Elizabeth pulled out her cell phone from her bag and began typing. Moments later, Grace’s phone pinged, and she rolled her eyes before she pulled it out and read the text. Hey, Grace, you’re really hot when you act all detective-like. Wanna come?
Before Grace could offer a reaction, the woman returned. “Follow me.” She turned back to the door expecting them to follow, and Jack gallantly gestured to allow them to walk in front of him.
Elizabeth walked first and Grace caught up. “What are you wearing?” She eyed the dress up and down.
“What? This doesn’t suit your tastes?”
“I think I like you in the ‘Homie’ T-shirt better.”
“With or without a bra?”
Grace walked into the doorframe, and Jack chuckled as he passed her. “She’s a spitfire.”
At the woman’s instruction, Elizabeth stepped through the entryway of the first interior office with Jack following behind and Grace bringing up the rear.
A man she presumed to be Reverend Rick stood from behind the desk. “How may I help you?” He gestured to a couch, and Grace and Jack sat, but Elizabeth continued to stand. The reverend took a seat opposite them.
Grace pulled out her badge and introduced herself and offered no introductions for Elizabeth and Jack, which she figured was just as well. Grace was leading this show.
“As I am sure you are aware, we secured a warrant to remove a stockpile of weapons from the White Horse Plantation after receiving a tip as to their existence. We removed dozens of firearms, none of which were legal,” Grace said, her eyes boring through the reverend.
“I know nothing about those weapons. I, through Bounty Ministries, own the plantation, but I have only been there a few times, and I assure you, I never stayed very long. The place has been abandoned for more than fifty years and is uninhabitable. If there were weapons, they were hidden there long before I came to possess the property.” Reverend Rick spoke with ease and confidence, as a well-seasoned orator would.
Grace assessed him for a minute before pulling out a small notebook from her coat pocket. While Reverend Rick’s attention was drawn to Grace’s note taking, Elizabeth casually stepped closer to the bookshelf for a better view of its contents. The neatly lined books were intermingled with photographs and collectibles, including a small glass case with a revolver inside. She knew nothing about guns, but assumed it was a relic based on its display. She found it ironic that there were no religious themed books, art, or trinkets for such a religious man, but there was a gun. Long live the Second Amendment.
“How did your church come into possession of the property?” Grace asked.
“I’m sure you know, Detective. The property was owned by my grandfather, who founded Bounty Ministries. The church, as well as the property, has since passed to me.”
“What’s your relationship with Powers?” Grace asked, swiftly changing topics, and the reverend’s comfort level seemed to diminish.
“Who?”
“Judge Davis Powers and his father, the late Senator Powers.”
“I assure you, I do not know what you are talking about.”
During the course of the questioning, Elizabeth had migrated from the bookshelf to the glossy wooden desk for a perusal. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary, but for a neat stack of papers that rested near the edge closest to her. It wasn’t the paperwork that got her attention, but the paperweight on top. She lifted the brass disk that resembled the one they found in the box at Samuel’s grave. It was in much better shape and didn’t contain the same lettering on the back, but its resemblance was unmistakable. She held it up for Grace to see.
“Excuse me, do you mind not touching my things.” He removed the disk from her hand.
“Interesting souvenir,” Elizabeth said as she watched him set it back on the stack of papers.
“Unlike the other one, this is only a replica.”
Grace seemed to ignore their exchange, and Elizabeth backed away toward the couch and offered no reply.
“What are your intentions with the property?” Grace asked, resuming her questioning.
Reverend Rick perched against his desk. “I’m selling it. I have no need for it.”
“It’s been in your family for over a hundred and seventy years. You’re going to sell it just like that?”
“It’s a relic and an eyesore. I’m building a flagship church for Bounty Ministries. It will be three times the size of our current church.”
“And you need the funding.”
“Yes. I’m trading in a dilapidated plantation of the past for a vision of the future. ” His eyes lit up as he spoke.
“So you can hold larger audiences who can listen to you spew your hate?” Elizabeth spoke up. She knew she should have stayed quiet, but the man repulsed her. She nearly snarled at him.
He turned on her. “I speak the word of God. It is only hate to the ears of sinners.”
Grace stepped forward just as Elizabeth started to approach him and grasped her arm, guiding her to the door.
“Thank you for your time, Reverend Peterson. I will reach out if I have any more questions.”
“You can call me Reverend Rick.”
Elizabeth turned her head toward him as Grace was ushering her out. “Do you spell that with a D?” Grace gave a firmer nudge to hasten her departure.
Jack threw back his head and laughed. “I get it.” He continued chuckling until they reached his car parked on the street. Elizabeth gave him a hug and thanked him for coming, while Grace stood back and remained silent.
Once Jack drove off, Grace turned to her. “How did Reverend Rick know about the brass disk that we found at the grave? The contents of the box were not listed in the warrant because they were already in evidence.”
“Damn, that means we have a leak. The question is—is it on my side or yours?”
