“Better take that to him with the rest of his stuff. I’m sorry honey, what did you say?” Rose asked as she continued opening the mail.
“Just that I need to see Mr. Salter in person,” Cass replied, glancing around the secretary’s alcove to find a way to distract her. “Does he have any appointments this afternoon?”
“No, his calendar is clear –.” She stopped abruptly, shaking her head and rolling back from her desk. “Let me go check his office. He’s terrible about writing appointments down in there. I keep telling him that I have to know what he’s got scheduled so I don’t double book him. Hang on, Cass,” she sighed, digging in a desk drawer and extracting a set of keys, “I’ll be right back.”
Rose stood and tugged at her short skirt before teetering to the dark office on four-inch high wedges. Cass’s booted feet twinged in protest. As the door swung open and the fluorescent light stuttered to life, Cass stepped to the side of the desk and peered over its edge. Rose’s purse gaped near a chair leg and the envelope lay slotted between a bulging wallet and a partially open compact. She plucked two tissues from the box on Rose’s desk and swooped down to reach for the heavy envelope, jerking upright and in front of the desk as the other woman called out from the President’s office. Cass balled up the tissues and jammed them into her pockets to hide her trembling fingers.
“Nothing on his blotter. I’m not even sure he’ll be in today,” she said, tottering to her desk. She settled into her chair and picked up the letter opener, cocking her head at Cass. “You okay?”
A cold sweat beaded Cass’s forehead as an image of Ernie Munk holding a similar card flashed across her brain. He had been crouched in Lenny Scarborough’s study, beside the tall, orderly row of books. She was desperate to see the letter in Rose’s handbag – and equally desperate to get back to the evidence room and check out the card Munk had found. Rose’s expression changed from curiosity to worry.
“Cass, honey?”
“I’m fine,” she said, running a hand over her hair. “It’s just been a long few days.”
“Can I get you anything? Some water?”
“No, that’s all right. I’m keeping you from Mr. Salter’s mail. Did you say you take stuff to his house?”
“If he’s working from home. That man,” she shook her head, glancing at a stack of neatly labeled folders balanced precariously on a nearby chair, “he’s always busy. I take files and reports, correspondence. Why, can I tell him something for you?”
Glancing into the corner office, she spotted a photograph of a silver-haired man dressed in running clothes. He had the slender, lightly muscled body of a runner and his arms were raised in victory as he broke the tape to win a marathon. A family portrait was nailed to the wall above – a tight-lipped wife, adolescent son and a slender teenage girl. Cass cleared her throat. “Is that Mr. Salter’s family?”
Rose swiveled to follow her glance. “His wife and kids. He had an older son,” she added, lowering her voice as she spun back around. “Died a few years ago. He was only nineteen, but such a mature boy.”
“What happened?”
“Dropped dead while he was out camping. They said it was a weak heart.” She opened another envelope and glanced up at Cass. “The death of a child could destroy a man. And his family. Mr. Salter though, he said his faith gave him strength. Even drew his family closer together. You see them now and they can hardly take their eyes off of Mr. Salter.” Rose checked her nail polish before opening another envelope. “He’s even closer to his second son. That boy worships the ground his father walks on. A real charmer, that kid. His daughter’s quiet, very shy. They turn that way when they’re teenagers, don’t they?”
“I suppose so,” answered Cass, thinking that they become shy when they’ve been abused. “I’ll just check in with you later, to see if Mr. Salter has come in, if that would be all right.”
“That’d be fine. You have a good day now. I know you’re busy, but try to get some rest. You look washed out, honey.”
CHAPTER 65
OFFICER HUGO PETCHARD PEEKED into the squad room to see who was around. He resisted scratching the last bandage on his thigh, grateful that the slight burns had healed so quickly. Officer Truman was typing at a computer and Mitch Stone sat sprawled behind his desk, phone cradled between shoulder and ear. That smart-ass Detective Martinez stood at the coffee machine, filling his mug while he chatted with the new forensics guy, Tom Kado. Squinting through the small window in the door, he couldn’t see the whole room, but this wasn’t a bad audience.
