The Devil of Light

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  “I guess I’ll be thanking you for your hospitality and moving on. You want me to take care of the whore before I go?”

  “No. We’ll deal with her later. I hate to lose you, son. You’ve been a help to me,” the old man said, eyes watchful. “Keep your phone. Turn it on once a day, at nine thirty in the evening, Arcadia time. Leave it on for no more than five minutes. I may need you again.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  The old man grinned. “Not a lot of smarts in the po-lice department around here.” He reached for the keys in the ignition. “Check the usual place. I’ve left a little something extra. Tide you over.”

  Hitch nodded and the old man cranked the engine, letting the diesel settle into a steady growl. He patted the side of the truck and watched as the old man bumped across the rutted pasture and for the first time in his life, Hitch felt a sense of loss. Pulling the brim of his hat low, he strode quickly to Victor, the crew boss, passing along instructions. He pivoted and climbed into the battered truck the old man had let him use, mind already searching for his next destination. Somewhere cooler, he thought as he slipped the pickup into drive.

  CHAPTER 80

  CASS RAPPED ON THE door marked ‘Pastor’, softly at first and then with more urgency. A frowning Pastor Luke Knightman pulled open the door, face breaking into a smile before softening into curiosity when he spotted Mitch standing behind her, knuckles white as he snapped his phone shut.

  “Hello,” he said to Cass, pulling the door open and motioning them inside. “Nice to see you both. Any chance you’re planning to join us at church tonight?”

  “Not tonight,” Cass replied, stepping past him into his office’s cool interior. “And we need your help.”

  “No problem,” he replied, settling behind his desk while Cass and Mitch stood. “What can I do for you?”

  “Is Deacon Cronus in?” Mitch asked, voice flat.

  “No, he’s working from home today. Is something wrong?”

  Cass flashed a look of warning at Mitch, who had steamed as they wove through side streets to get to the First Baptist Church unnoticed by the reporters. Her own stomach was in knots at the thought of the young people Deacon Cronus could access, and over her failure to follow her gut and look deeper into the man’s life. Although the sun had fallen lower in the sky, leaving a dull umber smear in its wake, the air was still heavy with humidity. Both of them were sweating from their rush to try and find Deacon Cronus. “What does he do for the church?” she asked.

  “He’s our Youth Minister and handles most of our outreach programs. Why?”

  “What age kids does he work with?”

  “Anywhere from junior high through high school. Ages eleven or twelve through to eighteen or so.”

  “Has he ever been accused of inappropriate behavior?”

  “David Cronus?” Pastor Luke sputtered, laughing. “I can’t imagine it. Most of these kids come from rough backgrounds. No father, mother on drugs, that kind of thing. He’s like a father to them. Takes an interest in their schoolwork, helps them find jobs when they’re old enough, counsels them about relationship problems. Makes sure they go to the doctor and dentist.” He waved a hand, dismissing the question. “There’s no way he’d do anything inappropriate.”

  “Do you know the kids he works with?”

  “I’ve met a few, but most are in and out of the program quickly.”

  “Why?”

  “Their parents are usually transient, following work. From what David has said, there are only a handful that come regularly.”

  “Are they white, black, Hispanic?”

  “We get everything here. New kids join all the time.”

  “Does he take them on outings?” Mitch asked.

  “Sure. Fishing, bowling, to the zoo or ball games.”

  “Boys and girls?”

  “Both.”

  “And when he takes the kids out, does he take them all, or just a few?”

  “I guess it depends,” Pastor Luke replied, eyes narrowing.

  “On what?”

  “On the activity, how suitable it is for kids of various ages. Whether he’s got enough support to take more than just a few kids at a time. Sometimes parents volunteer, or others from the church. He takes a group of the least fortunate kids out at least once a month, but sometimes they’ll make a few trips. Why?”

  “Did Deacon Cronus have anything planned for this evening?”

  “He did, as a matter of fact.”

  “What was it?”

