” Cass yawned, shaking her head. “Might even wake up early and run.”

  “When was the last time you ran?”

  Cass wrinkled her brow. “Six weeks ago.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, I figure it’ll burn for the first few days. But I have to start some time.” She turned in her seat to look at Mitch. “You remember Randall Mahaffey?”

  “The paramedic? Sure. Why?”

  “We ended up talking about Jack at the Scarborough’s place yesterday, while we were waiting for Grey to arrive.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t think it made sense that Jack went to jail for what happened.”

  “Why?”

  “He said Jack never had any trouble getting laid,” she answered, watching as a smile teased at the corner of Mitch’s mouth.

  “You could say that about Jack. He sure was a ladies’ man,” he cut his eyes at Cass. “Didn’t hurt that he was an athlete, but the boy had looks and brains to go with it all. Randall was younger than we were. I don’t remember him having much to do with us.”

  “He said y’all were older, but he knew who you were. Anyway, he thought Jack might have been set up.”

  Mitch drew wind through his teeth in a low whistle. “I wonder how many other people think that, and how many were just happy to see Jack out of the way?”

  “Why would anybody want him out of the way?”

  “Petty jealousy, maybe. What better way to get rid of the competition?”

  “It seems extreme to try and put somebody you don’t like in jail.” She drew a deep breath, feeling the familiar ache of frustration about her oldest brother settle into her chest. “Maybe Randall was just trying to be polite.”

  Mitch flipped on the blinker, eyes focused into the past. “Maybe. But it sure is interesting that he brought it up. It didn’t make sense to me then, Cass. And Jack’s never talked about it to me. He refuses to discuss it. Has he told you what happened?”

  At her silence, he glanced across the cab to see her staring out the side window, her red hair shot through with gold in the late sun. Her face was smudged with dirt, her clothes brushed off but still dusty. She sighed as Mitch turned into the courthouse parking lot. “I was only four at the time, and it’s been totally off limits between us. We don’t even talk about it at home. Not about Jack or Momma.” Cass shrugged. “His file is gone, anyway. Comfrey lost it.”

  “I know,” Mitch answered softly. “So until Jack tells us something new, or evidence falls from the heavens, there’s nothing we can do for him.”

  CHAPTER 35

  CASS SETTLED BEHIND HER desk and listened to the ancient computer whir through its start-up routine. Sheriff Hoffner had convinced the good people of Forney County to cough up sufficient taxes to update the department’s primary communication and research channels and set aside enough money to keep critical functions approaching the leading edge of technology. Unfortunately, the computers used by the department staff in their day-to-day office activities were teetering on the lagging edge. They had an internal network that allowed for email and file sharing, but the sophisticated upgrades were reserved for forensics, links with other investigative bodies and communications between officers and dispatch.

  The station was quiet again this evening, supper served to those in the holding cells and cleared away. The sound of canned laughter drifted through the halls and Cass wondered if the prison at Huntsville sounded the same. If Jack had finished dinner and was watching comedies or was in his cell, reading. Glancing once more at the still chugging computer, she wandered across the empty squad room to pour a decaf coffee and returned to her desk as the login screen finally appeared. She reached for a small radio she kept in her desk and flipped it on. KOIL stuttered to life. The tiny station was fairly rigid in dispensing a diet of solid country music and football scores, but recently they’d relented to community pressure and offered a few hours of rockin’ greats during the week. Monday night was music from the sixties and seventies. Cass logged onto the department’s system and started typing a statement for the Pettigrew brothers. Jim Croce thumped into “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim” and she sang along while she tapped at the keyboard.

  “Don’t give up your day job, babe,” sneered a voice from across the room. Cass jerked her eyes from the screen to see scrawny Officer Petchard leaning against the coffee counter, legs slightly apart to avoid bumping his burned calves. He’d changed into street clothes and his hair was still wet from the shower. His eyes darted into the corners, checking for eavesdroppers. “Great bags, bad pipes,” he sneered, cupping his hands at his chest.

  “What do you want, Petchard?”

  “Good to see you doing proper work for a woman. Typing’s about as far as the allegedly fairer sex should go when it comes to work outside the home. Better off on your hands and knees, scrubbing the floor and taking care of business,” he thrust his hips toward her, “while you’re down there.”

  She arched a brow. “I’ve seen all you have to offer, remember? Gotta give a woman something to work with. That scrawny little worm you call a dick wouldn’t pass for bait.”

  He crossed arms over his chest and pushed his bottom lip out as his face bloomed crimson.
“That was uncalled for,” he pouted.

  Cass threw her head back and laughed until her sides ached. “Jeez Hugo, I had no idea you were so sensitive about that tiny dick.” Her voice hardened. “You come in here dishing out sexual harassment and racial abuse, you little prick, you better expect some of it back. And be man enough to take it.”

  “Growing up with all them brothers of yours and no momma didn’t do your manners any good. Guess your daddy was too busy drinking to know what a little bitch he’d raised.”

  A flash of rage, white hot and liquid, seared her spine as it raced toward her brain. Cass snapped from her chair, fists balled. “What did you say?” she growled, taking a step forward.

  Petchard lurched upright and rubbed a hand across his mouth as Cass stalked toward him. “N-Nothin’. I didn’t say anything,” he sputtered, sliding along the counter.

  Cass caught him before he could reach the door, grabbing his slender wrist and spinning him around to face her. She stabbed a finger into his chest. “You want to screw with me, that’s fine Petchard, I’ll take you on.” She jabbed him again. “But you talk about my family and I will rip off those marble size balls of yours, batter them, fry them and shove them down your little chicken neck.” She leaned forward until her nose was millimeters from his. Fury sharpened her vision and she saw every blocked pore on his nose and the black dots that patterned his murky green irises. “Are we clear?”

  Petchard swallowed, a dry clicking sound in the quiet room. “Whatever,” he muttered, breath sour with fear, then slunk from under her finger and out the squad room door.

  She watched him leave and took a deep breath, exhaling as she crossed the room to her desk. Her hand shook as she reached for her coffee and she sat back, burning with anger, brain spinning. Who did that little freak think he was? How did he know anything about her? Cass lowered her head into her hands and took several deep breaths. Would she ever outlive the shadow of her family’s mistakes? Her mind was alive with memories of her brothers and the bonds they shared. Her father’s alcoholism had threatened their security, and if it weren’t for her mother’s sheer willpower, Cass was sure the family would’ve crumbled long before her birth. Jack’s imprisonment twenty-one years ago for rape and murder had destroyed her mother, and Nell had died a young but broken woman only a year later. Those tragedies had bound the Elliot children closer together, and any threat to one was a threat to them all. Cass was the youngest of the seven and the only girl. To a man, each of her brothers had protected her in their own way, whether by using their fists or their sharp wit. Her reaction to Petchard’s taunt about her family had been pure animal instinct to protect them in return.