The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1)

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  “Why?” Cass asked, stirring her coffee.

  “They told her it’s for their crew bosses. They seem to be working several crews at one time, especially when the cows are calving and again when it’s time to get the hay in and the calves to sale. Said those guys can’t seem to hold onto a phone, so they find the cheapest option out there. If a phone gets lost or broken, they haven’t lost much money.”

  “You think there’s some link with Garrett?”

  Truman shrugged. “Not necessarily. Their explanations make sense. And if it’s Peavey and Craven buying phones, both of them are ranchers, so that makes it less suspicious.”

  Mitch grunted. “Can we get any records from that phone shop, about which phones each of them bought and the calls made from them?”

  “Not without a warrant for the specific phone number.”

  “All right. Officer Newton, you ready to get back out on patrol?”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered, turning a smiling face toward Truman. “Thanks for letting me help. It was more interesting than riding around in a patrol car all day. And let me know if you decide to call that girl from the phone shop.”

  Truman blushed and waved Newton from the room.

  Mitch watched him leave and glanced around the squad room, making sure they were alone. “Munk, Truman, I’ve got something else I need you to work on. If this card Cass saw turns out to be an invitation, and if she gets a look at it, how do we follow Salter to this Celebration, whenever it is?”

  “Sir?” Truman asked.

  “We can’t use patrol cars. He knows everybody on the force, and most likely knows our cars. As bank president, he probably financed most of them,” Mitch said. “How do we follow him without being noticed?”

  “He lives near downtown, doesn’t he?” Munk asked, shuffling papers together and closing his folder.

  “In one of those big houses in Live Oak Park.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard, as long as he goes from home to work, or around town. Could be more difficult if he heads out of town.”

  “Jeez,” sighed Truman, settling behind his computer. “It’s not like we can stake him out down there, is it? Those rich folks will notice somebody hanging around.”

  “And we can’t use just anybody from the force,” Kado said. “If Chad Garrett was involved, it’s possible that another officer could be.”

  “Let me work on it,” Munk said. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “If we find an invitation at the Salter house, we should follow Peavey, as well,” Cass said quietly.

  “Are you really worried about him?” Mitch asked.

  She hesitated and glanced at Truman, who shrugged. “No. But his father’s name was in The Church of the True Believer. The easiest way to be sure he isn’t involved is to follow him on the night of the Celebration.”

  “All right. This could get complicated from a logistics perspective. I’ll talk to the Sheriff about bringing in backup from Watuga County. That’ll give us fresh faces and support if things get nasty during this Celebration.”

  “You think it might?” Truman asked.

  “It could go either way. This Church may just meet out in the woods to grill steaks and shoot their mouths off. But it could be more sinister than that. If they’re into something bad…” Mitch nodded. “It could get bad.”

  Truman drew a deep breath. “You’re right.”

  “I’ll bet The Sanctuary is somewhere down in the bottoms,” Cass said.

  “Why?”

  “It has to be near the river. Angie told us about sandy mud, and so did Mrs. Shepherd. Then there are the pictures – the interior of that place looks pretty rough, and we think there’s a rack of deer antlers in one of the shots. If it is a deer camp, it makes sense that it’d be down that way.” Cass stood and moved to a map of Forney County on the wall, jabbing pins at specific locations. “We found Humberto Gonzalez’s skeleton here last week, close to where the hot house burned,” she said, pushing two red pins near Possum Creek. Drawing her finger along the map, she marked two more places. “Oscar Muckleroy found the buried man out near Logan’s Quarters and Garrett was killed here, by Deuce’s Flat.”

  “What about the courthouse?” Truman asked. “Where Garrett’s body was found?”

  Cass shook her head. “That was more for effect, to shock us. I don’t think it has much connection to why someone has killed these three men and drained their blood.”

  “I agree,” said Kado, standing and jabbing a yellow pin at the map. “That’s where the Grove boys found Gonzalez’s foot, in the fire pit.”