  “Camping,” Pastor Luke replied and dread uncurled along Cass’s spine. “Something he pulled together quickly. Just a couple of the kids are going.”

  “How many?”

  “Two, I believe.”

  “Boys or girls?”

  Pastor Luke swallowed. “He didn’t say.”

  “Was anyone else going with them?”

  “The Salters, I believe. At least the father and son. Maybe another family. What is this about?”

  Cass struggled to hide her frustration as the tumblers fell into place. She was now certain that both Salter and Cronus were involved with The Church of the True Believer. She glanced at Mitch and he nodded tightly. Cass lowered her voice. “This is confidential Pastor Luke, extremely confidential. Do you remember when Mitch told you we had photographic evidence of men engaged in homosexual acts and abusing children?”

  He exploded. “You can’t believe David Cronus is involved in –”

  “It’s short work to rule him out,” Cass said, cutting him off. “But we need to know where he’s going tonight, and which kids he’s taking with him.”

  “I can’t believe you’re suggesting this,” he answered in a low voice, face mottled with anger. “Deacon Cronus is a fine member of this community and a humble servant of the Lord. I have never seen him behave in a way that is anything other than respectful and caring to those children. I won’t have you spreading malicious rumors about him.”

  Cass released a long sigh. “We have no intention of spreading rumors about him, which is why we came to the church first. He’s not in his office, so we came straight to you. But Pastor Luke,” she pleaded, leaning toward the desk, “we think something is going on tonight that will involve teenagers. Girls, specifically. We have to know whether Deacon Cronus is involved. If he’s not, it’s a simple matter to clear him and let him get on with his trip. But if he is involved…”

  He collapsed into his chair. “I don’t know what to say. If – if there are children involved, then yes, you have to find out what’s going on. I just can’t believe that David Cronus could be involved in anything like this.”

  “Who are the kids he’s taking camping tonight?”

  “I don’t know. He gets parental or guardian approval, keeps all the relevant medical information and paperwork. Why don’t you just go see him at home?”

  Mitch held up his phone. “The call I was on when we got to your office? His wife says he’s already gone.”

  CHAPTER 81

  CASS DABBED THE STICK under her eyes again, checking her work in the bathroom mirror. She was dressed in river bottom patterned camouflage pants and a long sleeve black t-shirt, hair pulled into a tight knot, and now, her face was dark. Slipping her shoulder holster around her body, she lifted her chin, twisted the greasepaint stick and slicked it against the creamy expanse of her neck. In the dark, only the whites of her eyes would be visible.

  She checked her appearance one more time and took a deep breath to quell the butterflies roiling in her stomach. Since Truman had seen the invitation at Jed Salter’s house, her body had been alive with thoughts of what tonight would bring, and she’d caught the scent of a campfire at the most improbable of times.

  Anticipation, she’d told herself.

  Dread, her little voice had replied.

  Cass stepped into the hall and moved quietly toward the kitchen. Darla jumped when she caught the dark reflection in the window over the sink.

  “Good
Lord woman, you look like Rambo,” she giggled, drying the last of the dishes. “The boys are out in the barn, checking the radios in those dreadful cars. You want anything else to eat?”

  Cass shook her head, settling down at the kitchen table to slide nine-millimeter rounds into extra magazines. Zeus jammed his head against her thigh and his tail slapped happily on the floor as she scratched his ears. “No, I’m too nervous. But thanks for feeding all of us. That’s above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “It’s been kinda fun. Mitch had told me about Jerome and Porky, but it was good to meet them. That Jerome is so polite; you’d never know he’s been in jail. Besides, it doesn’t take long to fry chicken and mash potatoes.” She wiped the counter and joined Cass at the table, her pretty face pulled into a worried frown. “How long will you have to wait?”

  “Until it’s good and dark. Maybe nine o’clock, nine thirty. Picking a day in the middle of the week is smart – not too many people will be out tonight.”

  Darla chewed on her thumbnail. “Cass, do you think it’ll be dangerous?”

