Avengers of Blood

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  Munk grunted and stepped back through the door.

  Kado glanced at the clock and snapped the gloves from his hands. “It’s already one o’clock. Thank God nobody else has died. The paperwork alone would drown us. I’ll get the fingerprints started and go get coffee. Maybe I can soothe Munk’s hurt feelings with cream and sugar. You want some?”

  “Sure. And get donuts. Munk’ll forgive anything for a dozen glazed.”

  CHAPTER 49

  “CAN WE HURRY UP?” asked the officer who had accompanied Cass through the house. “These paintings are creeping me out.”

  Cass examined the charcoal sketch that covered Donna Moore’s safe. Joshua Reed had described it as a science fiction type of mountain, and Cass could see what he meant. The background was dark and the white mountain stood out in stark relief, almost glowing against it. But there was something odd about the way the top of the mountain peaked and then seemed to lay over on itself, almost as if it were wrapped in a blanket of snow. Cass ran her fingers around the frame and pressed a latch under one side. A click sounded and she swung the painting back to reveal a safe, its keypad flush with the door.

  “You’d never know the safe was there.”

  “Nope,” Cass agreed, “you wouldn’t. Got gloves on?”

  She tapped in the combination and pulled the door.

  “Whoa,” the officer said. “That’s some serious bread.”

  Cass extracted one strap of cash and fanned it. “Hundreds. This must be ten thousand.”

  The two emptied the safe, inventorying the contents and placing them in a document box as they went. There were twelve straps of one hundred dollar bills. They found no will, but Cass discovered a pay-as-you-go cell phone and turned it on. The most recent call had arrived at three thirty-five the previous afternoon, around the time Moore left the office for her appointment. She had dialed a different number shortly after receiving the call. Cass turned the phone off and added it to the box.

  “I want to check these other paintings. Then we’ll go by her office and get her personal records,” Cass said as she taped the box and had the officer sign it and the chain of custody paperwork with her.

  She walked through the house, thinking the officer was right that the artwork was a little creepy. She tested the paintings and sketches to ensure no other hidden safes existed and wondered where the woman had kept her will. As she examined the artwork, she realized that some of the pieces had a consistent theme. Of clothing.

  One charcoal drawing could be interpreted as ragged trunks from two trees, or a pair of scruffy trouser legs. If they were trouser legs, which was just possible if Cass tilted her head and squinted, they would fit into the pair of worn work boots she had spotted at Moore’s office earlier in the day. One sketch was smudgy around the edges, but revealed the detail of a warped, dirty belt buckle.

  On impulse, Cass lifted the camera and worked her way back through the house, taking photos of each piece of art, wondering if there was a message lurking in Moore’s rendering of the world.

  CHAPTER 50

  OFFICER HUGO PETCHARD STOPPED inside The Golden Gate Café’s door and mopped the sweat from his face. He spotted Junie taking an order from a pair of oil field workers and his heart lurched as she laughed and touched one of the men on the shoulder. Flashing a small wave at her, Petchard slid into a booth and waited, fighting the green-eyed monster that was itching to yank his gun from its holster and shoot the workers. Junie brought him a glass of iced tea and sat across from him.

  “How’s your day been, lover?” she asked.

  He glowered. “Okay.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Petchard’s glance shot to the two men. Junie reached across the table and took his hand. “It’s good policy to be nice to the customers, to laugh at their jokes. I get better tips.” She waggled her brows and at last he relaxed. “Good. Let’s start again. How’s your day been, Hugo?”

  He sighed. “A little trying, to tell the truth.”

  “What happened?”

  Petchard’s face darkened. “Cass Elliot talked the medical examiner, John Grey, into hiring her as a temp last night, and she came to the Franklin house this morning. She’s such a bitch.”

  “Language,” Junie admonished.

  “I’m sorry. She’s so self-righteous. Like she knows best. Sheriff Hoffner’s got no confidence in her, or he would’ve signed her back on by now.”

