She froze, stiffening under her father’s touch. “Why would I leave?”
“This is dangerous stuff, Cass. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t acted in time, or if that man had come after you?”
She swiveled in her chair and looked up into her father’s face. “But this is what I’ve trained for. It’s what I want to do.”
He cradled her face in his hands, thumbs gently wiping at the greasepaint on her cheeks. “Just a suggestion. That’s all.” He glanced at the clock on the oven. “Don’t keep her up too late, you two. She’s had a long day.”
The door swung quietly closed behind him, and Cass frowned down at her plate. “I don’t want to quit the force and I don’t think I’ll have to. The shooting was clean. And what we were trying to do tonight,” she shook her head in frustration, “it’s not done.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked.
“We didn’t get all the members of the cult. Other than Cronus, Salter and Newton, we didn’t get any.”
“What happens next?”
“It’ll depend on how much forensic evidence Kado finds in the cabin and the surrounding woods.” She finished the last bite of her sandwich and drained her milk glass. “I’m going to bed. If anybody wants a shower, you’d better go first.”
“Why?” Bruce asked.
“All this greasepaint has to come off. That could take a while, and all the hot water.”
THURSDAY
CHAPTER 93
CASS JOGGED THROUGH THE woods, her pace a steady beat against the soft forest floor. Her breath came in a deep, regular rhythm, filling her lungs with clean night air, clearing her head of the pain and confusion from the previous night. She leaned easily into the awkward bough that hung over the path, swinging her legs up and over and back into their smooth cadence. The path bent to the left and as Cass followed its curve, a warm glow flickered from a break in the trees. Thunder cracked and lightning flared across the sky. Her heart began to pound from dread rather than exertion, and the sweat streaking her body ran cold.
She crept toward the sputtering light, her stomach in knots. Reaching the edge of the tree line she breathed deeply, inhaling a sweet scent, familiar but unidentifiable, and inched her face forward through a bush heavy with waxy leaves. The remnants of The Church of the True Believer circled a campfire, hooded heads bowed. Their scarlet robes were torn and dirty, and bloody scratches left trails on their arms, legs and feet from their dash through the woods. A low chanting filled the clearing as one member lifted a bloodied knife in his hands; an offering to the heavens. He pushed the hood from his head and Cass gasped at the sight of Richard Nixon’s contorted face tilted toward the sky. Quickly, another figure stepped away from the group and untied a rope from a thick tree trunk, and Cass raised her eyes to see a cross dangling from a heavy branch. A man, naked save for a cloth at his hips, was fixed to its surface. His back was to her, but she heard an agonized groan as the cross was lowered with halting jerks.
As it fell, Nixon caught hold of the rough wood and pulled the cross toward him, twisting it. Her brain roared with pain and incomprehension as Jack’s face came into view. Rage coursed through her veins at the wounds to his hands and feet, the crown of thorns pressing into his skull, the blood coursing down his body. The knife glinted as Nixon slashed at Jack’s exposed side and her nostrils filled with the smell of burning cherry tobacco. Déjà vu swept over her and Cass called out as she reached for her nine-millimeter, shrieking in horror as she clutched at an empty holster. Suddenly, something hard covered her mouth and one hand was bound in immoveable iron bands. Struggling and twisting, she swung with her free hand until she connected with flesh and a voice hissing her name penetrated her dream.
She woke with a start to find Bruce beside her, one hand clamped around both of hers, the other holding his jaw. “What are you doing?” she choked, yanking to free her hands and surprised to feel moisture on her cheeks. “Let me go. What’s wrong with you?”
“Shhh,” he whispered. “You were having a nightmare. Something about Jack. And Richard Nixon?”
Cass swiped at the hot tears with her shoulder. “It was nothing.”
“It was something. What were you dreaming?”
“Just mixed up stuff about last night. Let go,” she urged, trying to tug her hands free.
“Be quiet,” he answered, turning to look at her open bedroom door.
“Why are we whispering?”