  “They don’t know we’re coming, so we have that advantage.” She watched the greyhound spin himself around and settled at her feet with a contented grunt. “But if it were me out there abusing kids, I’d be pretty jumpy if somebody showed up unexpectedly.”

  “You think you’ll need that much ammunition?” Darla asked, eyeing the stack of magazines glinting on her kitchen table and watching as Cass checked a revolver before slipping it into her ankle holster.

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  “I still don’t understand why Sheriff Hoffner won’t ask for backup from Watuga County. It doesn’t make any sense. I understand why you can’t have other officers from Forney County’s police force with you, but why won’t he even ask for three or four from Watuga?”

  Cass placed her forearms on the table and laced her fingers together. “I think he’s terrified of what we’ll find out there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe we’ve got this all wrong, and we’ll show up in the middle of some male-bonding ritual. Or, we’ve got it right and we’ll find some pretty important people out in the woods doing bad things. Either way, Sheriff Hoffner loses: he’s embarrassed in front of his supporters, or he looks even more stupid in front of the reporters for not knowing what’s going on around here.”

  Darla gently worried at her lower lip. Tendrils of dark hair had slipped from her ponytail and curled around her shoulders. Her eyes were usually a clear brown, but tonight they were clouded with concern. “So, it’s his ego?”

  “That’s just my nasty little guess.” Cass sighed. “The budget probably won’t take paying for extra officers. But, I think if I were in the sheriff’s shoes, I’d either be fully behind what we’re doing tonight and ask for support, or I’d call the whole thing off.”

  “Well, I feel better knowing that you’re watching Mitch’s back, and he has yours.” Darla stood and fiddled with the coffee pot. “I’ll take some out to the garage now, and fill up a thermos or two for tonight. You ready?”

  ____________

  CASS LISTENED TO JEROME and Porky take instructions from Truman on how to use the communications equipment. Both men were dressed in dark trousers. Jerome wore a black t-shirt and Porky a dark red silk shirt. All the jewelry was gone from his ears, nose and eyebrows, but as he asked questions, Cass caught the flash of a stud in his tongue and suppressed a smile. The boy couldn’t help but style.

  “All right?” Truman finished and both men nodded, taking car keys and heading toward their respective vehicles.

  Porky raised an eyebrow at Cass’s blackened face. “No offence, but you look better as a white girl.”

  Mitch held up a hand to stop them as he finished a conversation and snapped his phone shut. “You clear on what you’re to do tonight?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jerome replied, eyes firm in the artificial light. “Just follow, hang back as far as possible, don’t lose him, and keep you informed about where he’s going.”

  “Good. Don’t use Salter’s name over the air. We’re on a remote channel, but you never know who’s listening. If he leaves a marked road, you let us know and keep going. Don’t slow as you drive past his turnoff. We’ll have somebody behind you, out of sight, but once he turns off we’ll take over.”

  Mitch waved them to their cars. The uncertain clatter of hastily repaired engines broke the still night as they left to take up their positions on opposite sides of downtown Arcadia. Mitch watched their taillights flare before they turned onto the main road in front of his house, and he released a long sigh. Darla leaned into him, nestling her head against his shoulder. “That was Kado,” he said.

  “How is he?” Cass asked.

  “Not good,” Mitch answered. “Angry because the sheriff refuses to consider that the lab could be at fault. Mad at the possibility that he could’ve contaminated the samples.”

  “But wolf DNA, Mitch. That’s bizarre.”

  He shrugged. “The lab made a mistake.”

  “Well, he’s our devil of light.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We know he’s the man Blackie Cochran saw in the clearing with Chad Garrett. If he does the dirty work for The Church, then maybe he’s the man Goober saw when the hot house fire started. He probably killed Humberto Gonzalez and the mummified man.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Blood was drained from Garrett, and we think from Gonzalez and the other man. Gonzalez told Deacon Cronus he was afraid of a diablo de luz and he wanted to be baptized for protection. Whatever Gonzalez saw related to this devil of light must’ve gotten him killed.”

