“No problem. Holler when you need a refill,” he said, swinging toward the warming counter where the Pettigrew brother’s breakfasts waited.
Mitch glanced at Cass as she rubbed her eyes. “How are you this morning?”
“All right,” she chuckled, passing the bottle of Tabasco sauce. “The changes were minor, but it’s so hard to get them to talk, you’d think the Pettigrew brothers had taken a vow of silence. Anyway, we have a statement they’re both happy with.”
Mitch swallowed a bite of egg. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I ran.”
“Really?”
Cass speared a piece of bacon. “Yup. Ran into Lucius Craven, no pun intended. You know him?”
“Sure. One of his boys was in mine and Jack’s class in high school. They’ve got a big spread over there next to y’all, right?”
“Yeah, his family’s always been good to us.” Cass stopped suddenly, brain singing with the memory of the names written in the heavy book. “Listen, I need to tell you what I found last night –”
Her voice caught as The Golden Gate’s door thumped open and Goober staggered in. His mouth was slack, one strap of his overalls had fallen from a shoulder and his wild eyes jumped around the small café until they found Cass. He stumbled to the booth, its vinyl shrieking in protest as he collapsed on the bench seat beside her.
“Goober? What’s wrong?” Cass asked as Mitch watched, forkful of eggs and bacon suspended between the plate and his open mouth. Goober stared at her, glassy eyes trancelike, mouth moving but no sound escaping. Mitch called to Stan for another cup of coffee.
Stan appeared with a steaming mug and placed it in front of Goober, who shifted his gaze from Cass to the coffee. Gently, she lifted his hands from his lap and wrapped them around the hot mug, speaking softly. “What happened, Goob? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Goober shuddered, a deep spasm that shook his body from head to toe and sloshed coffee from the mug. The searing liquid seemed to penetrate his stupor and he grabbed the table’s edge, pulling himself from the booth, color flooding his face. “C-Come on,” he pleaded. “You have to help him.”
“Help who, Goober?” Cass asked.
“I c-c-couldn’t. I’m sorry Cass. I tried,” he whispered, voice breaking as he took her hand and tugged her from the booth.
“Sorry for what, Goober? What’s wrong?”
“It was the vampires,” he answered. “They got him.”
____________
GOOBER BOLTED FROM THE Golden Gate with a worried Cass and Mitch scrambling after him. He hurried across the street that wrapped around the courthouse without bothering to check for traffic, pulling a red kerchief from a back pocket to blow his nose. A rose-streaked sky was building in the east, but traffic was still quiet as Cass and Mitch trotted along behind him. A lone engine coughed to life nearby, screeching as its owner changed gears.
“He’s over here,” Goober called, stumbling as his feet hit the lawn. He rounded the tall war memorial and stopped suddenly, bending to place his hands on his thighs as he heaved great breaths. Cass bumped into him as she lifted her eyes to follow the direction of Goober’s outstretched arm and gasped as Mitch thumped into her.
Parallel trenches slashed across the courthouse lawn, grass and mud churned up and spat out across the grisly scene. A long wooden cross bearing a human body rested against the war memorial’s cool stone, half hidden in its tall shadow. The cross leaned at an angle, the body’s head directed toward the ground, arms tilted so that one pointed at the sky while the other dug into the soft earth and provided stability. The man’s flesh looked as pale and cold as marble in the early light. A cloth was draped over his hips and narrow gashes marred his forearms. His face was turned away from them but a feeling of familiarity tugged at Cass’s memory. She took a step forward.
“No,” Mitch commanded. “You can’t help him now. Goober, go sit on the courthouse steps. Don’t move until someone comes for you. Don’t talk to anyone except a police officer, understand?”
Goober nodded, dragging his eyes from the grisly corpse and staggering toward the front of the courthouse.
“Cass, call Kado and find out where he keeps those tent things. I’ll call Grey and Sheriff Hoffner. We don’t have long before this place will be swarming with people. We’ve got to protect any evidence and,” his voice trembled, “we need to cover Officer Garrett up.”