  “I met her this morning,” Junie said, releasing his hand and sitting back in the booth. “She seemed quite emotional at first, and then very intense when she was talking with her fellow officers. I only heard bits of their conversation, but she sounded pretty smart to me.”

  “She might be smart,” Petchard groused, “but she’s a real pain to work with.”

  “What happened?”

  “Cass reamed me out because I didn’t inventory all the stuff Mojo took from his house.” Petchard crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. “I mean, I couldn’t do that. The man was suffering. I found him bawling his eyes out in his bedroom, like a little kid. And it was his stuff, anyway.”

  Junie studied him. “Should you have taken an inventory?”

  The tips of his ears turned red.

  “Lover, were you mean to Cass?”

  Petchard’s lower lip poked out. “Maybe. A little. But she deserved it.”

  “I have to get back to work, but we can have dinner. Pick me up at six?”

  His eyes brightened. “From home?”

  “From the café. I told Sally I’d stay a little longer today.” She tapped his iced tea. “Stay hydrated. Tonight, we’ll talk more about Cass and the Franklin investigation, okay?”

  CHAPTER 51

  THE AIR IN THE squad room carried the same pungent odor of sweat and burned coffee that always made her want to suck on a mint, but Cass smiled as she pushed the door open to see Mitch frowning at a computer terminal. She helped an officer unload boxes from Moore’s safe and office from a hand cart.

  “I need you to go back and take photos of the pictures at Donna’s office.”

  The officer looked doubtful.

  “Hey, if you’d rather be back out on patrol…”

  “Nope. It’s boiling out there. I’ll go take pictures of the pictures.”

  “All of them, please.”

  “No problem.”

  Cass joined Mitch at his desk. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “It’s possessed again,” Mitch answered, jabbing at the keyboard.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Anything Mojo’s worked on in the last two years.”

  “What else have you got open?”

  “Um, the time tracking program, the internet, and the word processor.”

  “That’s too much,” Cass said, grabbing the handles on his wheelchair and pushing him out of the way. “The case system eats memory and the computer locks if you have more than one other program running with it. That concussion must’ve been pretty deep. You know this.”

  “Oh yeah,” he answered, reaching for the straightened length of wire coat hanger on his desk. He adjusted one end, slipped it slowly between his brace and leg, and released a long sigh as he scratched. “Heaven.”

  “What do you want left open?”

  “Case system and the internet.”

  Cass used the task manager to close the remaining programs, and pulled Mitch’s wheelchair back.

  “Thanks,” he said. “What’s in the box?”

  “Stuff from Donna’s safe.”

  “Like?”

  “Cash.” She held up two straps of bills and moved the cash to a new box.

  Mitch whistled. “What else?”

  Cass signed the chain of custody paperwork on the cash and had Mitch witness it. She extracted the rest of the box’s contents. “Property deeds, car titles, paid-in-full mortgages. But no will.”

  “Does she have a safe deposit box?” Mitch asked.

  Cass picked up the box of money. “I�
��ll find out.”

  She walked down the narrow hall to the evidence room, enjoying the familiar thunk of her boots on the linoleum tiles, knocked once, and entered only to gasp as a complicated aroma assaulted her. “What is that?”

  Truman’s hazel eyes twinkled over the top of his face mask. “Eau de remnants of Calvin Whitehead’s storeroom with undertones of sludge from his patio.”

  Kado looked up from his computer and lifted a mug. “And a hint of coffee.”

  “It’ll never sell,” Cass gasped. “You need an extractor fan.” She stopped short and looked at all the equipment dotting the counters. “Did you raid the evidence locker and start selling the cocaine?”

  Kado laughed. “No, but it took my entire budget for the year.”

  “How did you afford it?”

  “I got it through Craig’s List, eBay, and from calls to forensic guys who were updating their labs. It’s used, but in good shape. This is Hazel,” Kado said, patting the GCMS’s housing.

  Cass glanced at the gooey concoction in front of Truman. “Buy that extractor fan next, would you?”

  “Just for your nose, I’ll put it on the list,” Kado said. “What have you got?”

