“You said Lenny Scarborough’s name was in it?”
“Yes.”
“Any others?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“But there were more names,” Salter stated, nudging the folders into a pile and scooting them toward the desk’s edge, piling the mail on top.
Cass realized that he probably knew the answer anyway. “There were. You don’t remember anything about your grandfather’s involvement in this group?”
Salter pursed his lips, absently nodding his wife into the room when she entered with a coffee tray. She placed it in front of him and busied herself with cups and saucers. “No, but he died in 1947, the year I was born. I never knew him.” He waited as she served them and left, pulling the door closed with a soft click. “This book that you say my grandfather’s name was in, is that the text Sheriff Hoffner referred to on television just now? The one that links some cult to Officer Garrett’s death?”
Cass blushed. “I – I’m not sure.”
He appraised her from beneath half closed eyelids, blowing across his steaming coffee cup. “You’re working on Garrett’s murder?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you don’t know what evidence Sheriff Hoffner was referring to in his briefing just now?”
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on the investigation,” she replied, silently cursing Hoffner.
“You said the book from Lenny Scarborough’s is religious in nature. Makes sense that it would be the text Hoffner talked about.” He settled in his chair, china cup cradled between his elegant hands. With effort, Cass kept her gaze away from the pile of folders and mail, mind gnawing busily at the dilemma of how to get to that card. “From what I understand, Officer Garrett died horribly. I knew Lenny through the insurance business he invested in, and he simply wouldn’t have been involved in any group that promoted violence. And although I didn’t know my grandfather, I can’t imagine that a Salter would be involved in anything unethical.”
Cass realized that he had given her an opening. “I understand, and,” she said, lowering her chin, “a thorough investigation will let us evaluate all the evidence before we draw any conclusions.”
“You disagree with Sheriff Hoffner’s statement about a cult and that it’s somehow linked to this text?” Salter asked, leaning forward.
“I just hear what you’re saying about Lenny Scarborough. How the idea of violence doesn’t fit with the man. And we know how active your family has been in the community,” Cass began slowly. She cut a glance at Truman, who was still examining book spines, and lowered her voice. “It’s hard to imagine someone from your family, now or in the past, being involved in anything… untoward. We did wonder if this Church might be like the Masonic Lodge or the Lion’s club.”
Salter frowned.
“Friendship, fellowship, helping people. Except that the people in The Church want to remain anonymous.” She paused. “Sometimes the department finds it necessary to provide incomplete information to the public, to help the investigation, if you know what I mean.”
“I suppose I do,” he agreed as Truman returned to his chair, reaching over the stack of folders and mail to place his empty coffee cup on the tray. Cass despaired at his coordination. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No, sir,” Truman replied, closing his notebook and slipping it into the shirt pocket on his uniform. The door behind Salter’s desk whooshed open, and a teenage boy in shorts and a t-shirt tumbled into the office, a broad grin splitting his handsome face.
“Hey Dad,” he called, stooping to hug his father and stopping short when he realized there were visitors in the room. A blush colored his cheeks as his gaze fell on Cass and took in Truman’s uniform. “Oops. Didn’t realize there was anybody here.”
Mr. Salter smiled, indulgence sweeping his lean features. “Brian,” he said, motioning to the boy. “This is Detective Elliot and Officer Truman, from Sheriff Hoffner’s police force. This is my son, Brian.”
Cass stood and reached over Salter’s desk, placing her cup on the coffee tray and stretching a hand out. She shook Brian’s hand, pulled her arm back and lost her balance, bumping the stack of files and mail onto the floor. Mr. Salter jumped from his chair as papers fluttered through the air, and Cass scooted the cream colored card out of the pile of envelopes and toward Truman with the toe of her boot. He stared, wide-eyed at the small rectangle, and Cass nudged him when she squatted to help Salter gather his files.
“I’m so sorry,” she gushed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Salter replied, gathering the papers together and plopping them onto his desk.