Chapter Twenty-five
Grace shielded her eyes from the morning sun as she approached the workmen standing around the makeshift cemetery. She received a message from Casey shortly after leaving Elizabeth at Reverend Rick’s office that the warrant was signed.
“What are you guys waiting for?”
“We weren’t sure which one to dig up?” one of the workers said.
“What are you talking about? There’s only one…” Grace stopped and stared at the second mound lying parallel to Samuel’s grave. Oh shit. “Dig them both up.”
* * *
Grace rested her head on her desk. It had been an endless day, or was it even still the same day? She looked at the clock to see that it was 12:35 a.m. A second forensic team was brought in after the discovery of the second grave. The scene was meticulously scoured, and whoever buried the second body left no identifying evidence, just a recently deceased body buried less than twelve hours before discovery. It was in good shape and identification was easy, aside from the driver’s license in the pocket, the face was recognizable—Reverend Rick Peterson.
There had been talk of political enemies who despised his teachings, but Grace doubted it, not after what she and Elizabeth uncovered. It wasn’t only the placement of the body next to Samuel’s grave that told her this murder went much deeper, it was the manner of death. The reverend was killed by a single gunshot to the back of the head, execution style. However, this wasn’t the concerning part. It was the fact that Samuel was killed the same way. His remains had been preserved by the dry, hard soil, and his manner of death was discernible, including the bullet that was extracted from the back of his skull—a bullet that matched the bullet removed from Reverend Rick. They were killed by the same Smith & Wesson Model 36 circa 1950s revolver, but she didn’t need the medical examiner or forensic expert to tell her the make and model of the weapon. The gun was left behind in Reverend Rick’s shallow grave. She inspected it at the scene and found that the gun had jammed after firing, likely due to age and lack of proper care.
She also knew that she had seen the gun once before. As Elizabeth had overtly snooped through
Reverend Rick’s office, she had surreptitiously inspected the contents and noted the gun in the glass case on the shelf. She searched the reverend’s office after leaving the scene and confirmed the glass case was now empty.
* * *
Elizabeth pulled her robe tighter around her as she peered through the side window next to her front door. She was startled awake by the 2:00 a.m. knocking. She reasonably assumed it would be friend not foe, as a burglar wouldn’t likely be so courteous as to announce his visit prior to entering, but given the events she experienced recently, she couldn’t be too careful.
She twisted the locks and reached out, pulling Grace inside. “Honey, what are you doing out so late? Are you all right?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Grace walked to the couch and allowed her body to drop.
Elizabeth curled up against her and began stroking her hair, pulling errant strands from her face. “Honey, what’s going on?”
Grace explained the discovery of Reverend Rick buried alongside Samuel. “Forensics says it was the same gun that killed them both. It seems he was killed less than twelve hours after our meeting.”
Even though she didn’t like the man, she felt some remorse for him because no one should die in such a violent manner. “I’m sure he acquired a lot of enemies, but this isn’t about his church and ideology. I think someone didn’t want that property sold.”
“I’m leaning toward that possibility. The report came back on the items found in the wooden box.” Elizabeth intertwined her fingers with Grace’s, prompting Grace to bring Elizabeth’s hand to her lips for a gentle kiss before she continued. “As suspected, the reports were intel gathered on politicians, civil rights leaders, and activists located throughout the state. Several of them disappeared or were found murdered. Only two of the cases went to trial.”
“The two young men who were the organizers of the Freedom Riders protest.”
“Uh-huh,” Grace said, lolling her head to the side to face her, Elizabeth’s hand firmly nestled in hers.
Elizabeth recalled the news articles she read on the trial. “Tobias Stokes was convicted of their murders based on a single witness, who claimed he had seen Stokes with the Freedom Rider protestors the night of the rally. He was sentenced to death.”
Grace nodded. “I pulled the case file. They both died from a single gunshot wound to the back of the head, with the same kind of Smith & Wesson. The weapon was never recovered.”
“Stokes was just another victim.” Elizabeth slumped back and closed her eyes. “One gun, four murders. Reverend Rick probably inherited the gun. Little did he know, he would be the last of its legacy.”
“There’s more. The silver key that was in the book went to a safe deposit box.”
Elizabeth sat up. “What did you find in it?”
“Nothing. In March 1963, it was cleaned out in one of the largest bank robberies in state history. Over ten million dollars in cash and gold were stolen and never seen again. It was double the amount of cash and assets the bank normally kept at that time, but several national nonprofits and the federal government transferred funds in anticipation of the Equal Justice Fund.”
“Yeah, I remember that program. It was launched to eradicate poverty and the disparity in social programs and education in the African-American communities. I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence that the bank was robbed at that time,” Elizabeth said.
Grace used her free hand to rub at her eyes. “No. There were only a handful of people who knew about the deposits, and the money was set to be dispersed throughout the state starting the next day. The FBI and state police thought it was an inside job, but the investigation led nowhere. The money never surfaced, and they believed it was laundered within twenty-four hours through an offshore account.” Grace’s voice grew raspy at the end.
“But?” She knew there had to be more to Grace’s story.