He started as Cass pushed past him into the squad room, trailing a plastic evidence bag. She frowned at him before swiveling to smile at Kado. “Elaine let me into the cage for this. It’s from Lenny Scarborough’s.”
Petchard sauntered in behind her, making a point of checking her curves as she wove between desks. She wore snug fitting trousers and a wine colored button down blouse that should have hidden her figure but instead emphasized her femininity. “I’ll take this view any day,” he leered, snapping to a halt when he spotted Sheriff Hoffner leaning against the coffee counter with Kado and Martinez. Color drained from Hoffner’s face and Petchard flushed under his piercing stare.
“What was that?” Hoffner growled.
“Uh, nothing sir,” Petchard squeaked, holding up his notebook. “I’ve got some info –”
“I asked you a question, Officer. What view will you take any day? You weren’t commenting on Detective Elliot’s figure, were you?” Hoffner asked, advancing toward Petchard with a measured stride.
Petchard took an involuntary step backward, sweat prickling his underarms. “I uh,” he began, looking around the room for help. Mitch was still on the phone but had glanced up at the commotion, while Truman, Kado and Martinez were trying to suppress their pleasure at his discomfort. Cass put her notebook down and faced him, bracing a hip against her desk. His audience had turned against him, and Petchard decided that honesty might be the best policy. “Yes, sir, I was. But she was taunting me, the way she was walking, she wanted me to notice.”
Hoffner’s eyes narrowed as he drew nose to nose with Petchard. “Looked like she was just walking across the room to me. You unable to control yourself when a woman is around?”
“No, sir,” Petchard answered, sucking in a waft of the sheriff’s coffee stained breath and wondering why the man was so worked up. “I apologize sir, what I said was inappropriate.”
“What you said was sexual harassment, Officer Petchard,” Hoffner replied, leaning into a nearby desk and crossing his hairy arms over his chest.
“No – no it wasn’t, sir,” Petchard stammered, unsure of the consequences for sexual harassment. “I was just teasing Cass. We’ve got that kind of relationship. It was just banter.”
Hoffner glanced across the room at Cass. “I didn’t realize you had a relationship with Detective Elliot at all.”
Petchard blushed again. “Not that kind of relationship, sir. Just, you know, jokey.”
“I don’t find what you said jokey at all, Officer Petchard,” Hoffner retorted, drawing himself up to his full height. “It’s insulting. Now, since this is the first I’ve seen of this behavior, we’ll consider it a first offence, and this is a verbal warning. I don’t expect to hear a peep out of you with regards to sexual or racial abuse. And just to make sure the point finds its way home, you can pick up an extra shift tonight.”
Petchard paled. “I can’t, sir.”
“You can’t, Officer Petchard?” Hoffner bellowed. “You can’t follow an order?”
“I – I’ve got plans tonight, sir. Plans that I can’t change.”
“What plans?”
“Just personal plans, sir,” Petchard replied, sweat beading his upper lip. He fought the urge to wipe it away. “I’ll take the extra shift tomorrow night. I’ll do two nights of extra shifts, but I can’t work tonight.”
Hoffner let him squirm before reaching down to align a telephone sitting on an empty desk. “Two nights
. Get it on the duty log. And adjust your behavior. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, fighting the urge to salute as the sheriff nodded at Kado and Martinez before striding from the room. Truman locked the screen on his computer and hoisted a stack of files. He smiled as he passed Petchard and shouldered his way through the squad room door. Petchard relaxed into the nearest chair, dragging his arm over his upper lip. Kado and Martinez resumed their discussion, but not before Petchard noticed Martinez smirk in his direction.
Mitch straightened his head from its cocked position and cleared his throat. “You say you have some information?”
Petchard glanced down at his hands, amazed to see his notebook still clutched in one of them. “Yeah. I need some coffee first,” he said, pushing up from the chair and moving quietly to the coffee pot.