Cass smiled at Brian as he bent to help his father, and the young man blushed. His build was slight, his chin dotted with adolescent acne. He tried desperately not to let Cass see him staring at the neck of her gaping blouse. “I’m normally not so clumsy,” she said, flashing her violet eyes in his direction.
“It’s all right,” he said, voice breaking. “Come to arrest my dad?”
“No, I don’t think he’s going to jail any time soon,” Cass replied, recognizing him as the boy who was with Mayor Rusted’s son on Sunday, eager to talk to the Grove twins about their adventures in the fire pit. “We just needed to speak with your dad for a few more minutes.”
“Cool,” he replied, eyeing the gun riding on Cass’s hip as he took the stack of mail and folders Truman had collected. “Sorry I barged in. Let me know when you’re done Dad, okay?”
“What did you need?” Mr. Salter asked, sorting the papers and mail into piles again.
“I can’t find the bag for tonight,” Brian answered.
Salter’s features remained in the exact position they’d occupied immediately before Brian spoke, yet Cass sensed a shift in his awareness. “It’s been taken care of,” he answered, careful to keep his voice light and his eyes fixed on his paperwork. “Just pack whatever clothes you’ll need for one night.”
“You’re going out tonight?” Cass asked, cool adrenaline sliding through her veins.
“Yeah,” Brian answered, blushing. “We’re going camping. It’s my first trip.”
“Just the two of you? Not your sister?”
“No, this is guy stuff.”
“Well, it’s a good time of year for it. Not too hot yet. Hope you’ll make it to school tomorrow,” she chided.
“It should be okay,” he replied, reaching for the door, “we’ll be back early tomorrow morning.”
“Where do you go?”
“Huh?”
“Camping. Where do you go?”
“Some friends from church have a cabin that we borrow,” Mr. Salter replied, glancing at his son. “Get your clothes ready. I’ll come help you in a minute.”
“Okay,” Brian answered. “Thanks.”
“Nice young man,” Cass smiled as he pulled the door closed. She glanced quickly at Truman. His face was expressionless.
“He is very special. Does well at school, is outgoing,” Salter sighed. “My second son. He was a late baby. Unplanned.” He smiled sadly. “We thought of calling him Isaac, for the son born late to Sarah and Abraham. You know the story, from Genesis?”
“Yes, sir, I do. Abraham had an older son, by Sarah’s maid, didn’t he?”
“Ishmael,” he answered, eyes flicking toward an older photo of his family, with two sons present. “We lost our first son, Nathaniel, several years ago. It’s a tragedy when a child precedes his parents, at any age. But,” he added, “I’m lucky to have Brian and my daughter.”
“Yes, sir, you are.” Cass rose from her chair. “We’ll be going now.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” Salter said, lifting a heavy legal style briefcase to his desk before standing to slide the folders inside and close the flaps. Cass caught her breath and fought to contain the desire to snatch the case from the desk and dig inside, and sensed Truman tensing beside her. Salter was oblivious to their reaction. “You’ll contact me if there’s anything I ca
n do?”
Cass tore her eyes from the briefcase and forced a smile as Salter crossed the room. “Yes, we will. Enjoy your camping trip tonight.”
“Pardon?” he asked, hand suspended as he reached for the doorknob.
“With Brian. Enjoy your night in the cabin.”
“Of course,” he smiled, holding the door open. “I’m sure we’ll have a fine time.”
CHAPTER 74
TOM KADO DRUMMED HIS fingers on the desk, willing the fax machine to life. Elaine poked him as she spoke into her headset and he lifted his hands in defeat, leaving her alcove to stalk the courthouse lobby. Bernie Winterbottom leaned on the tall counter, waiting for Elaine to hang up, watching Kado pace.
“Your DNA results are due in?” he asked.