CHAPTER 40
JOHN GREY STEPPED BACK from the cross, checking the thermometer. “He’s been dead four to five hours,” he sighed, snapping his gloves off in an angry gesture. Mitch’s call had pulled him from the shower and his normally bushy dark hair was flattened against his head, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face. He stood slightly hunched to avoid brushing the top of the forensic tent as his eyes ran the length of Garrett’s body. “Who could do something like that to another human being?”
The forensic examiner fidgeted beside him, snapping and unsnapping the front of his white coveralls. Kado had done a cursory examination of the tire tracks and was irritated at their apparent uselessness. “You done?”
“Yeah. How long until I can move him?”
“I don’t know. Jesus, what a mess.” He pulled the hood over his head and nodded at Cass, who was dressed in a similar protective suit. “Snap up. We’re gonna go slow.”
____________
CASS STOOD UNDER THE pounding shower, enduring its scalding power as she tried to scrub away the images of Chad Garrett’s tortured body. She’d helped Kado process the scene, painstaking work at first, covering the area around the corpse on their hands and knees, turning up nothing. He’d meticulously examined the cloth covering Garrett’s groin, which turned out to be a large swatch of gauze taped over the area. Moving to the cross, Kado had run a magnifying mirror on a pole underneath the timbers and along Garrett’s body, looking for additional wounds and obvious evidence before moving him to the ME’s office. A lone fly buzzed in the tent as they worked, dive bombing the dark, sticky smears on Garrett’s head, forearms and abdomen.
By the time they finished with the ground, cross and body, the sun was well up and the tent had grown stifling, thick with the heady scent of death. Watchers had gathered on the courthouse lawn and Wally Pugh’s excited murmuring into a tape recorder was the only sound audible. Word was out that an officer was dead – sadistically mutilated in what looked like a ritualistic killing. A stunned hush hung over the square until Garrett’s wailing widow arrived, leaving her still moving car in the street as she darted across the lawn. She howled, a primal cry of disbelief, clawing and scratching at the strong arms that wrapped around her waist until Grey sedated her, calling an ambulance and Dr. Ramasubramanian to let him know the circumstances around her arrival at the hospital.
The old coots normally resident on the courthouse portico had moved their vigil to the hanging tree. A pearly haze of pipe smoke snaked through its branches as their gnarled, wrinkled forms leaned into its trunk for support. Wise eyes gazed from beneath papery eyelids, wandering the crowd and searching memories from long ago, seeing other tragedies that threatened the tranquility of their little town.
Tempers grew as the sun climbed the gloriously clear blue sky and the temperature and humidity rose. The smell of fear filled the air as officers, reporters and ordinary citizens jostled for position near the hastily strung crime scene tape. On Mitch’s instruction, Elaine collected Goober from the courthouse steps where he’d waited, mute and lifeless. The receptionist coaxed him into the lobby, wrapping him in a rough blanket from the supply kept for inmates. Tears streaked her face as she held Goober to warm him up, shed for the loss of an officer’s life, but also for the confused, trembling man-child who had found the body.
Grey decided to remove Garrett from the cross before taking him to the ME’s office. To protect the tire tracks and the scene, Kado erected a second tent next to the war memorial, linking it to the first to keep the morbidly curious from seeing the body. T
hey used pliers to pull the heavy nails from his hands and feet, cringing at the sucking sounds the metal made as it was pulled from his still moist flesh. Grey backed the ME’s van to the flap of the second tent and Garrett’s bagged body was slipped quickly inside, the doors slammed shut in the respectful silence that lingered as he was driven away. Kado and Cass had done as much work as they could in the tent, but in the end, Kado decided to leave the bulky cross intact for the move into the forensic room. They tried to disguise it, but a gasp escaped from the crowd as they realized how Garrett had died.