  Mitch leaned his chair back on two legs, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “If you draw lines connecting those four sites, there is an area,” he said, pointing at the map, “near Deuce’s Flat that might be a good choice.”

  “There are a few deer camps down there,” Truman volunteered. “Don’t know who owns them, but we could take a ride out there today to see what’s going on.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cass said.

  “Why?” Mitch asked.

  She leaned into the wall next to the map, eyeing it from the side. “If we’re going to figure out what this is all about, and who’s involved, we need to catch them out there, together. If we start checking out deer camps today, we may scare them off.”

  A clatter from outside drew her attention, and the metal blinds rattled as Cass flipped them up to look out over the back parking lot. Reporters were hoisting equipment to their shoulders and rushing around the corner, toward the front of the courthouse. Fighting a surge of fear, she strode across the squad room to manually flip on the TV and find a station from Stanton. The courthouse came into view, its sandstone façade a brilliant white in the noontime sun. The Stanton news camera was situated directly in front of the steps, angling slightly up at the courthouse doors. A sweating reporter was jostled but continued to speak solemnly into a large red microphone as other news crews fought for position next to him.

  “What is it?” Mitch demanded, stretching in his chair to peer around her at the screen as the others crowded in for a better view.

  “He’s about to give a statement,” she said, paling, “and the banner along the bottom says that there’s new evidence in Garrett’s death.” Cass moved back and they saw Sheriff Hoffner framed in the cool shadows of the courthouse portico, microphones stretched toward him. Mayor David Wayne Rusted stood behind and slightly beside the sheriff, his large frame halved by the television camera.

  Elaine pushed through the squad room doors, her pretty heart-shaped face flushed from her dash through the courthouse. “Thank goodness you’re watching,” she said, slumping into a chair.

  “What’s he doing?” Kado asked, eyes curious as they focused on the screen.

  Elaine shook her head, curls swinging. “He came strutting through the lobby like a rooster, crowing about new evidence.”

  “He’s not gonna talk about that invitation, is he?” Munk gasped.

  Mitch’s chair screeched as he shoved back from his desk, standing as Hoffner began to speak. Truman found the remote and inched the volume up.

  “– a brief statement,” Hoffner began, “about the investigation into Officer Chad Garrett’s death.” In contrast to the exhaustion he must feel, he stood upright, his posture erect and chin lifted. His flat gaze rested on the forensic tents still covering the war memorial before flicking across the crowd of reporters squinting up at him. “We’ve come across a new piece of evidence this morning, indicating that Officer Garrett was the target of what we believe to be a religious cult based in the area.” A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and he raised one hand to quiet them. “We’re following up this lead now, and hope to have members of this cult rounded up and in custody within the next few days.”

  Across the county, the old man settled into his recliner and squinted at the television, wondering what Bill Hoffner was up to. His wife bustled between his chair and the screen, fussing that he’d worn his work
boots into the house, and he twisted to get a clear view of the press conference, shooing her out of his way.

  Arms waved wildly as Hoffner pointed to the back of the crowd. “Jim Long, Sheriff, Alma News. Can you describe this evidence?”

  “We’ve had officers out canvassing members of the public, asking if they saw Officer Garrett on Monday, helping us trace his movements,” he answered, shifting his weight to one leg. “Through those efforts, we have an eyewitness who observed Officer Garrett behaving in an unusual manner on Monday afternoon. We’ll continue canvassing throughout the day, and would ask anyone to come forward if they have information they believe is relevant to the investigation.”

  “What behavior was observed?”

  “I can’t go into details at this time,” Hoffner answered, avoiding the pretty reporter from Dallas as he took another question.

  “Scott Evans, Shreveport Daily. How does this sighting lead you to conclude that a cult is operating in the area? What was Garrett doing?”

  “All I can say at this time is that Officer Garrett was behaving in a manner inconsistent with his duties.”

  “That’s vague, Sheriff. I mean, what was he doing? Was it illegal?”