Kado dug both hands into his dark, wavy hair, stopping in front of the courthouse doors. “From the crucifixion site. The lab wouldn’t use email.” He peered through the narrow windows, shaking his head at the crowd hunched over laptops and shouting into cell phones. “Did you catch Sheriff Hoffner’s latest press conference?”
“Was it an improvement on yesterday’s?”
“Hardly,” Kado snorted, returning to stand next to Bernie. “He released some information to the press that should’ve been kept confidential. I cannot understand that man. He’s got an incredible group of people working for him, and he can’t help but stick his foot in it and slow everybody down.”
“May I make an observation?” Bernie asked cautiously.
“Sure.”
Bernie glanced around the lobby and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “My comments come from my limited observations of him and the comments I’ve heard concerning his behavior. Although I’m not an expert, he strikes me as someone with a personality disorder. Perhaps narcissistic psychopathy. He functions at quite a high level, but is incredibly preoccupied with how he is perceived. From what I’ve observed, any type of challenge or rejection to his authority is particularly offensive to him.”
“Wow,” Kado breathed, “that sums it up. I hadn’t thought about Hoffner in terms of his psychology, but what you described is exactly right. What can we do with him?”
“Unless he seeks help, there is little anyone can do for him, from what I understand.”
“So we’re stuck with him, like this?”
Bernie nodded. “Until he’s voted out, should that happen. In the meantime, if he truly is a narcissistic psychopath, you might do some research to find out if coping strategies exist to help you and your colleagues work with him.”
Kado jumped as the fax machine whirred. “Thanks Bernie. I’ll think about what you said. Gotta run.” He darted into Elaine’s alcove, grabbed several sheets of paper from the tray and ran through the double doors.
____________
MITCH STOPPED JUST INSIDE the door to the evidence room, watching Kado pace the length of the cord that tethered him to his desk phone. One hand was in his dark hair; his gray eyes were stormy and his face flushed.
“What you’ve described, what the results show, isn’t possible. Tell me again,” he said through clenched teeth, leaning down to fiddle with his computer’s mouse and wake the screen, “how you processed the samples.”
Mitch shut the door and leaned against a cabinet.
“And there’s nothing left? You can’t run it again?” He exhaled and closed his eyes as he listened. “Fine. Email it all.”
Gently, he replaced the phone’s receiver and collapsed in his desk chair, cradling his head in his hands. “This isn’t possible.”
“No hits?” Mitch asked.
“No hits. They identified four different DNA donors from the leather pieces. All male. One donor is consistent with the DNA collected from the urine and phlegm.”
“It’s not unusual that none of them would be in the system. That’s just the way it goes. So what’s the problem?”
“We got clean samples on three of the donors. The lab is saying that the samples for the fourth donor, the guy who gave us the pee and snot, were corrupted.”
“All the samples?”
“Yes.”
“If they got good samples for three guys from the leather pieces, how could the sample for the fourth guy, taken from the same leather, be corrupted?”
“Hallelujah,” Kado said, throwing his hands up. “Somebody else gets it.”
“The lab guys don’t?”
“The lab guys refuse to get anything that might show fault with their procedures.”
Mitch scratched his chin. “What kind of corruption are they talking about?”
“This is what drives me mad, and lets me know the lab screwed up,” he said, jumping from the chair and passing a piece of paper to Mitch. “The corruption is the same in each sample. Exactly the same. See?”
“I see squiggles. What does it mean?”
“It’s the DNA profile for the fourth man. They overlaid results from the snot, pee and leather to show they’re exactly the same.”
“And?”
Kado thrust his hands back into his wavy hair and started pacing again. “The lab says they don’t even handle animal DNA. I kept asking what other samples they’d been working with, how this could’ve happened, but nobody will admit to cross contamination. They think I contaminated the samples at the scene. But how could I?”
“Animal?”
“It’s just not possible,” Kado said, coming to a stop in front of his computer. He swiveled the monitor so Mitch could see the photograph on the screen.