“Be still.” His voice was firm.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Bruce released her hands and stood, gingerly poking his chin. “You pack a pretty mean punch for a girl.”
Cass swung her legs off the bed and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Five o’clock.”
“Jeez, Bruce,” she moaned, preparing to crawl back under the covers.
“Get dressed without the lights.”
“For goodness sake. What’s up with you?”
He took her by the hand and pulled her upright. “Come look out my window.”
She huffed along into his room, breathing in the soft smells of his sleep, peering through the tiny gap he permitted when he pulled the curtain back. A shadowy figure marched to and fro in front of the Elliot house, the silhouette of a long-barrel gun barely visible in the darkness.
“Who’s that?” she asked, shivering.
“Herman the German.”
“What in the world is he doing in our front yard with that… what is it? A rifle?”
“Twelve gauge. Look down the driveway.”
Cass followed the sweep of the narrow drive until her eyes found a clutch of vehicles parked along the roadside. A van door slid open and an interior light flared to gleam on a carefully coiffed blonde head. “Oh no,” she groaned. “Reporters?”
“Yep. I called Herman and asked if he’d come over and hold the fort, keep them away from the house. He brought ol’ Barky with him –”
“Who?”
“That’s what he calls the shotgun.”
Cass shook her head in disbelief. “Did they wake you up?”
He let the curtain drift back into place. “No. Tom Kado called. He and Scott Truman are on their way. They need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Don’t know. He just called and asked if there was a back way to the house. I told them to cut through the woods. I’ve turned off the security light so they can come in through the kitchen.” He squinted at his alarm clock. “They should be here pretty quick. Put on something warm. A thunderstorm is almost here and it’s brought the Easter snap with it. I’ll start the coffee.”
CHAPTER 94
SHE STEPPED INTO THE kitchen, dim with only the light from the stove’s vent hood. The air was pregnant with the expectation of the coming storm. Kado and Truman sat hunched at the table, hands clutching coffee mugs. The low light etched the lines of weariness on their faces deeper; the small room smelled of exhaustion, sweat and the faint coppery scent of dried blood. From the filth covering their bodies, she knew they’d spent the night out at the deer camp. Truman’s face was still smeared with greasepaint. Kado’s eyes quickly traced Cass’s form in sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt before flicking to Bruce. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw no anger in Kado’s glance, and she swallowed the relief down, trying not to care that he wasn’t mad at her.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem,” Bruce answered, handing Cass a mug as he pushed past her toward the living room. “There’s another pot on. Cream and sugar are on the table.”
Truman scooted a chair out for her with a boot, and she sat warily, taking in their haggard faces. “What’s up?”
They exchanged glances and Truman cleared his throat. “Kado thought we ought to get prepared for the de-briefing this morning.”
“That’s not exactly in line with procedure, is it?”
“We’ve got a fight on our hands,” Kado answered slowly.
“What do y
ou mean?”
“You know none of this when it comes to the debrief, right?”
“Right.”
“Petchard’s saying your shot at Newton wasn’t clean.”
“What?!” She shoved back from the table. “He was tied up and squealing like a girl, and Newton was about to slice him with a big ol’ honkin’ knife.” She thrust her chin out, scowling. “I should’ve let Newton stick him, that little wimp –”
“Calm down. It gets better,” Kado interrupted, waiting until Cass settled back at the table. Her mouth was set in a grim line, nostrils flared. “Petchard was babbling when Sheriff Hoffner showed up. He told Hoffner that he was working undercover with Newton, that this whole ritual was part of the induction process, that he knew Newton wouldn’t really hurt him. Basically, he’s saying that you overreacted.”
Her jaw dropped and she felt gut-punched. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Why didn’t we know about this undercover operation?”
“Petchard said Mitch had authorized both him and Newton to work on the case.”
“Did he know that Mitch was injured?”
Kado nodded, a smile threatening his lips.