  “No, not illegal, just unusual for Chad Garrett.”

  “Was he a member of the cult you referred to?”

  “We have no reason to believe that Officer Garrett belonged to the cult. To the contrary. He was an upstanding officer and a fine member of the community.”

  “But you said he was targeted by this cult. Was he killed in retribution for something? Was this a message?”

  “No, no,” Hoffner huffed. “We have no evidence to tell us that Officer Garrett’s murder was in retribution for anything, or that there was any message intended.”

  “But if you believe he was targeted, you must know why he was killed, correct?”

  “We have ideas on motive, yes, but it’s too soon to share that information with you,” he said, a childish feeling of superiority winging through his system.

  “Do your ideas stem from the fact that Officer Garrett was crucified?” the woman reporter from Dallas shouted, golden hair glistening in the sun.

  Hoffner recoiled from her question. They would’ve made all the connections they needed from yesterday to confirm Garrett’s manner of death, and in spite of the casual way in which she asked the question, it was still shocking to hear the word spoken in public. It somehow demeaned the agony Chad Garrett must have suffered. “The manner of his death and the nature of his wounds helped us make the connection, yes.”

  “Oh no,” Kado breathed in the squad room. “Does he know what he’s doing?”

  On the courthouse lawn, the reporter from Dallas continued shouting questions. “His death was ritualistic?”

  Hoffner sighed patiently. “Ma’am, I can’t comment on those details.”

  She nodded briskly, glancing at her notes. “If Officer Garrett’s behavior on Monday afternoon was unusual, and you’re sure he wasn’t a member of this cult you’ve found in Forney County, then what’s the link between Garrett and the cult?”

  Hands clutched over his head, Mitch mouthed a quiet stream of obscenities as he paced the squad room, eyes fixed on the television.

  Mayor Rusted frowned from his position behind Sheriff Hoffner’s shoulder, genuinely confused. Sweat broke out on Hoffner’s forehead and he resisted the urge to wipe it away. “Miss Jefferson, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sheriff, MaryAnn Jefferson, Channel Seven News, Dallas. I’m sure the public is anxious to help you find Officer Garrett’s killer. But to help them help you, could you clarify please, what this evidence is that tells you there’s a,” she checked her notes again, “religious cult based here in Forney County?”

  Sheriff Hoffner blinked rapidly, his bowels contracting as he realized he’d painted himself into a corner. A very uncomfortable corner. And in a moment of panic driven by self-preservation, words flew from his mouth. “We have a text…,” he began, his voice drowned out by shouted questions. Mayor Rusted shifted his bulk slightly, eyes darting between Hoffner and the histrionic press contingent.

  In the squad room, Kado’s mouth fell open and Cass lowered her head into her hands. Across the county, the old man hooted with laughter, causing his wife to poke her head into the living room.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Just Bill Hoffner making an ass of himself,” he cackled, reaching for his pipe. She frowned and he sighed in defeat, tucking the pipe into his pocket. Satisfied, she pulled her head back into the kitchen.

  In front of the courthouse, Sheriff Hoffner held up both hands, demanding quiet. “We have a text that describes the rituals this group performs. My detectives are still working on determining what this text means and how it’s used. The public should be alert for activity or behavior that is out of the ordinary.”

  “If you believe this cult ‘targeted’ Officer Garrett, is there a risk of harm to others?”

  “No, no,” Hoffner said, regaining his sense of control. “Nothing tells us that there’s a risk to anyone else at this time.”

  “Is it possible that the Ku Klux Klan is still active in your county?”

  The horde of reporters had gone silent on the courthouse lawn, heads swiveling to follow the stinging questions and evasive answers. They were usually aggressive in the way of starving dogs, but were on this occasion content to watch the drama unfolding between Jefferson and Hoffner. It made for good footage, even if they weren’t the ones hurling the questions.

  Sheriff Hoffner smiled, confident with his answer. “No, ma’am, the Klan hasn’t been active around here for a long time.”