Once the body was gone, a ripple of anger surged through the crowd. The watchers, police officers included, began grumbling for information. Munk left his job pouring casting mix into the tire tracks to prowl the police tape and demand order, the wet bag swinging from his tense fingers as he moved, spattering those immediately behind the tape. The quiet murmur grew insistent when Officer Hugo Petchard arrived and strutted through the crowd, demanding action from the ‘elite’ team of Forney County detectives. Sheriff Hoffner physically hauled him into the courthouse, bellowing at the crowd to disperse and let the police department do its job. As punishment, Petchard was sent to help with crossing duty at the elementary school, spittle from Hoffner’s tirade still wet on his cheeks.
Wally Pugh had cursed himself when news of violent happenings on the courthouse lawn finally reached his ears. He’d left The Golden Gate to get to the radio station early. If only he’d waited a few minutes, had an extra cup of coffee, he would’ve seen the body before it was covered up. As tension and the temperature around the war memorial grew, Wally had given up his ‘live’ commentary and, taking his cue from the newspaper reporters covering the scene, stowed the tape recorder in his backpack and used his trusty digital camera to catch the action. He was glad he’d taken the time to charge the batteries last night, and visions of a Pulitzer danced in his beady black eyes. He had several good shots – one of Hoffner pulling a flailing uniformed officer up the courthouse steps; another of the one-eyed ginger cat perched on a branch above the tall war memorial, gazing down on the traumatized widow with disinterest; and one of the cloth-draped cross.
Cass turned off the shower’s powerful stream and rested her forehead against the cool tiles, letting the water drip from her body. Her mind had been able to compartmentalize what she’d seen while she worked on Garrett with Kado. His skin’s alabaster hue let her pretend she was examining a figure carved from marble rather than a man who had drawn his last tortured breath only a few hours previously. The wounds in his hands and feet had torn, suggesting that Garrett struggled while he was nailed down. And the damage to his skull. Her imagination fluttered, picturing the agonized man straining to pull himself free – while what? While someone drove another spike into his head? Her mind jumped to the image of the mummified corpse from Monday. Did the hole in his head somehow link him to Garrett?
Drawing a deep breath, she roughly dried herself before reaching into her locker for a sports bra. Her fingers brushed the lace of a regular bra and she hesitated. She’d brought it to work just in case she got up the nerve to risk someone seeing the scar unfurling beneath her blouse. But now wasn’t the time to exorcise old demons. She stretched the sports bra over her head and gently shook her breasts into it before pulling on panties, a fresh pair of Dockers and a pale blue button-front shirt. She combed her wet hair and pulled its heavy weight into a ponytail. A pale, drawn face stared back at her from the mirror and she closed her mind to the horrible image of Garrett’s punctured hands and feet before striding out of the locker room and into the evidence room.
Kado stood from his hunched position over the cross as she entered, lifting the magnifying glass hooked around his head. Drawing a deep breath, he dug his fingers into the back of his neck before checking the clock on the wall, his bleary eyes taking a moment to focus. Three hours had passed since Goober had found Garrett’s body. “I need food,” he said. “Let’s go to the morgue.”
CHAPTER 41
THE OLD MAN FOLDED his phone closed and watched the bulldozer grumble forward, heavy blade lowered to the ground, scraping away a layer of soil for a new pond. Officer Greg Newton had called to let him know that Chad Garrett had been found on the courthouse lawn, nailed to a cross. The old man smiled. He’d asked for something dramatic and Hitch had delivered. As promised, he’d left payment and a generous bonus for last night’s services, and given this morning’s news, the old man considered every penny well spent.
His phone rang again and he lowered his glasses to check the screen before answering. “Good morning, Deacon,” he said in greeting. “How are you?”
“Have you heard?” Deacon Cronus whispered into the phone. “About Officer Garrett?”
“I’ve just received a call.”
“Good heavens, it’s horrible. I’ve been across the street to the courthouse – you couldn’t help but go,” he babbled. “What a commotion. I’ve never seen anything like it. Reporters kept coming. I don’t know how they hear about these things. And everyone who works on the square was out on the lawn. I think they were all shocked. Goodness me, I’m shocked.”
“What did you see?”