“He’s betting that Mitch is hurt bad enough that he won’t remember authorizing Petchard and Newton to work under cover.” She shook her head. “He’s smarting over all this sexual harassment crap, and sacrificing me. It’s my word against his.”
“Let the evidence speak for you, Cass.”
“What evidence? Nobody’s left as a witness,” she snorted. “Nobody that’ll come forward, anyway. Just the ammunition Hoffner needs.”
“Seen the news or the papers?”
“Oh Lord,” she breathed, dropping her head into her hands. “How bad is it?”
“Pretty grim. They got a lot of footage out at the cabin and haven’t censored much of it.” He pulled a stack of newspapers from the countertop. Cass Elliot’s grainy form, her hair wild, face dark with greasepaint, hand stretched flat toward Sheriff Hoffner, was prominent on the front page of each. The headlines varied from ‘Brave Officer Suspended’ to ‘Cult Carnage Officer Fired’, and in spite of herself, she chuckled. Kado slipped the Forney Cater out of the stack and flattened it on the table. Cass was again prominent on the front page, standing tall in front of Sheriff Hoffner, chin elevated and arm outstretched. The camera’s flash glinted on the badge in her palm. A massive headline read ‘Hero Cop Stops Deadly Cult’. The by-line was Wally Pugh. Smaller headlines below the fold cried out ‘Officer Slain’, ‘Prominent Banker Dies’ and ‘Deacon’s Cult Goes up in Flames – Arcadia another Waco’.
“Wally’s graduated from radio to print?”
“Obadiah Graham owns KOIL and the Forney Cater,” Truman told her.
“Arcadia’s answer to Rupert Murdoch,” she said absently. “Hoffner’ll just use all this against me.”
“He can’t fire you,” Truman stated as she scanned Wally’s article and then opened the paper to find additional photos of the damage to the cabin and the three body bags.
Cass snorted. “Why not?”
“The Forney Cater’s behind you.”
“So what?”
“So, what’s in the Cater is what Obadiah Graham and all of Forney County believes, Cass. And that’s what’ll drive Hoffner’s next move with you. If the public thinks you did right – we did right – then that’s what Hoffner will think.”
“I wish it were that simple,” she said.
“The Forney Cater’s coverage is a big part of how Hoffner will view this whole thing.” Kado stretched and checked his watch. “But it also means that he’ll be hell bent for leather to find something to hang one of us on, and that’s why we want to get the facts straight before the debrief.”
Cass nodded slowly. “How is everybody?”
“Munk is completely bald now. All his hair was singed off. He really looks like a monk,” he said, whisper of a grin touching his lips.
“You two on friendlier terms?”
Kado hesitated. “Time will tell. But for now, yeah. We’re fine.”
“How’s Evelyn?”
“Some blisters, a little adhesive burn.”
“Jed Salter said she saw two of them without their hoods when she stumbled into the clearing. Who did she see?”
“No winners there. It was Newton and Cronus. The rest were in the cabin and pulled their hoods on before they took her inside.”
She chuckled grimly. “Figures. What about the girls?”
Truman shrugged. “We still don’t have their names. Dr. Rambo kept them overnight. He thinks they’re about twelve years old and from what he could tell, he didn’t think they were molested –”
“Thank goodness,” Cass breathed.
“– last night.”
“Oh.”
“Nobody’s reported them missing. We’ll know more today. He sedated them pretty heavily, said they were in shock. And,” he continued, “these girls weren’t in Lenny Scarborough’s photos.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We were looking for moles and birthmarks. Neither of these girls have them in the right places.”
“That ties. Salter told me the girls are never the same.” She drew a deep breath. “I kept trying to reach Darla last night but couldn’t get through. How’s Mitch?”
Kado flashed a glance at Truman, eyes blazing in a stab of lightning that penetrated the dark kitchen. “Darla called Hoffner a couple of times last night and he’s not saying much. He’s told her not to talk to any of us.”
“Why on earth doesn’t he want us to know what’s happening?”