“German Shepherd?”
“Canis lupus.”
“What’s that?”
“The gray wolf, Mitch. The lab report shows DNA contributed by a human male and a gray wolf. There are no gray wolves in Texas. Not anymore. There is no way I could’ve contaminated the phlegm and urine samples. And if one DNA sample on the leather is contaminated, they all must be.” He puffed his cheeks out and exhaled. “But it doesn’t matter about contamination. Not really.”
“Why?”
“That report doesn’t show separate wolf and human contributors. It’s one sample.”
Mitch leaned into a counter, his eyes clouded as he handed the DNA report back to Kado. “So, what are you saying?”
“I know. It’s not possible.”
“What is possible?”
“Either I screwed up, or the lab screwed up.”
“So what now?”
“I go explain to Sheriff Hoffner,” Kado said, gently placing the report on his desk, “that the DNA is worthless. It’s down to Cass and that invitation to help us find the men who killed Chad Garrett and raped those girls.”
CHAPTER 75
TRUMAN HELD HIS TONGUE until Cass left Live Oak Park, heading away from downtown. Then he twisted in his seat to face her. “I saw it.”
“The invitation?” She glanced at him, startled at his frown. “And?” she prodded, holding her breath.
“It’s tonight.”
Cass pulled to a stop at a red light, air whooshing from her lungs. “You’re sure?”
“Checked it twice before putting it back in the pile of mail.”
“You didn’t bring it with you?”
“I didn’t know if I should take it. He might look for it before tonight. If he couldn’t find it, well, I thought might realize that we had it. Besides, we didn’t have the right to take it, did we?”
“No, you’re right. We didn’t. All right,” she said, flipping on her blinker and changing lanes as she pulled away from the light. “Tonight doesn’t give us much time.”
“Where are you going?”
“Food. It’s after two o’clock. I’m starving.”
He laughed. “You sound like Mitch. Do you think Salter knows we saw the invitation?”
Cass pushed her sunglasses up on her nose and shook her head. “He doesn’t have a clue how much we know, does he?”
Truman’s eyes danced above his mirrored sunglasses. “No, and when you started talking about the Masonic Lodge and Lion�
��s Club –”
“You heard that?”
“Oh yeah. Making him think you don’t agree with Hoffner that The Church might be a cult. That was good.”
Cass dipped her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “What about the daughter?”
“You think she might be the one in the photographs?”
“Maybe. But what do you think?”
Truman was silent for a moment. “She’s about the right age, maybe twelve or thirteen. Thin, from her photographs.”
“And the son?”
“You think they start ’em that young?”
“This morning, Rose said that the older son, Nathaniel, died on a camping trip.”
“I remember when that happened. You hadn’t moved back yet. Nobody reported anything funny about his death. It sounded like the kid had a heart defect nobody knew about and just fell over one day.”
“The camping reference just made me wonder. If membership in The Church passes from father to son, maybe Salter was training Nathanial, and has moved on to Brian.”
“Man,” Truman said, “this stuff kinda freaks me out.”
“Me too,” she agreed, turning onto Arcadia’s main thoroughfare. “Call Mitch. Tell him about the invitation. Find out where he is and what he wants for lunch.”
____________
“TONIGHT?” SHERIFF HOFFNER DEMANDED, hoary brows contracted in a frown. “Why tonight?”
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe they need to replace Lenny Scarborough as quickly as possible.”
“You’re going to tail him?”
“Yes, sir. Munk is looking at the roster now, trying to figure out who we can use. Also, I want to keep an eye on Mr. Peavey tonight.”
“I thought you ruled him out of this.”
“As best we could. But it’s safer to have somebody watch him, just in case. We’re struggling to find the right men, though.”
“What’s the problem?”
“We can’t ask them to lift their shirts and show us their chests, can we?”
“Good point,” Sheriff Hoffner grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing a long sigh. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.”
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 32
