Avengers of Blood

by Gae-Lynn Woods

“I did some research after James Byrd Jr. was lynched in Jasper. His death was appalling.”

  “I remember,” Truman said. “I didn’t think that kind of thing could happen in America anymore.”

  “Me, either.” He examined the patches. “Whitehead had standing in the KKK organization.”

  “But not around here, right?”

  Munk fingered the material. “I don’t think so. This looks old. He must’ve been involved back in Thayerville.”

  Munk and Truman prepared a quick inventory and moved the foot locker to Truman’s truck. The floor safe was welded to sections of rebar whose ends were buried in the concrete slab. They emptied its contents into a cardboard box, shut the safe’s door, the hardwood trap door, and re-covered the area with the tarp and boxes.

  The safe inside the store contained what they guessed was Wednesday’s take for sales and they took this cash with them.

  Back at the courthouse, they locked the contents of the safes and the foot locker in the evidence cage. Truman looked at Munk. “I know it’s awful, but I’d rather inventory this stuff than have to go to the Franklins’ viewing.”

  Munk nodded. “Dead folks in the wild are one thing, but it’s a whole different matter once that corpse hits a casket. Tonight is for Mojo. Clean up and let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 92

  JOSEPH FRANKLIN BENT DOWN to accept condolences from one of his mother’s friends. She hugged him tightly with one arm; the other balanced a glazed pound cake on a platter. The tears and powder on her cheek leached into the damp fabric of his suit jacket, blending with those of the other little old ladies who had expressed their grief so openly. This one was a bird-like thing, fragile compared to his mother. He patted her gently on the back and dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief even though he hadn’t shed a tear today.

  Joseph had spent a good deal of the afternoon wondering how his brother would handle this situation if their roles were reversed. Moses would be inconsolable. He would weep openly and hug fiercely. But Joseph couldn’t do it. His grief was silent, wrapped in a tight knot buried deep within his soul, a burning ache that he was sure would never ease.

  Perhaps Moses had it right. Let it all out. Feel the pain and let the cleansing tears flow. But Joseph wasn’t built that way. His best bet was to let the world think Moses was overwhelmed with grief, to the point that tears were barely possible.

  Joseph eased away from the white-haired woman, who gave him a watery smile and started toward the kitchen. Visitation at the funeral home had ended at seven, and although Joseph couldn’t remember a time when he had been so tired, physically or emotionally, he joined the throng at his mother’s home and did his best to receive and thank a seemingly endless stream of mourners. There were so many faces. Most he didn’t know. Students, now grown and with their own children, remembered “Mrs. Radcliffe” from her days in the school cafeteria and told him how sad they were at the loss of his mother. Each offered remembrances of their favorite food and how she would sneak extras to them without their having to ask twice. If it was possible to love a woman you saw for no more than five minutes each day, the students she fed loved his mother.

  A bevy of women from the quilting club and church had come to the house earlier to prepare for the wake this evening. Their presence was possible only because a crime scene clean-up team had pushed his case to the top of its list. Members of the police force had pitched in to replace the shattered backsplash tiles and paint the walls, and a glazier had managed to replace the pierced kitchen window. When Joseph stopped by earlier to change clothes, he was stunned to see the kitchen in clean and orderly condition, as if his mother and brother hadn’t lay dying in its confines only two days previously. The house was again peaceful, the echoes of death stilled, a semblance of life returning. Someone had mowed and edged the lawn. The beds were freshly made and quilts for pallets aired for the arrival of his mother’s family from Alabama. Tonight, the kitchen and dining room tables groaned under the weight of sliced ham, chicken, vegetables, pitchers of tea, and desserts of astonishing variety. It seemed that people cooked in times of trouble. The blue-haired casserole brigade would stuff the freezer with homemade meals, and Joseph could survive for weeks, if not months, with a visit to the grocery store for only milk and fresh produce.

