“My God,” she whispered, taking in the arterial spray across the butcher paper on the picnic table and the pool of blood soaking the Deacon’s white robe and the dirt beneath his body. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Truman whispered. “When I came back to call for an ambulance, Munk was putting Petchard, those two girls and Evelyn Grove in a patrol car.” He hesitated. “Cass, back there in the woods? You were yelling at Salter, asking if he did something to Jack. Who is Jack?”
“It’s – I was probably wrong,” she answered, glancing at his young face.
“Is Jack, isn’t he your brother?” Truman asked, his words tumbling over one another. “The one in prison?”
She sighed. “He’s my oldest brother. I just – I thought Salter… I don’t know what I heard. The man was dying, maybe delirious.” Cass drew a deep breath, fingering the badge in her pocket, wondering if she’d ever feel the weight of its authority and reassurance again. “Look, I’d better get out there and deal with whatever comes next. Hoffner will have to suspend me and he’ll probably fire me for shooting Newton. You need to take Grey and Porky out to Salter.” Truman nodded, his clouded hazel eyes making brief contact with hers. “Don’t worry,” she said, unsuccessfully attempting a smile as she stood. “It’ll be fine.”
They entered the clearing to a barrage of shouted questions and the blinding pop of camera flashes. Voices were silenced and all heads turned to watch as she strode, head high, directly to Sheriff Hoffner who waited with his legs spread, arms crossed, face severe.
“You injured?”
“No, sir.”
He motioned for Kado as the chatter from the reporters again gained volume. The forensics man slipped a folded bed sheet into a paper bag and pulled another bag from his kit, holding it open as Cass placed her nine-millimeter inside before slipping the holster over her head and sliding it into a second bag. Kado’s glance was scalding as he folded the bags closed, and she blinked in surprise. An image flashed through her mind, of Kado raising a tomahawk over his head, war-painted face fierce. Cass thought it was a likeness that wasn’t far from the truth, given his intensity at the moment.
Hoffner shifted, drawing her eyes back to his. “Any other weapons?”
She squatted to lift the leg of her black trousers and remove the revolver from her ankle. “Three shots from the nine mil. Two at Newton, one at that tree,” she told Kado, lifting her chin to point across the clearing. “The revolver hasn’t been fired.”
Cass dropped the revolver into an evidence bag and watched as Kado turned away without looking at her. Her heart dropped.
“Is this all your handiwork?” Hoffner asked, jerking his head toward the picnic table.
Acid crawled up her throat at his accusation and she swallowed it down. “Only Greg Newton, sir. Petchard’s life was in danger and Newton didn’t stop when I challenged him.”
He grunted. “That’s Jed Salter in the woods?”
“Yes sir,” she answered, stomach churning with anger, her blackened face blank. “He’s dead.”
“What happened?”
“He was tangled in barbed wire and bleeding from his thigh. We couldn’t tell which one was pierced, so Truman prepared two tourniquets, one from each of our belts. I tried to stop the blood flow until the paramedics could arrive. He bled out.”
“Did you recognize anyone else out here?”
“No, sir. They were in hooded robes, like Newton.”
He inclined his head away from the reporters. “You didn’t see David Wayne?”
Cass again saw the procession flowing from the cabin toward her hiding place in the bushes, crimson swirling and hiding any distinguishing features. In her mind’s eye, she could pick out several men fat enough to be Arcadia’s Mayor Rusted. But there was no shortage of portly men in East Texas, and she had seen nothing to tell her that he was among the group gathered in the clearing tonight.
“I’m not positive, sir, but I didn’t see anything indicating that he was here.”
Hoffner’s eyes flicked to the cluster of restless reporters and his nostrils flared. “You’ll be debriefed tomorrow after we’ve had a chance to figure this mess out. In the meantime, you don’t talk to the press or to anyone from the department, understood?” Cass nodded. “In line with department regulations, Elliot, you’re suspended with pay until we’ve investigated Officer Newton’s shooting.”
