Hoffner frowned. “You sure about that?”
“A crime was committed, but we don’t know where. It’s reasonable that you’d search his house to try and determine his last movements. Then talk to Peavey, Shepherd and Salter. And while you’re doing that, check up on Petchard and that scar.”
“How do we do that without asking him to lift his shirt?”
Sammy smiled. “Got his personnel file? He should’ve had a medical before he joined the force.”
____________
THE DOOR CLICKED SHUT and Hoffner released a heavy sigh. He knew he needed to call Obadiah Graham over at the Forney Cater and give the man his exclusive. And then he had to talk to those reporters on his lawn. Vultures, every last one of them. He caught a faint scent and recognized it as the light perfume Cass wore. It was similar to the scent her mother had worn and the smell of it swept him into the past.
Lord, but she was like her mother. He could hardly stand to be in the same room with her, much less listen to her voice or watch the animation in her face. She was as sharp as Nell, as fierce, as tenacious. And with the same body. He’d accepted her application to the force with reluctance, not because Cass wasn’t qualified, but because he didn’t know how he’d handle being reminded of the past every day. Not very well, it seems, he thought, rubbing his face with open palms and breathing deeply, pushing her scent from his nose.
In control again, he stood and unlocked a cabinet, reaching for Officer Hugo Petchard’s personnel file. A sharp knock sounded. “Come in,” he called.
Elaine’s curly head poked through the narrow opening. “Sorry, Sheriff. The mayor’s on the phone.”
“What does David Wayne want?”
“To know when you’re going to talk to those reporters.”
“Might as well get it over with,” he murmured, suppressing a shudder. “Ask him to come to my office.”
CHAPTER 50
MITCH, CASS AND KADO reconvened in the conference room, drawing Truman and Munk into a corner to strategize the afternoon. Bolting sandwiches stuffed with Stan’s mix of whole food ingredients, they brought the two men up to date on Garrett’s autopsy and their suppositions about The Church. The mood in the room was subdued, disbelieving. Their senses were numb from their encounter with a scene from a horror flick featuring one of their own. A scene played out in full-blown Technicolor, with an unmistakable reality driven home by the smells of death and the faint, metallic taste of blood in the air.
Munk and Truman had spent the morning cruising the northern part of the county for Chad Garrett’s truck, with no luck. They volunteered to cover the south and western areas, stopping to search Garrett’s house on the way. Kado wanted to work on the gauze and tape taken from Garrett’s body, to see if he could lift any trace or find fingerprints. Mitch and Cass decided to talk with Salter and Peavey. Energized by the thought of action, the group stood to leave the room as Mitch’s phone rang. He frowned at the unfamiliar number on the screen.
“Mitch Stone.”
“Good mornin’ sir. It’s Jerome, Blackie Cochran’s cousin? We met when Blackie had her trouble with Mr. Smalls.”
“Of course,” Mitch answered, wondering at the road noise in the background. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to you for a few minutes, down there at the courthouse.”
“This is a bad time. Would tomorrow work for you?”
“No, sir. You need to hear what my cousin has to say.”
“About what?”
“That man y’all found this morning.”
Mitch lowered his long frame into a chair. “What about him?”
“I’m almost at the courthouse, and Blackie should be gettin’ near there, too. I heard there’s a crowd out front, so we’ll park in the back. Can you meet us?”
“How far away are you?”
“’Bout five minutes.”
“I’ll wait by the rear doors,” Mitch said, snapping the phone shut and meeting Cass’s curious stare. “Remember Jerome? Blackie Cochran’s cousin?”
“Big guy, tattoos. Not long out of Huntsville for armed robbery. Seemed genuine when he took care of Blackie after her rape,” she answered, shrugging. “What did he want?”
He stared, mouth open. “How do you remember that much detail?”
“I’ve got more brain cells than you.”
“No doubt. Seems she might know something about what happened to Garrett.”