  Porky’s girlfriend, Stella, had made it back from her aunt’s surgery in time to help, and she led him to an open spot in the corner. He numbly accepted a plate piled high with food, surprised to feel his stomach growl. “How are you holding up, Moses?”

  He stared down at the plate. “I’m okay. I’ll be glad when tomorrow is over.”

  “I know you will. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like. There’s no rush for you to come back here.”

  “I appreciate it, Stella. But I need to be home now. This is where I belong.”

  “Keep it in mind. You’re welcome any time.”

  Stella moved away and Joseph found himself face to face with Officer Hugo Petchard and the woman from The Golden Gate Café. Joseph searched his memory and retrieved her name: Junie. Petchard was dressed in civvies and extended a hand. Joseph shook it, face expressionless

  “I’m really sorry for your loss, Mojo.”

  “Thanks, Petchard.”

  “Me, too, Officer Franklin,” Junie said. She was dressed in a high-necked black top and calf-length black skirt. Her dark hair was brushed straight back from her expertly made-up face. Joseph realized that she wasn’t so much attractive as she was striking. Tall, somewhat slender, with a broad forehead, defined cheekbones, angular jaw, and full lips. Runway model material. Her eyes never left his. “It’s such a tragedy.”

  “Thanks. Junie, was it?”

  She nodded, a slight smile on her lips.

  “Did you have a chance to eat?” He motioned to the dining room table. “There’s a ton of food here.”

  Junie held up a wadded napkin. “Death always brings out the best in a cook. Whoever cleaned and repaired your kitchen did a wonderful job. And fast, too. The backsplash behind the stove is perfect. They even found a new head for the rooster.”

  Petchard slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “We’ll get out of your hair, Mojo. But we’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Joseph said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  ____________

  MITCH WATCHED AS PETCHARD led a tall woman from the Franklin’s living room. A steady stream of mourners was coming and going, spilling from the small house onto the front and back lawns. He lowered his voice. “Who are these people? I don’t recognize half of them.”

  “They’re Mojo’s family from out East,” Cass answered.

  Mitch ate a bite of fruit salad and motioned with his fork. “Who’s with Petchard?”

  Cass glanced between Mitch and his wife Darla. The three of them stood in one corner of the crowded living room. “Her name is Junie. She works for Stan and Sally at The Golden Gate.”

  “She’s kinda funny looking.”

  Darla poked her husband in the ribs before collecting their plates and glasses. “She’s quite attractive. A bit Angelina Jolie.”

  He looked at her again as Darla headed for the kitchen. “What’s she doing with Petchard?”

  “Stan said he made a beeline for her when she first came to town,” Cass said. “And for whatever reason, she seems to like him.”

  “Well, there’s something wrong with her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Any chick who’s interested in Petchard must have some kind of psychological problem,” Mitch said, watching until the front door closed behind them. “I just wonder what hers is.”

  “Guess what?” Cass said, lowering her voice. “I got Emmet’s employment records from Pecan Grove. Emmet and Donna were away from work at the same time.”

  “Maybe they were having an affair.”

  “There’s more. Emmet’s boss got letters about him like those the sheriff got about Moses.”

&nbs
p; “With the letters cut out of magazines?”

  “Yes. Implying that Emmet was up to something bad.”

  “Somehow, the three are linked, aren’t they?”

  She nodded. “We need to see Moses’ time sheets.”

  “Did you ask Hoffner for them?”

  “You think he’d give me anything I asked for? That’s your job.”

  A buzzing sounded and they looked down to see a phone skittering across a small table. Mitch adjusted his crutches, grabbed it, and flipped it open. “Hello? Anybody there?” He closed the phone and reopened it, checking the number. “Wonder whose this is?”

  He checked the phone’s recent call history and its information.

  Mojo strode up. “Did I miss a call?”

  “Yeah,” Mitch said, closing the device. “Sorry, man. I should’ve known this was yours. Whoever it was didn’t speak and,” he looked down at the little device, “didn’t leave a message.”