Kado opened the cupboard door and Martinez smiled as Petchard reached for a mug. “What?” he demanded.
“I’m just pleased to see you this morning, that’s all,” Martinez replied.
“Whatever,” Petchard mumbled, suppressing the urge to comment on the likelihood that Martinez had unnatural relations with goats. Cabrón indeed. He added a healthy dose of sugar to his coffee and wove back through the desks. Mitch nudged a chair out and he sat, grimacing gratefully. He reached to open his notebook and Mitch stopped him.
“You got something to say to Cass?”
He jerked his head up. “Huh?”
“You gonna apologize?”
“What for?”
“What you said earlier, you idiot.”
“Jeez,” he breathed, huffing back in his chair. “Fine. If that’s what it takes for somebody to listen to what I’ve got about Garrett, then yes. Cass, I apologize for what I said.”
“Thanks, that’s real nice of you,” she replied. “What’d you find out?”
He flipped his notebook open and scanned one page. “One of the farmers at The Coffee Shop said he saw Garrett parked on the highway Monday morning. He was sitting in his patrol car talking on a cell phone, and the farmer said he looked pretty shook up.”
“How did he come to see Garrett out there?” Mitch asked.
“He was taking a cow to the vet. He’s not comfortable with his trailer hitch, so he was in the slow lane, driving below the speed limit. He checked to see who was in the patrol car as he drove past, and watched in his rearview mirror. Said he was just curious.”
“Did he know Garrett?”
“Nope,” Petchard replied, gently touching his thigh. “Saw his picture on the news last night. Didn’t think anything about seeing him parked on the side of the road until I started asking questions this morning.”
Mitch studied Petchard. “It’s no big deal for an officer out on patrol to use his cell. Why does this matter?”
“I’ve ridden with Garrett a few times, and I’ve never known him to make personal calls while he was on duty. And I figured that if he was talking to somebody and was upset, it would probably be his wife. I called Charlene to find out if she talked to Garrett on Monday and to see if we could have his phone.”
“What did she say?” Mitch asked, frowning.
“That’s the funny part,” Petchard said, proud of his initiative. “She said Garrett didn’t have a cell phone.”
“What do you mean?” Cass asked, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leaning forward in her chair. Petchard fought not to look down the front of her blouse, gaping gently at her neck.
“Charlene said he wouldn’t have one, claimed he was worried about cancer. So maybe he borrowed it.”
“From who?” Mitch asked.
“Dunno.” Petchard slapped his notebook closed and stood, hitching up his trousers. “That’s what you get paid the big bucks for, ain’t it?”
____________
CASS WATCHED PETCHARD STROLL from the room. “Why wouldn’t Garrett want his wife to know he had a cell phone?”
“If I was cheating on Darla, I’d have a phone she didn’t know about so I could talk to my women without getting busted.”
“More than one woman?”
“Might as well dream big.”
“What if Garrett took copies of the Lenny Scarborough inventory from Elaine’s desk on Sunday night?” She stretched her booted feet under the desk. “Maybe he wasn’t using the phone to talk to a girlfriend. Maybe he was using it to talk to whoever wanted the Scarborough inventory.”
He frowned. “Somebody from The Church?”
“Who else would care what we found at Lenny’s house?”
“I guess we need that phone.”
“We can search for phones in his name. Want me to start an affidavit?”
“Truman can do it and take it to Sammy and then to Judge Shackleford.”
Cass snapped her fingers. “Hey, Petchard’s scar. Does he have one?”
“A very old one. Some childhood injury. What did you find out from Salter?” Mitch asked, reaching for his desk phone.
Cass drew a deep breath and released a long sigh as Mitch called Elaine, asking for Truman. He turned back to her, sipping as she looked over her notes. “He wasn’t there,” she began. “But Rose was opening his mail. There was a letter addressed to Mr. Salter, with no stamp or return address.”
“What was it?”