“Yes, sir.” With her chin high, she held out her badge. Slowly, he lifted it from her bloodied palm. Fatigue slid down her limbs, rendering them heavy, lifeless. “What happened to Mitch?”
His eyes touched hers, and then darted away to watch Truman point Grey into the woods. “I don’t know. They took him to the hospital.”
“He parked his truck across the road, back in some trees. Can I take it home?”
“Officer Truman,” Hoffner called, running a hand across his weary face as Truman trotted across the clearing. “Use Mitch’s truck to take Elliot home, then come back out here. You’re not to discuss this evening with her, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hoffner glanced again at the reporters, arranging his features into a mask of authority. “What an almighty shit storm you’ve created, Elliot.”
Something inside Cass snapped at Hoffner’s assessment of blame. She leaned toward him, the last exhausted slide of adrenaline cool through her veins as the words flew unchecked from her mouth. “Yes, sir. I created this. All of it. Just so I could kill a fellow officer and watch another man die.”
Hoffner flushed. “I don’t like your tone, Elliot.”
“And I don’t like yours, sir.”
“Watch your mouth, Detective,” he responded, gaze bouncing between a stone-faced Truman, the reporters, and Cass. “That temporary suspension can easily become permanent.”
CHAPTER 91
THEY FOUGHT THEIR WAY through the crush of reporters, eyes lowered, hands shielding their faces from the dazzling lights of news cameras. Uniformed officers cleared a path along the dirt track and helped them inch Mitch’s truck past the tangle of news vans, emergency vehicles, wires and hoses snaking across the county road. Truman’s eyes were wide and he drove in silence as Cass rolled down the windows, exchanging the scent of blood and smoke for fresh air. She turned on the radio and flipped through the local stations, the sound of Clapton’s “I Shot the Sheriff” causing her to chuckle grimly. She pushed another button and found KOIL.
“…ing you breaking news from outside Arcadia. A shootout in the style of the Wild West erupted near Deuce’s Flat this evening, followed by an explosion that demolished a deer camp near the Sabine River.” Cass turned to look at Truman, frowning. He shrugged. “This reporter followed a dusty, bumpy trail into the depths of the Piney Forest to bring you, our faithful listeners, this story. Poised at the edge of a small clearing, I see a smoldering cabin and across the haze filled scene, the carnage of two bodies draped in white awaiting removal from the site. Wait, I see – yes, it is.” The reporter drew a hissing breath. “Another shrouded body is being carried on a stretcher from the woods beyond the clearing. We have to break now for a message from our sponsor, but stay with us for more coverage of tonight’s Slaughter near the Sabine. This is your faithful roving reporter, Wally Pugh –”
His voice faded as Cass jabbed the power button. “Carnage? Slaughter?” She wiped a filthy hand across her forehead. “Since when do we use shrouds?” She opened her eyes to see Truman pass the turnoff for Arcadia. “Where are you going?” she demanded.
He glanced across the cab, startled. “To your house.”
Her mouth gaped. “We’re going to the hospital, Truman. I need to see Mitch. Turn around.”
“Cass, Sheriff Hoffner told me to take you home.”
“I heard him. And you will. But first, take me to the hospital.”
Cocking an eyebrow, he slowed the truck. “Technically, as long as I take you home tonight, I suppose it’s not disobeying an order.”
�
��Technically, I think you’re right.”
____________
TRUMAN TURNED INTO THE hospital’s parking lot as an ambulance roared past, lights swirling and siren screaming. A small car shot around the pickup to follow the ambulance, and Cass caught a glimpse of Darla’s stricken face, tears glistening on her cheeks. Her heart stopped for a moment, fearful for Mitch for the first time.
She shot Truman a worried look. “I thought it was a broken leg,” she said, lifting her chin toward the Emergency Room. “Why wouldn’t they set it here?”