  “If it was important, they’ll call back.” Mojo pocketed the phone and turned as someone tugged on his arm. He drifted away and Cass glanced up to see Mitch watching Mojo with a confused expression on his face.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “There’s something about the number that was calling him. I’ve seen it before, but I don’t know where.”

  “Is it important?”

  “If it is, it’ll come to me.” He grinned. “Probably in the middle of the night. Hey, are you gonna eat that brownie?”

  CHAPTER 93

  MITCH AND DARLA TOOK their leave and Cass wove through the crowd to the kitchen. Martinez accepted an overflowing plate from an elderly woman, who shooed him away and turned to help someone else.

  “How’s it going with the old man?” Cass asked.

  “I suspect,” Martinez answered, moving to stand near the kitchen windows, “that he wandered off. The house was unlocked, his car is in the drive, and his wallet is in the house.”

  “Alzheimer’s?”

  “Not officially. But the neighbors said he was forgetful. I’ve called Watuga County to see if we can get the tracker dogs.”

  “Any luck?”

  “They’re in Stanton, working on a missing kid. They can’t get here until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

  “Why not?”

  “The dogs have to rest their noses between victims or something like that.” He swiped a cookie from Cass’s plate and headed for the door. “We’re sweeping the neighborhood again, just in case. See you later.”

  She returned to the living room to see Maxine talking to Mojo. Her mind whirled back to their conversation in the park last night and the newspaper article Maxine had left at the station this morning. Cass settled in the corner and wasn’t surprised when Maxine hugged Mojo and then joined her, picking at the plate of food Cass held. “Hey,” Cass protested. “Get your own.”

  Maxine raised a finely plucked eyebrow. “This is your second, isn’t it?”

  “So what?”

  “So, I’m being a friend by sharing calories.”

  The two nibbled companionably, watching as Sheriff Hoffner made his way across the small living room and shook Moses’ hand. They talked for a moment, heads together, then Hoffner clapped Moses on the shoulder. Mojo pulled a cell phone from his pocket and turned into the wall to talk, covering one ear with his hand.

  “Poor Mojo,” Maxine said. “It’s such a shame.”

  “How do you know the Franklins?”

  “Moses helped me one night when I had a flat.”

  Cass giggled.

  “Shut up. I know I’m not mechanically inclined. Thankfully, Moses drove past. He must’ve seen me struggling with the jack.”

  “How do you know what a jack looks like?”

  Maxine cut her eyes at Cass. “You showed me back in high school, remember?”

  “That was a bad night. You let me change the flat on your dad’s car all by myself.”

  “I helped. I popped the trunk. And it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Not for you. I was filthy when we got to that club, what was it called?”

  “Nexus. It was over in Stanton, in that skanky ol’ warehouse.”

  “That’s it. I smelled like rubber and road grime, and you looked fabulous. I didn’t get asked to dance all night.”

  “Not my fault. We could’ve waited for someone to come along and help us.”

  “Oh, Max,” Cass sighed. “You and your knights in shining armor.”

  “They always turn up right when you need them.”

  “For you, they do. It was Moses this time?”

  She nodded. “He was off duty, but stopped anyway. I sent him one of those cookie bouquets to say thank you, and we texted for a while. Moses is a really good guy, but he’s so messed up right now, he hardly seems like himself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s so withdrawn. He didn’t even recognize me.” Maxine shrugged. “But once I reminded him who I was, he hugged me and said he was glad I came.” She sidled closer to Cass, watching the crowd. “Can we talk some more? About… it?”

  Cass stopped herself from shivering by sipping her coffee. She steeled herself and turned to Maxine, who still picked at the food. “I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “He raped me, too.”

  Maxine took a step back, her gaze dropping to Cass’s shoulder. “You have a scar?”

  Cass nodded. “It was six years ago.”

  “In Dallas?”

  “Yes.”

  Maxine turned and stared at the room, but Cass could sense her mind spinning. “Did you report it?” Max asked.

  “No.”