“Remember that card Munk found out at the Scarborough’s house?” Cass lifted a plastic evidence bag from her desk and handed it to Mitch. “Lenny’s invitation. The paper and the engraving are the same on Salter’s card.”
“Are you sure it’s the same thing? It could be an invitation to a charity ball or something.”
“All I saw on Salter’s card was ‘The Sanctuary’.”
“Lenny’s has a specific date on it. Did Salter’s?”
“I tried to distract Rose, but she didn’t give me enough time.” Her face flushed with excitement. “Rose is taking a load of files out to his house today. She slipped the letter into her handbag for him.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That we need that card, today.”
Mitch’s lips puckered. “Why today?”
“I think it’s too convenient that Lenny Scarborough dies on Sunday and on Wednesday morning an invitation – if that’s what it is – turns up for someone whose grandfather was a member of The Church.”
“We don’t have enough for a warrant.”
“We don’t need one. Not yet,” she answered, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “I think we can catch all of them, Mitch. They need to replace Lenny, and this ritual, this Celebration of Illumination, is how they do it.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That I go see Jed Salter and get a look at that card, without tipping him off that we know he’s part of The Church.”
“How are you gonna do that? Walk in and ask him for it?”
“I have no idea. We might have to get a warrant. But this is the best lead, the only lead, into Lenny Scarborough’s child abuse and Chad Garrett’s death that we’ve got right now.”
CHAPTER 66
“I CANNOT BELIEVE JED Salter would abuse a child,” stated Sheriff Hoffner, rubbing his fists into his eyes. He was pale and drawn this morning, his starched shirt creased as if he’d slept in it. Kado and Munk were slouched against the coffee counter in the conference room, and Truman straddled a chair in the corner. “We’ve got nothing but a card that looks like the one from Lenny Scarborough’s,” he arched a bushy brow at Cass and she fought the surge of anger at his mocking tone, “and the words ‘The Sanctuary’. We don’t even know what this sanctuary is. It could be a church.”
“Truman looked through the phone book,” Mitch answered wearily, sitting in a chair at the conference room table, “just in case there’s a ranch or a business called The Sanctuary, but nothing has that name around here.”
“Can’t we follow him?” Cass asked, cheeks coloring as all heads swiveled toward her.
“You want to set a tail on the president of Arcadia’s biggest bank
?” Hoffner barked.
“If he’s part of this group, I do. There’s a chance that someone from The Church was involved in Garrett’s death, to collect his blood for this Celebration of Illumination.” She glanced at Mitch before continuing to speak in a low voice. “It seems silly to me that they put the invitation in writing. Why not just call each other? It’s a game to them. They think nobody knows about The Church, nobody’s smart enough to figure it out, and they’re comfortable taking the risk that somebody will see one of those invitations and make the connection.”
Sheriff Hoffner shook his head, blue eyes flat. “Do you realize what a nightmare this will be if you’re wrong about Jed Salter’s involvement? Rather than sneaking around trying to find this invitation in his house, I think we should go speak to the man like the upstanding member of this community he is. That was good enough for Peavey, why isn’t it good enough for Salter?”
“Peavey didn’t have an invitation sitting on his desk. The card was addressed to Jed Salter. There’s no reason he would’ve received it, unless he’s a member of The Church. We have to try and get a look at that card at his house.” She shrugged. “If there’s nothing to it, we walk away and Salter’s none the wiser. If we can’t find it, we have to decide whether to ask for a warrant. But if this Celebration of Illumination really is a blood ritual, and there’s a date on the invitation, we could catch all the men involved.”
“And do what with them?” Hoffner demanded, frustration blooming in blotches on his cheeks. “Let’s say there is a group of men out there tromping around the woods, wearing robes and chanting at one another. And let’s say people as important as Jed Salter are involved. So we catch them at it, dancing around a fire, what do we charge them with? Acting funny?”
“Maybe murder,” Munk answered quietly, sliding into a chair. “Maybe child abuse or rape.”
Hoffner scowled and shifted his glance to Kado. “You got enough evidence to pin either crime on anybody?”
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 28