“You don’t think he was –”
“Screwing Blackie?” he finished for her, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t surprise me. If that’s the case, we might just solve his murder this afternoon. If she found out, I reckon his wife would’ve been pissed enough to take his balls right off.”
____________
BLACKIE COCHRAN SHIFTED IN the plastic chair, unable to find a comfortable position. She’d dealt with both detectives when she’d reported her pimp’s rape and beating and had been inadvertently impressed with Cass’s ruthless attention to detail and Mitch’s compassion. Regardless, she didn’t like being in a police station, even if she was in a nice meeting room with a cup of decent coffee, talking like normal people. She cut her eyes at her cousin as he sat beside her. In spite of his status as an ex-con, Jerome looked perfectly calm, and she tried to imitate his demeanor. Cass took copious notes as Blackie spoke, and she was encouraged that they were taking her so seriously.
“Tell me where you were again?” Mitch was asking.
“Down near Deuce’s Flat, where the Sabine River cuts underneath 323?”
“I know that bridge.”
“Before that, there’s an old trail leads down by the river bottom. Just wide enough for my car. There’s this little glade, looks out over the river. It’s real peaceful and I go there sometimes, to be alone.”
“And where did you end up?”
“I’m not sure,” Blackie shrugged. “It must’ve been right in that area, and near the river, ’cause I was filthy with muck.”
“Can you find it again?”
She nodded hesitantly. “Maybe.”
“You’re sure you didn’t recognize this man, this,” he looked at Cass’s notes, “devil made of light?”
Blackie grimaced. “It sounds silly, but that’s what ran through my mind when I saw him. His eyes burned, and the fire kinda cut through him.”
“I’m not saying it’s silly at all. That’s what your brain told you, under pretty stressful circumstances. But you didn’t know who he was?”
She shook her head.
Mitch sucked his teeth. “How do you know Officer Garrett?”
Her eyes flew wide. “The dead man’s a po-lice officer?”
“You didn’t recognize him?”
“I – no. I didn’t. I mean, there was something familiar about him, but I don’t know any Officer Garrett.”
Cass turned to the computer behind her, tapping a few commands on the keyboard. She swiveled the screen to face the table. “Have you seen him before?”
Blackie clapped one hand over her mouth and reached for Jerome with the other. “Sweet Jesus,” she breathed through her fingers. “I – I think that’s the man on that cross. And…” She hesitated and Jerome squeezed her hand. “He’s been with one of the girls over at The Donkey.”
The Ronkey Donkey was one of the strip bars that dotted the highway just over the county line. One notch above the other joints on Whiskey Bend, The Ronkey Donkey was air-conditioned and its tobacco-spattered floor was swept nightly, clean sawdust spread the following morning. The girls who worked The Donkey were usually younger and viewed the work as a way to make a quick buck. A few had even worked their way through college, stripping on weekends. Some turned tricks, as did Blackie, but always away from The Donkey’s premises.
“What do you mean by ‘been with’?” Cass asked.
“I’m not sure,” Blackie began. “But I’ve seen him in The Donkey with Mo.”
“Doing what?”
She smirked. “Them thin
gs that go on before a man and woman get together.”
“Blackie,” Cass said, turning the computer screen away. “Did Officer Garrett and Mo have sex?”
“I don’t think he paid her, if that’s what you mean,” Blackie hedged.
“I’m not interested in whether some of the dancers pick up extra cash, but Chad Garrett is married.”
Blackie harrumphed. “Girl, you oughta see the married men come piling in The Donkey. You’d think that sticky ol’ sawdust covered floor was some kinda magnet for a wedding band. They can’t keep away.”
“Why?”
“’Cause the girls are discreet out there. Don’t want no problem with the law or the wives.”
Mitch followed the exchange, frowning. “This Mo, is that Maureen Davidson?”
Blackie nodded, hand still resting in Jerome’s.
“That’s interesting.” Mitch scratched his chin. “Garrett’s wife Charlene and Maureen Davidson are stepsisters.”
“He was messing with his wife’s sister?” asked Blackie.