Eyes wide, he gunned the truck toward the circular drive, empty of all emergency vehicles. Cass leapt from the truck and hurried through the automatic doors as Truman was still skidding into a stop. She spotted a large man in dinosaur spotted scrubs slumped over a comic book at the Registration desk. A halo of mousy hair ringed a shining bald spot that danced in the fluorescent lights as she strode toward him. He didn’t look up as she arrived at the desk, but pushed a clipboard toward her. “Fill in the front and back of the top form, sign the second and third, keep the fourth to read later and stick your driver’s license and insurance card under the clip.”
“I just need information,” Cass said.
Still not raising his head, he pointed toward an alcove. “That desk. Someone will help you in a moment.”
“Nobody’s there,” she said, frustration building in her chest as Truman hurried to join her, scowling.
“They’ll be back in a minute,” he replied.
“Hey,” Truman barked, snapping his fingers. “We need information about Mitch Stone.”
The attendant raised his head to reveal a blotchy face and a tag bearing the name ‘John’ pinned to his scrubs. His eyes widened at their greasepaint-blackened faces and dark clothes. “Are you family?”
“No,” Cass replied. “I’m his partner. Was that him in the ambulance?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t discuss patient details with anyone but family,” he replied, catching sight of the blood on Cass and Truman, nostrils flaring at the scents of blood, smoke and sweat that wafted across the desk. He frowned. “Are you injured?”
“No,” Truman replied, pulling his badge from a pocket and flashing it at the pudgy man. His young, handsome face was drawn into flat planes. “Forney County Police. Where are they taking Mitch Stone?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize. Were you out at the –”
Truman slammed a fist down on the desk, lips tight. “Where are they taking Mitch Stone?”
“Shreveport,” John squeaked, pushing back into his chair.
“Why?”
“They’ve got better lung men over there.”
Cass frowned. “I thought he broke his leg.”
John nodded. “Damaged a lung, too.”
“How bad is it?”
He shrugged. “Bad enough to transport him tonight.”
____________
CASS TURNED ON HER heel and strode back across the hospital’s lobby, boots thunking loudly in the quiet, open space. Truman hurried behind her, climbing into the driver’s seat. She nailed him with her eyes.
“Shreveport. Let’s go.”
He shook his head. “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Orders, Cass. I have to take you home and get out to the camp.”
She slipped her phone from a pocket and flipped it open, pushing a speed dial button. Five rings and she was directed to voice mail. Patiently, she tried again and again got voice mail.
“Who’re you calling?” Truman asked, turning out of the hospital parking lot.
“Darla, but she’s not picking up.” She checked the road signs. “It’s faster to take the back roads.”
“Cass,” he answered, voice firm. “I’m not taking you to Shreveport.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll drive from home. Just hurry up.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes fixed on the road, “but we have enough problems right now without disobeying an order.”
“‘We’, Truman?”
“Yeah, Cass. ‘We’. What do you think Kado was so pissed off about back there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sheriff Hoffner will have a scapegoat, Cass. And chances are, it’ll be you,” he answered, watching as confusion clouded her face. “Whatever happened out there tonight, with Newton, with Salter, we know you did the right thing. For Hoffner, it won’t matter.”
“Kado’s mad at me?”
“No, he’s mad at the sheriff, because he knows what’s coming and what it’ll mean to you. He and Munk were working like demons to gather evidence for the debriefing tomorrow. The way Kado figures it, the more data he has, the better your chances in the investigation.”
Cass closed her eyes, relief sliding through her body. Finally, she spoke. “Okay.”
“I can take you home?”
“Yeah, take me home,” she sighed, digging her fingers into her stinging eyes. “You’re right about the scapegoat. I think I kind of pissed Hoffner off.”
Truman chuckled. “You got balls, Cass. He didn’t know what to say when you talked back to him.”
“It probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve done, but it felt good.” She glanced in Truman’s direction. “That was some performance at the hospital. I’ve never seen you mad.”
He grinned. “That was good, wasn’t it? My mom always said I was too nice. But I’m learning…”
CHAPTER 92
THEY’D BARELY TURNED INTO the driveway before the front door opened and three men charged down the rickety porch steps. She climbed from the cab and was engulfed by Bruce, and then by Harry and her father. The tight knot of bodies clung together for a few moments before Abe peeled away, telling the boys to let her get into the house and sit down.