  “Cash from Donna’s safe at home.”

  “How much?”

  “One hundred and twenty thousand.”

  “Cool,” Truman said, leaning over to look in the box. “I’ve never seen that much cash in one place.”

  “Y’all need to count it, and would you check it for cocaine?”

  “You think she was into drugs?” Kado asked.

  Cass shrugged. “I found a pay-as-you-go phone in her safe, too. Seems a strange combination.”

  Kado and Truman counted the money and signed the paperwork. “Anything else?”

  “I need the stuff we brought from Donna’s house this morning. I want to see if she has a safe deposit box key.”

  Kado pointed to a box on a far counter.

  “I’ll take it with me,” Cass said, pulling open the door with her free hand. “The smell is incredible.”

  Cass entered the squad room to see Mitch squinting at his computer screen. Her cell phone rang and she slid the box onto her desk. She finished the call and sighed. “That was Frannie. She checked with Rob Conroy’s neighbors. They said he threw a party last night.”

  “What time?” Mitch asked.

  “They noticed the music and people hanging out on the balcony at around eight, Conroy included. They went to complain at ten-thirty. Things got quiet around eleven, so either everyone passed out, or they left. Frannie tossed his apartment but found no drugs, alcohol, or weapons. There was a trash bag on Conroy’s stoop when we were there this morning, but she said it was gone.”

  “Did she check the dumpster?”

  Cass nodded. “Trash collection had already run.”

  Mitch wrinkled his nose. “If he was at home at eight last night, he’s not a candidate for the Franklin murders.”

  “No, and that makes sense, given that we’ve got the same shooter killing Donna.”

  “I guess Conroy would’ve been too easy. Any luck with a safe deposit box for Donna?”

  She opened the box and found two brass keys on a ring: one with USPS engraved on it, the other with a four-digit number. There were fewer than ten banks in Forney County, so unless Moore had opened a box elsewhere, it would be short order to figure out which bank housed the woman’s safe deposit box.

  “I’ll start on a warrant in a minute.” Cass turned to the box containing items from Moore’s safe. “She also has a prepaid cell phone,” she said, tossing the device to Mitch. “I saw one incoming phone number and one outgoing. See if you can find them in the system.”

  “Why would Donna have a burner?” Mitch asked, pushing the power button.

  “I’ve got no idea, but combined with the cash, it makes her look a little shady. Kado’s checking the bills for cocaine. Anything on the phone?”

  “I can’t see Donna involved in drugs,” Mitch said, checking the call register. He looked warily at his computer. “Think I should try a reverse lookup?”

  “Go low tech. Call them.”

  Mitch reached for his desk phone and dialed both numbers. “No answer. And no voice message.”

  She poured the contents of a padded envelope onto her desk. “I’ll bet the call came from another throw away, and the call she made went to one, but see if you can find either number online.”

  He tapped gingerly at the keyboard. “Nope.”

  “Any other calls?”

  Mitch checked the phone again. “That’s weird. All incoming calls are from that one number. All outgoing calls are to the other number.

  “Dates?”

  “Two last week. Three the week before. Then nothing since earlier in the year. And they follow the same pattern. The first number calls Donna, and a few minutes later, she calls the other number.”

  “Seems strange if it’s her supplier.” Cass checked the wall clock. “I doubt her tox results are back. We can check with Grey in the morning.”

  Mitch’s phone rang and he turned to answer it. “Detective Stone.”

  A surge of elation filled Cass at the sound of his voice uttering those words. In less than twenty-four hours, she was back at work with her partner, feeling as natural as if the past six weeks had never happened. She sorted through the rest of the paperwork from Moore’s safe, looking up when Mitch said, “Thanks Jerome, we’ll be there as quick as we can.”

  He cradled the handset and started wrenching the wheels on his chair. “That was Jerome from out at Pecan Grove, that fancy retirement place.”

  “Blackie Cochran’s cousin, Jerome?”

  Mitch gave up on maneuvering the wheelchair and reached for his crutches. “He said one of the nurses, Emmet Hedder, didn’t show up today and didn’t call in sick.”