“Her stepsister, yes. When was the last time you saw Mo and Garrett together?”
Blackie tilted her head. “Maybe early this year. A couple months ago.”
“Could someone have seen them?”
“At The Ronkey Donkey?”
“Yes.”
“Of course,” she snorted. “The lights may be low, but we don’t turn them off. And it don’t matter whether you rich or poor, fat or thin. All men are equal at The Donkey, long as you got folding money.”
Cass frowned at Mitch. “What are you thinking?”
“Don’t know yet.” He stood and stretched. “Blackie, we need to take a ride out to Deuce’s Flat with you. Jerome, you’re welcome to come with us if you’d like.”
Fear flashed up Blackie’s spine, she tightened her grip on Jerome’s hand, and he squeezed back. “Y’all can follow us,” he said.
CHAPTER 51
ELAINE UNLOCKED THE COURTHOUSE doors and Hoffner stepped through, followed by the larger than life figure of Arcadia’s mayor, David Wayne Rusted. The noise level rose as reporters and their cameramen scrambled for a position at the base of the courthouse steps. Hoffner spotted a young reporter from The Forney Cater, and smiled to himself. He had honored his word and called Obadiah Graham moments earlier, giving the man a few more details than he would share with this group, ensuring Ob got his exclusive for tomorrow morning’s paper. Forney County’s only newspaper had been steadfast in its support of Hoffner’s election campaigns over the years, and opportunities to repay the favor with an exclusive on such a spectacular case were few and far between.
Tom Kado had left his forensic tents in place, ringed with yellow crime scene tape and guarded by sullen officers, threatened to within an inch of their pensions if they so much as breathed too loudly in the vicinity of a sharp-eared reporter. A breeze gusted the tent’s fabric, gently snapping the soft sides. The early afternoon sun seemed unnaturally bright, and with the exception of one carefully coiffed woman, the cluster of reporters sported a slick sheen of sweat. The crowd was larger than Hoffner had expected, and he adjusted the angle of his cowboy hat, tilting it to expose more of his strong jaw but leaving his exhausted eyes in shadow. Framed by the elegant old courthouse, he felt more at ease with his position, better able to cope with speaking to the hungry crowd before him. Mayor Rusted shifted at his shoulder, restless for the press conference to begin. Digging his fingers into his trouser pockets to still their trembling, Hoffner waited until the noise and jostling on the lawn abated, and then spoke into the cluster of microphones.
“I’m Bill Hoffner, Forney County’s Sheriff and this,” he moved his head to the side, “is David Wayne Rusted, Arcadia’s mayor. Given the circumstances, this’ll be a short one. This morning, at approximately six fourteen, the body of Officer Chad Garrett was discovered on the courthouse lawn. Officer Garrett’s death has been ruled a murder by Forney County’s Medical Examiner and we are appealing for any witnesses to Chad’s last movements to come forward. We believe he died in the early morning hours, sometime after midnight. Officer Garrett was a twenty-two year veteran of the police force and is survived by his wife and parents. His death has shocked the community and the force, and we extend our heartfelt condolences to his family.”
The crowd of reporters came to life when he paused, waving notebooks and hands in the air, seeking his attention. He pointed to the coiffed woman, figuring she was from one of the larger stations.
“MaryAnn Jefferson, Channel Seven News, Dallas. Sheriff Hoffner, how was Officer Garrett killed?”
“I can’t release that information at this time.”
“Is it true he was tortured?”
“Again, I can’t release that information.”
“Was he killed here, in front of the courthouse?” she asked, gesturing toward the forensic tents.
“No, ma’am, we don’t believe he was.” He pointed to a narrow man wearing a shirt with an Alma newspaper logo on the breast.
“Jim Long, Sheriff. Was Officer Garrett murdered because he is a police officer? Could someone be targeting your department?”
“None of the evidence points to someone who’s targeting police officers, and we have no indication that Officer Garrett’s death is related to his job.”
“Any leads?”