“Who’s this?” he asked, eyeing the young man behind the pickup’s steering wheel.
“Officer Scott Truman, Daddy,” Cass answered from the circle of Bruce’s arms. “He was on the stakeout tonight.”
Abe reached through the open window and shook Truman’s hand. “Thanks for bringing her home. Can you stay for a bite of supper?”
“No, sir. I have to get back.” His eyes flicked toward Cass as he slipped the truck into reverse. “Take care of her. She’s had a rough night.”
Cass wearily followed Bruce to the kitchen, slumping in a chair at the table. Harry took a platter heaped with sliced roast beef and pepper jack cheese from the fridge, along with jars of condiments, and piled them all on the table, faithfully evoking the Elliot clan’s ritual of using food as a balm for all troubles. As Bruce pulled down glasses for milk, he examined his sister’s blackened face. “Darla called. They’re taking Mitch to Shreveport and she’ll call when they know more. You’re not to come to the hospital for some reason to do with Hoffner. They said on TV that shots were fired. What happened?”
“I, um,” she hedged, mind flashing over the events in the clearing and with Jed Salter. Cass searched her emotions, finding no regret lurking beneath her exhaustion. She had taken Greg Newton’s life and could easily believe that her actions had led to Salter’s death. She expected to feel sad, guilty, angry – anything other than the tired relief that comes with the completion of a difficult task. Was something wrong with her, with this inability to feel remorse? She drew a deep breath, eyes fixed on a jar of French mustard. “I had to shoot someone.”
Abe closed his eyes and reached a hand across the table for hers.
“Dead?” Harry asked.
“Yes.”
“What happened?” Bruce repeated, bringing milk to the table.
Cass put her fingers to her temples and rubbed, wondering how to describe what she’d done. She opened her eyes to see worried glances darting between her brothers and father. “I’m fine. Just tired. It happened fast. Maybe it always does.” She stopped to draw a breath and reach for a knife and two slices of bread. “Someone was in harm’s way, I shouted a warning to the perp, he didn’t comply and I beli
eve he intended to use deadly force, so I fired to stop him. Horseradish?”
Harry reached to open the fridge, pulling gingerly on the duct-taped handle. “How do you feel?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Just numb.”
“Did you save the guy?” Bruce asked, smearing mustard on a hefty pile of roast beef.
“Who?”
“The one in harm’s way.”
Petchard’s terrified face entered her mind, and she nodded, wondering briefly if he would consider himself saved.
“Anybody else hurt?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m sure it’ll be in the papers tomorrow. Evelyn Grove and a couple of teenage girls are a little charred, and Officer Greg Newton, Deacon David Cronus and Jed Salter are dead.” She took a giant bite from her sandwich, nose and eyes tingling as the horseradish zinged.
“The banker?” Harry asked, mouth agape.
She nodded, strength returning as she ate.
“Is he the one you shot?” Bruce asked.
“She shot a man in defense of another,” Abe scolded as Bruce dipped his head. “That’s not something an officer does lightly. It’s not for gawking over.”
“Sorry, Cass,” he mumbled, fingering his sandwich.
“It’s okay,” she replied. “I can’t be too specific yet, but no, I didn’t shoot Salter.” I didn’t do much to keep him alive, but he didn’t die from a bullet, she thought. “We’ll be debriefed tomorrow, and there’ll be an investigation into the shooting. Until then, I’m off the force.”
“Hoffner fired you? For doing your job?” Harry scowled, sandwich suspended between his mouth and the table, heavy dollop of ketchup splattering his plate.
“Suspended with pay, just until the investigation is done,” Cass said with more conviction than she felt. “It’s standard when a weapon’s discharged.”
Abe rose from the table and stood behind his only daughter, hands on her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her head, smoothing her hair with one hand, and she caught his worried reflection in the darkened kitchen window. “I’m glad you’re home safe and sound. Maybe with this time off, you can think about whether you want to stick with the force.”
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 39