  “Good Lord,” Darla breathed, snuggling closer to her husband.

  “Any luck with the stationary shops or printers?” Cass asked.

  “Nope,” Mitch answered. “Elaine called every shop for fifty miles in all directions. Nobody would admit to printing those cards. I talked to her a little while ago. She and Bernie are at the revival, and they’ve spotted Mr. and Mrs. Peavey. If the order of service for tonight sticks, Elaine estimates that Mr. Peavey will introduce the visiting preacher at around ten o’clock this evening.”

  “Let’s just hope he stays at church.” Cass held out the stick of greasepaint. “You’d better get ready.”

  “I hate this. Not knowing where they are, what they’re up to. I hate doing this with no backup.” He squeezed Darla and reached for the greasepaint, eyes worried. “You think this will work?”

  “It better,” Cass replied. “It’s all we’ve got.”

  CHAPTER 82

  THE HEAVY OLDSMOBILE LURCHED with the impact and slid to a stop in the gravel next to the road, Willie Nelson crooning from the radio. Evelyn Grove’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel. The sun was gone now, the road cutting through Deuce’s Flat a satiny ribbon in the early moonlight. Her headlights angled off into the forest straddling the road and danced across water in the distance. The bridge that cut over the Sabine River was just ahead. She snapped her headlights off, pulled her seatbelt free and rested her head on her trembling hands, a bubble of laughter gurgling from her chest. Unbelievable, she thought. Matt and Mark were telling the truth.

  Drawing a shaky breath, she pushed open the door and eased behind the car to a shadowy hump lying motionless on the verge. She crept nearer, amazed at the size of the animal, watching for movement. “You poor thing,” she whispered as it finally heaved a shuddering breath. Evelyn was the last to leave a school board meeting and had chosen to take a short-cut through the back roads. Even though she was halfway across the county from where her boys had hit their deer, she crouched for a closer look. “I hope you’re not the same guy my boys hit. Talk about having a bad week.”

  Evelyn stood and placed a hand on the trunk to steady herself, wondering what to do. The twins had been able to put their deer in the back of the car, but she couldn’t lift that animal by herself. She could just drive away
, letting it wake up on its own, but that didn’t feel right. And something told her that she was obligated to contact the game warden when an animal was injured. She moved along the car’s passenger side to squint at the damaged fender. It didn’t look too bad, certainly no worse than the Vega. She’d call Robert and have him call the game warden. And when she got home, she’d apologize to Matt and Mark and tell them they didn’t have to pay for their dent after all. They’d file both the damaged Vega and Oldsmobile fenders against insurance. She looked again at the fender and realized that something else was wrong.

  Evelyn took a step back from the car and let her eyes run over the long vehicle. The hood dipped slightly toward the verge, and as she moved closer, she realized that the front tire was flat. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she breathed.

  She trudged around the car and opened the driver’s door, then pulled the handle that popped the trunk. Standing with her hands on her hips, she surveyed the trunk’s contents: scattered schoolbooks and papers, two unopened cans of engine oil, a coil of nylon rope, and five sneakers. Size Sasquatch. Evelyn leaned down to start moving objects so she could get to the spare tire, but then remembered the white trousers she wore. She’d loved them the moment she saw them, and they fit perfectly off the rack. There was no way she was ruining a good pair of trousers over a flat tire. Besides, problems like this were the reason God had given her a strong husband and twin boys.

  With a smile, she tugged the passenger door open and leaned inside to dig through the contents of her purse, scattered across the floor. Snagging her phone, she pushed a button and groaned in frustration at the empty screen.

  “Damn it!” she hollered, voice bouncing inside the car as laughter again burbled in her chest, spilling over at the absurdity of her situation. How much leverage would her twins have, now that she was in the same situation they’d been in, but one worse since she had a flat tire? It wasn’t smart to let two teenage boys get one up on a parent, that much she knew.