“We’re pursuing several lines of inquiry, but I can’t be more specific than that. We are retracing Officer Garrett’s steps from about mid-day yesterday. I’d ask anyone who saw him or had contact with him to call my office as soon as possible.”
“Who found him?”
“A local citizen.”
“Who’s that?”
“I’m sure you’ll understand, but this person was upset by Officer Garrett’s death and has asked to remain anonymous.”
The questions continued for several minutes, with reporters requesting details about manner of death and specific evidence, which Sheriff Hoffner refused to discuss. He turned to Mayor Rusted, asking quietly if there was anything he wanted to add. Planning to draw the conference to a close, he turned to the microphones to see the well-groomed reporter from Dallas raising her notebook into the air. He nodded at her.
“One more question. How much confidence should the citizens of Forney County have in your ability to find this man, given the current unsolved murders in the county?”
Hoffner’s fingers tightened into fists inside his pockets and he fought to still the surge of irritation that flashed hot across his face. “Ongoing murder investigations are a normal part of police work, Miss Jefferson, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Yes, but the murders of Humberto Gonzalez and another Hispanic man are particularly grisly, are they not?”
“Murders are grisly by nature, Miss Jefferson.” Mayor Rusted shifted in his position behind Hoffner’s shoulder, but remained silent. “I’ve lost an officer today, in terrible circumstances. I’m sure you’ll appreciate that my energy, and that of every one of my officers, is focused on finding his killer. I do not wish to dilute our efforts by discussing another case at this time.”
“I understand,” she replied, brushing fair hair back from her forehead with a manicured hand. “But you didn’t answer my question. Should your residents feel safe given that two murders are unsolved, a woman who killed her husband this weekend – a Mrs. Scarborough – is still free, that one of your own officers has been brutally murdered in what you called terrible circumstances, and that a…,” she checked her notebook, “Mrs. Iris Glenthorne, an elderly woman, has disappeared without a trace?”
Who the hell has been talking to this glitzy bimbo? Hoffner thought, nostrils flaring. “Yes, ma’am, they should. Officer Garrett will be greatly mourned and missed by his family, his colleagues and the residents he served. But the people of Forney County are resilient. And despite today’s tragic events and other open investigations, I think you’ll find that Forney County is a safe community.” He scanned the now quiet crowd, predator
s evaluating the strength of the prey they stalk. “That’s all for now. I’ll provide an update this evening.”
Hoffner spun on his heel and marched up the courthouse steps, David Wayne Rusted following in his wake. A collective rustling rose as the reporters reached for cell phones or rushed for vans to file their stories. Elaine was waiting behind the locked doors and quickly opened them, stepping out of his way. Hoffner barreled through. “Any comment?”
“No, sir,” she answered, meeting his angry eyes. Elaine had worked as receptionist in the courthouse for years, and Hoffner held no threat for her. She knew his greatest weakness was fear of looking foolish and she’d watched as that fear had just materialized, and on film, no less. He was smarting and looking for someone to take his frustration out on, but it wouldn’t be her. “I’ll just lock these doors again. Can I get you anything?”
He paused, flustered by Elaine’s cool response to his belligerence. “No,” he replied gruffly. “I’ll be in my office.”
Elaine and Mayor Rusted watched him stride through the swinging doors to the police department. “They caught him off guard, didn’t they?” she asked.
“’Fraid so,” Mayor Rusted answered. He patted Elaine on the shoulder as he headed across the foyer to the opposite corridor leading to his office. He stopped at the matching set of swinging doors, and turned to look at her. “Keep an eye on him and call me, all right?”
Elaine nodded, curls bouncing with the motion.
CHAPTER 52
THE SMALL GROUP WALKED along a path barely wide enough for a compact car and after a short distance came upon the glade Blackie had described. Near the Sabine River the air smelled fresh and was filled with the sounds of rushing water and the screech of squirrels. Narrow tire tracks clearly showed where she had driven into the clearing and parked. Matching tracks ran in the opposite direction.
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