“It’s either a control thing,” Truman began, drawing a deep breath, “or Mitch is hurt so badly he doesn’t want us to get distracted worrying about him.”
“What a stupid man. Doesn’t Hoffner know that he’s pushing us farther away from wanting to help him? We’d be better off knowing what’s going on.”
Kado shrugged. “Truman said they took Mitch to Shreveport to treat a damaged lung. That doesn’t sound good.”
“No,” she answered, “it doesn’t.”
Truman rubbed his fists into his eyes. “Munk said his sister was so worked up about Hoffner’s behavior that she took off for Shreveport after they looked her over at the county hospital. Darla’s not supposed to talk to anyone from the force, so Evelyn Grove will take care of communications. We’ll hear back from her this morning, I imagine.”
“Any leads on who owns The Sanctuary?”
“One of the volunteer fire-fighters works as a loan officer at Salter’s bank,” Truman answered.
“Let me guess,” Cass said. “Foreclosure.”
“Yup. He’s not sure when, or who owned it, but the property has been on the bank’s books for years. Since before he started working there. He’ll go through the files tomorrow and see what he can find out for us.”
Kado shifted his position and reached for the percolator on the stove, taking in the copper pipe taped to the oven door. He refrained from comment while he poured. “You ready?”
She nodded. “What do you need?”
He pulled a crumpled, soot-smeared sketch of the clearing from his pocket and flattened it on top of the Forney Cater as Cass quickly talked them through The Church’s activities – the procession from the cabin, the gathering around the campfire and Petchard’s near-death experience on the picnic table. Kado stopped her after she told them about the gunshots. “Show me where you were.”
She pointed to where she’d been hiding. “I was standing here when I fired twice at Newton. And about here,” she continued, drawing her finger deeper into the clearing, “when I fired the warning shot at Deacon Cronus.”
Kado made two light marks on the paper and examined it. “What happened when you shot Newton?”
“He flew backwards, arms stretched out at shoulder height. The knife came loose from his hand…”
“Which hand?” Kado interrupted.
&n
bsp; Her eyes darted into the kitchen’s shadows, imagining the scene. “Right.”
“What did it look like?”
“A dagger. Maybe a hunting knife, but more elegant than that.”
“And then?”
“It flipped into the woods behind him. I didn’t stop to look for it.”
Kado refolded the paper. “What happened next?”
“Petchard was still on the picnic table. People started running, Deacon Cronus, too. He stopped when I fired over his shoulder. The others disappeared into the woods. But…” She frowned, awareness dawning. “They were prepared for this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nobody panicked when I came out of the bushes. They all froze for just a moment, someone shouted ‘Jericho’, and then everybody broke and ran. Almost like it was choreographed. Petchard was howling, but there were no screams, nobody yelled. Nobody tripped and fell.” She nodded slowly. “They were ready. Maybe not for us, but they were ready just in case.”
“Jericho?” Truman asked. “Like the Jericho that Joshua marched around and the city fell?”
“The walls came tumbling down. And they did. The cabin burned. It must’ve been a code word for how to react.”
Truman shivered. “That’s spooky.”
“Good planning,” Kado said. “What next?”
“The fire started. Is there anything left?”
Kado shook his head. “The generator was gasoline. Looks like someone splashed fuel on the building and as dry as the wood was, it didn’t take much for the fire to catch and then for the generator to explode. I found piles of ashes that must’ve been their books. Some of the inside pages are undamaged but none of the back covers are legible. There’s a small metal thing that melted down. I’ll try to figure out what it is later. Munk got tangled in a bed sheet while he was trying to find Evelyn and dragged it outside with him. I’ll see if I can’t pick up some DNA from that and the sheets the girls were wrapped in. Not much else survived the fire.” He drew a deep breath as thunder sputtered. “We’ll have search teams out this morning, going through the woods to see what we can find.” His eyes flashed to the window over the sink at a flare of lightning. “But I’m not optimistic given the storms that are coming. Go on.”
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 40