  “If it’s not the Klan, are there Satanists in Forney County?” Jefferson asked, blonde head cocked to one side.

  Hoffner narrowed his eyes, trying to appear intent and intelligent, rather than exhausted and irritated. He chuckled grimly into the microphones, falling back on his most comfortable defense when challenged – intellectual intimidation. “The First Amendment to our great Constitution guarantees religious freedom, Miss Jefferson, as I’m sure you remember. Therefore, I can’t say absolutely that there are no Satanists in Forney County. But for the record, I do believe the majority of our residents are God-fearing Christians,” he answered, pleased that he’d thought to toss that last sentence in. Should win him a few votes come the election next year.

  “Thank you for that primer on the Bill of Rights, Sheriff. As I asked yesterday, how much comfort should the good people of Forney County take in your knowledge, given that a commercial marijuana grower was operating in your county; one of your officers has been targeted by a cult; an elderly woman is still missing; there are two other vicious murders which are currently unsolved; and you refuse to arrest a woman who has repeatedly confessed to killing her husband?”

  A drop of sweat beaded on Hoffner’s temple and ran along his cheek. How did she find out about the hot house that burned? He leaned forward into the clutch of microphones and spoke slowly. “And as I answered yesterday, investigations are ongoing. Additional information will be released in due course. In the meantime,” he glared at MaryAnn Jefferson across the lawn, his nostrils flared, bushy brows contracted over his closely set eyes, “I’d appreciate support from the press as we work on Officer Garrett’s case. That’s all for now.”

  For the second time in two days, Hoffner found himself spinning on his heel and leaving the press conference in a hurry. Mayor Rusted nodded gently at the shouting reporters before turning to follow Sheriff Hoffner into the courthouse’s cool lobby.

  CHAPTER 70

  THE SQUAD ROOM WAS unnaturally still as the camera panned away from the now empty courthouse steps back to Stanton’s reporter. Truman broke the shocked silence as he thumbed the remote, turning the television off. “Why did he do that?”

  “What an idiot,” Elaine muttered, jumping up and rushing toward the lobby.

  Mitch collapsed into a chair. His voice was grim and his face flush
ed. “We’ve got to move fast. Cass, I want you and Truman to go see that banker, Mr. Salter.”

  “Now?” Cass asked, frowning in confusion.

  “If he’s got anything related to The Church of the True Believer, he’ll try and dispose of it after that press conference. If he didn’t see what just happened,” Mitch nodded at the dark television set and stretched his long legs out in front of him, “someone else in that little group will have, and they’ll contact him. Find that card.”

  Cass motioned to Truman and they headed for the door.

  “Munk,” Mitch continued, “figure out how we keep an eye on Jed Salter. We need to be ready to follow him when he leaves for this Celebration, especially if it’s tonight. Put somebody on it while Cass and Truman are with him. But,” he added as Munk stood, “do it quietly and on a slim crew. I’ll check on availability of backup from another county.”

  “How slim a crew?”

  “Two officers, three? Who can we trust?”

  Kado stood as Munk pushed open the squad room door. “Kado,” Munk called over his shoulder. “Nice work on the pee and snot.”

  “Thanks,” Kado answered, stifling a smile. He glanced at Mitch. “From a forensics perspective, can I do anything to help?”

  “Yup,” Mitch answered, eyes bright with anger. “If Cass can’t find that invitation, we’re back to square one. Our next shot is DNA. Get the reports from the site where Garrett was killed.”

  “No problem. You want to come see what I get?”

  Mitch’s lips flattened. “I’m gonna talk to Hoffner.”

  CHAPTER 71

  THE OLD MAN PUSHED himself up from his recliner, pulling the phone from his pocket as he shuffled across the living room, heeding his wife’s instructions about not leaving dirt on the carpet. She called that lunch would be ready in fifteen minutes, and he grunted an acknowledgement as he stepped into an afternoon blazing with sun. He lowered his glasses from their perch on his forehead and jabbed a speed dial button.