  “He left a note?”

  “No.” Cass drew a deep breath. “I was running, Max. The guy I was dating in College Station dumped me for some blonde with pneumatic boobs.” She glanced apologetically at her friend, who waved her concern away. “I ran. To Dallas. And started drinking.”

  Max smiled at an elderly black woman who settled on the couch, then glanced back at Cass. “It must’ve been bad if you were drinking.”

  “It was. But that doesn’t excuse what I did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I put myself in that situation, I gave him the opportunity. Giving in to the rage at my boyfriend, the pain. The embarrassment. Getting drunk. Good Lord, with my father? I knew better.”

  “You were nineteen, Cass.”

  She drew a breath. “I collected some evidence. Semen, pubic hairs, fingerprints.”

  Maxine’s eyes widened. And then she frowned. “The mask?”

  “Richard Nixon. He must have a ritual, a pattern.”

  “The bastard.”

  A palpable relief slid through Cass at Maxine’s words, a weight physically disappeared from her shoulders. She believes me. “You’re the first person I’ve told about this. Ever.”

  “That makes us even.”

  “I need to ask some questions.”

  “Want me to come to the station, officer?” Maxine asked with a smile.

  Cass reached for the food. “If he raped you in Dallas, what makes you think he’s watching you in Arcadia?”

  Her clear green eyes cut over at Cass. “‘It is illogical, Captain’,” she quipped, and then nodded. “Good question. Maybe I’ve taken the warning in his note too seriously. Maybe not, given what happened to that poor girl in Ft. Worth. But there was something about him. Something almost familiar, but not quite. Do you know what I mean?”

  This was a possibility Cass hadn’t considered. “You think he might be from Arcadia? He might know you?”

  “Or maybe from Ft. Worth. Anything is possible, Cass. And I don’t want to take the chance that he might see me talking to the cops.”

  “You’re talking to one now.”

  “In a very natural setting.”

  “So, you don’t want me to put any of this on file, is that right?”

  Maxine nodded.

  Cass felt the ir
ony of what she was about to say, considering that she hadn’t filed a police report at the time of her rape. “Then there’s not much I can do to help you.”

  “You can check that piece of paper I gave you for prints, for starters. That’s why I kept the thing.”

  Cass lowered her voice. “It’s not that easy, Max. To identify prints on paper you need a special chemical and –”

  Maxine flicked her fingers. “Whatever. Just do it.”

  “I can’t just do it. There’s special forensics equipment involved.”

  “Isn’t the forensics guy that hunky dark-haired man? The one near the fireplace?”

  In spite of her frustration, Cass snorted a laugh. She should’ve known Maxine would have pegged all attractive males in the area. “Tom Kado. You haven’t bedded him yet?”

  “No, but I’ve seen his picture in the Forney Cater. Besides, he’s into you, not me.”

  Cass flushed. “There’s all sorts of protocol. He has to have a case number –”

  “You’re as stupid about men now as you were in high school,” Maxine said, cutting her off. “Honey, bat those violet eyes of yours at him and ask for a favor.” She pulled back. “You’re gorgeous. There’s no way he would turn you down.”

  Cass glanced up and caught Kado watching. She flashed a quick smile. “Speaking of gorgeous, you look great, but you’re a little skinny, Max. What’s up?”

  “I guess that’s one good thing to come out of all this. I’ve dropped every ounce of fat I had in high school.”

  “You were never fat –,” Cass began.

  “Maxie Maxine, Mondo Max, hefty, chunky, blubber box, whatever. I was a lot fatter than I am now. I might be too skinny, but I don’t want to put much weight back on.”

  “You look anorexic, Max.”

  “Pish,” she answered, waving a hand in a movement reminiscent of her mother. “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately. It’ll come back.”

  “When did you get the boobs?” Cass whispered.

  “They were a wedding gift from the ex-husband. That should have been my first sign that things weren’t going to work out. Although I haven’t had many complaints from male companions since the divorce.”