“But, in the reports found at Samuel’s grave, there was intel on the Equal Justice Fund, including details on funding from the national nonprofit organizations. During the robbery, one of the guards was shot and killed. Although testing hasn’t been done, some of the weapons confiscated at the plantation are the same caliber.”
“And the safe deposit box?” Elizabeth asked.
“It was the only box that was robbed. It belonged to none other than—”
“Senator Powers.”
“Nope, but close. His son, Davis Powers. When he was interviewed by the police, he claimed there was only insurance paperwork inside and nothing of value to anyone else.”
“I’m sure, you know how those twenty-somethings get bogged down in insurance paperwork. The senator didn’t want his name on the safe deposit box. That might be how Webb got the confidential intel reports.” Elizabeth rested her head against the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe Webb planned to go rogue, tired of being the rank-and-file military of this new KGC. He was vying for a place at the top of the pyramid. He wanted to be captain.” The circle of murder suspects for Webb was widening. Elizabeth turned to Grace. “The robbery, it was March seventeenth?” She didn’t wait for an answer and continued. “I found Senator Powers’s business card in Webb’s room. On the back ‘EJF 3/17’ was written—Equal Justice Fund, March seventeen.”
Grace dropped her head back and closed her eyes, and Elizabeth figured she was too tired to offer a response, but Elizabeth’s brain was blazing with all the new information and her mind turned to Samuel. “Will they be able to identify Samuel?”
Grace turned to her and tightened her grip on Elizabeth’s hand that still rested in her lap. “It’s not likely. There’s nothing to compare it to. There are no records of him,” she said apologetically.
“Thank you, Grace, for trying.”
Grace gave her a weak smile, and Elizabeth could see the effort made to keep her eyes open. She went in search of a pillow and blanket, and when she returned, she found Grace sound asleep. She guided her head down onto the pillow and pulled up her feet and removed her boots. She carefully covered her, tucking in the edges, and placed a kiss on her forehead before she turned out the lights.
Chapter Twenty-six
Grace sat outside in the waiting area as the clerk furiously typed notes from the words being pumped into her ears through her headset. She didn’t have an appointment, so she expected to wait. It was an impromptu visit to Judge Powers. When she woke up that morning on Elizabeth’s couch, she realized that she slept, she actually slept, not just a restless version of it. She felt good. She felt even better when she saw Elizabeth in the kitchen fussing over a pan of eggs that were being beat within an inch of their lives. “Whatever they did, they’re sorry,” Grace joked. She removed another skillet from the flame that had very crisp pieces of sausage.
“Sorry, breakfast is not my forte. Well, actually, cooking in general is not my forte.”
Grace didn’t care. Food was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. What occupied the forefront of her brain was Elizabeth standing in pajamas, pajamas that were see through in the kitchen light, and there was no bra to hide the breasts that stood at attention with two very pink nipples that poked at the material.
Grace limited herself to voyeurism and kept her hands to herself. She did what she could through breakfast to keep her eyes trained on her eggs, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes drift up from time to time, just for a little peek.
When the topic turned to the case, she extracted herself from the table and carried her dishes to the kitchen. She needed some distance from the perfect breasts to be able to focus on that conversation.
Given that there seemed to be a connection between Webb and Powers, both father and son, she had a strong hunch that Judge Davis Powers was somehow intertwined with whatever was going on. Elizabeth believed that it was his sudden rise to fame in the media as a result of his nomination to the Supreme Court that brought Olivia back, but the question still nagged at her—why?
“I’m sorry, but the judge is still
on the bench. It’s going to be another thirty minutes,” the clerk said, breaking Grace from her thoughts.
“Not a problem. I’ll wait.”
The thirty minutes turned into an hour and thirty, but Grace waited it out. The judge continued his duties as an appellate judge, and she reviewed the court calendar before she came to ensure that he would be in town and not soliciting votes at the state capitol.
“He is ready to see you now.” The woman stood from behind her desk and led Grace to an oversized dark mahogany door. The woman opened the door but didn’t step into the room and instead moved to the side to allow Grace to pass.
Grace walked into the spacious room that had furnishings that matched the door. A white haired man bordering on obese sat behind a desk that would seem too large for the average person, but was appropriate for him. He reviewed paperwork in front of him and said nothing as she approached. “I’m Detective Grace Donovan. Thank you for taking the time to see me, Your Honor.”
The man remained silent and continued reading. Grace was adept enough to know that it was a power play, so she decided to wait him out, and she continued to stand and watch him in silence.
When it seemed enough time had passed for him, he lifted his head and acknowledged her. “What can I do for you, Detective?” He didn’t invite her to sit down.
“I have some questions about a pending murder investigation.”
“Yes,” he replied, making no effort to hide his impatience.
Grace pulled out a folder from the bag resting on her shoulder and extracted several photos of the intel reports. “May I?” She gestured with the photos in her hand, requesting to approach.
He waved his hand to her, and she moved closer, and when she stood opposite him at the desk, he snatched the photos from her.
Secrets of the Last Castle Page 22