“I suppose not much, really,” he hedged. “They had two of those tents up, the kind you see on the news when there’s an accident. I didn’t see the body, but they took the –,” Deacon Cronus gulped into the phone, “– the cross away while I was there.”
“They took it out in the open?”
“No, no. They had it under a plastic cloth, but you could see what it was. What a horrible way to die.”
“I agree,” the old man answered slowly, further pleased with Hitch’s efforts. “I suppose we’ll need to start looking for another new recruit for The Way.”
Deacon Cronus was silent for a beat. “Of course. I hadn’t thought of that. You don’t think someone found out he was involved with us, do you? And killed him as a warning?”
“No, I don’t,” the old man reassured him. “Sounds like some nut who has a problem with religion.”
“It seems a risky thing to do then, to pick Officer Garrett. I mean, the whole police force will be focused on this investigation. Whoever did this will have a hard time escaping.”
“Possibly, Deacon,” the old man agreed, reaching for his pipe. “But I’d imagine that somebody sophisticated enough to kill a policeman in this manner will cover his tracks.”
“Yes, I suspect you’re right,” Deacon Cronus agreed. “I don’t see any reason to postpone tomorrow night’s ceremony, do you?”
“I certainly regret Officer Garrett’s death, but we shouldn’t let anything interfere with closing the Circle.”
CHAPTER 42
MINNIE PECK STOOD BEHIND the glass door to the ME’s office, thin arms crossed over her bony chest, chin jutting at a ferocious angle toward the crowd gathered outside. A photographer had already captured Minnie in all her blue-rinsed beehived glory and now waited for a more interesting shot. Stan Overheart muscled his way through the few dozen people straining for a glimpse of Garrett’s body, even though it was sheltered in an autopsy room far removed from their prying eyes.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, shouldering past a bear of a man with a TV camera on his shoulder. Stan hefted the bulging paper sacks bearing the Golden Gate Café’s logo to catch Minnie’s eye. She frowned as she unlocked the door, slipping an unlit cigarette between her heavily glossed lips as she bolted it again behind him.
“Buzzards,” she barked with a husky voice scraped raw from years of smoke.
“Who are they?”
“A few gawkers. Some reporters. Stanton and Shreveport have turned up.”
Stan lifted bags and asked a question with his eyes. Minnie glanced out the front door before pointing to Grey’s cluttered desk. “Let me move that crap for you. Better to be over there. They can’t see past my desk.”
“Cass and Mitch here?”
Minnie nodded, beehive tilting dangerously with the movement. “That new
forensics man, they call him Kado, is here, too. They’re in the back with Grey and Bernie.”
“How long you been with the ME’s office?” Stan asked as he unloaded jugs of coffee and stacked breakfast burritos in a pyramid on the desk.
“Too long,” she replied, dropping her birdlike frame into Grey’s chair. She gestured at the front door. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Even when that school bus caught on fire back in the ’seventies,” she shuddered. “That was truly awful, all those children. But even that didn’t attract the likes of this crowd. Arcadia rarely makes the television news.”
Stan had followed quickly behind Cass and Mitch as they ran from The Golden Gate. Not from curiosity, but in reaction to a deep dread that built in his chest as Goober spoke through his tears. Stan Overheart and his wife Sally had spent most of their lives running a music shop in the Haight-Ashbury section of San Francisco and were accustomed to graphic drug overdoses and the results of occasional street violence. But the sight that greeted Stan as he rounded the tall war memorial had taken his breath away. He’d covered his eyes and breathed a silent prayer for the man’s soul before quietly pivoting and trotting back to The Gate to refill the Pettigrew brothers’ coffee with a trembling hand.
“I guess this one’s pretty spectacular. It’s not every day that a police officer dies, and well…”
“And well is right. Even Grey was shook up by Garrett’s wounds.” She held up a hand tipped with nicotine stained fingers and arched a penciled eyebrow. “I don’t know what they all are, but he came out of the autopsy room for a breath of air. I’ve got a feeling about this one, Stan. A bad feeling.”
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 18