  “So?”

  “He never misses work. All the old people love him, including the old lady Jerome works for. She sent him over to Emmet’s house to make sure he was okay.” Mitch grunted and levered himself to a standing position. He wavered, found his balance, and released a deep breath. “Vertical feels good.”

  “Where does he live?” Cass prodded.

  “Behind the golf course.”

  “Emmet wasn’t at home?”

  “No, and,” he continued, weaving through the desks on his crutches, “one of the windows has been shot through and Jerome thinks he sees blood.”

  Cass’s eyes widened. “You think it’s the same person?”

  “Who else has been shooting through windows lately?” He wobbled as he reached the coffee bar, and leaned against the counter to catch his breath.

  “Stay here. I’ll go check it out,” Cass said, reaching for her truck keys as the door to the conference room banged opened.

  _____________

  SHERIFF BILL HOFFNER CHARGED in and Cass deflated, all the joy rushing from her body in a woof of breath, no different than if he had gut-punched her. His white shirt and dark brown trousers were still crisp, even after hours of travel. The boots he wore looked freshly polished and every stiff white hair on his head was in its place. His skin was more tanned than usual, and she wondered what kind of leadership-building activities required access to the outdoors. A whiff of soap wafted into the room behind him, and Cass realized that he must’ve stopped to take a shower and change clothes. And then she understood: the press, of course.

  “Elliot, get your ass home,” Sheriff Hoffner barked, glaring at her. “John Grey had no authority to hire you.”

  Cass felt blood rush to her face and opened her mouth to reply. Mitch cut her off.

  “You might want to rethink that decision, Sheriff,” he said.

  “So nice to see that everybody’s willing to come to work while I’m gone and tell me what to do when I get back.” He took in the hip to ankle brace on Mitch’s leg. “You got a doctor’s release?”

  Mitch dug in his pocket and handed over a crumpled sheet of paper. “It�
�s only my leg, Sheriff. My brain is still intact.”

  Hoffner inspected the note, folded it, and placed it in his shirt pocket. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “We’ve got a possible shooting near the golf course. No body, but blood on an interior wall.”

  “The note says desk duty, Stone. Sit down. Martinez can go.” Hoffner finally looked around the empty squad room. “Where is everybody?”

  The squad room door opened and Munk walked in with three coffee mugs clutched in one hand and a handful of papers in the other. Although he must have changed out of his shorts and into his uniform only recently, it already bore evidence of his coffee consumption. His eyes never left the document he was scanning as he pushed past the taller man, fumbled the dishwasher open, and blindly slipped two of the mugs inside. He put the other mug on the counter, turned to a new page, and waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

  Hoffner’s face softened and Cass was surprised at the flash of humanity the movement revealed. “Officer Munk, I’m sorry you got dragged home for this. Whoever called you was out of line.”

  Munk seemed startled to find himself in the squad room. “Hey, Sheriff. Nobody dragged me back. I cut my vacation short when I heard about Mojo. And with the Whitehead and Moore murders, I figure the force can use all hands on deck.”

  Hoffner turned his piercing blue gaze back to Cass where she still sat, hands balled into fists, at her desk. “Elliot, until I tell you otherwise, you’re on leave. Pass off whatever evidence you’ve got to Mitch or Munk and go home.”

  Fury slapped Cass so hard her vision blackened. She drew breath to speak but heard Mitch’s voice over the blood crashing in her ears.

  “Bad call, Sheriff.” Hoffner’s eyes were icy, but Mitch didn’t flinch. “There were four murders in Forney County last night. One involving a cop’s family. And that officer might still be in danger. We’ve just received a report of a shooting at another resident’s home. Danny is still out with back problems, I’m at less than full capacity, and you want to debilitate your force further by sending a detective home?” Mitch’s voice became a snarl. “That’s mismanagement, Sheriff. Worse, it’s dereliction of duty. Grey did the right thing. Go sign the release and get Cass back to work. You’re slowing us down.”