“Good. Anything else?”
“I need approval to contact Watuga and ask for backup for the tail tonight.”
Hoffner burst into a bout of deep-throated laughter. Mitch watched him, wondering what had gotten into the man. The Sheriff had been under immense stress for the last two days, but his usual reaction to difficult situations was to turtle in on himself, not to indulge in fits of thigh-slapping hysteria. Slowly, Hoffner regained control and wiped his eyes and nose with a snowy handkerchief. “Thanks, Detective. I needed that,” he said through a few chuckles.
“Sir?”
“That was a joke, wasn’t it?”
“No, sir. We need help tailing Jed Salter and watching Peavey. I also want backup in case something bad goes down at The Sanctuary tonight.”
The Sheriff leaned forward in his chair, placing his forearms on the desk and clasping his hands together. “Let me be absolutely clear, Detective. You will contact no one outside this department about your activities tonight.”
“Is that a joke, sir?”
“It most certainly is not. You’re running this operation based solely on speculation. These men most likely have nothing to do with those photographs from Lenny Scarborough’s house or with Chad Garrett’s death. I won’t have you bringing outside forces into this mess.” He studied Mitch for a moment. “If ‘something bad’ goes down tonight, Detective, it’s on your head. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Mitch replied, no hesitation in his voice. Somehow, he had known the Sheriff would find a way to disengage from this whole investigation. Hoffner needed powerful, wealthy men like Salter and Peavey to finance and influence his election campaigns. He would do his best to distance himself from any situation that might tarnish his reputation.
Hoffner raised a white, bristling eyebrow. “Anything else?”
“It would help us if you can keep this away from the press.”
Sheriff Hoffner’s expression froze. “And it would help me if you keep the shit storm around your little folly tonight to a minimum, Detective. Understood?”
CHAPTER 76
“OH MAN,” TRUMAN GASPED, closing his eyes and shouldering his way out of the autopsy room.
Porky looked up from the steel scales where a pair of blackened lungs rested. His purple scrubs were smeared with a dark substance. “His first time?”
“Yup,” Grey replied, lifting a slippery section of intestines free from an abdominal cavity, pale gloves covered in blood. “Guess seeing a smoker’s lungs is a rough initiation.”
“Yeah,” Cass agreed, feeling her stomach turn over. “I’ll go wait with Truman.”
“Save us some lunch, would you?” Grey called.
“Change your scrubs,” she answered, pulling the door closed behind them.
____________
ERNIE MUNK PULLED MINNIE’S chair into Grey’s office, pushing it between Cass and Truman. He reached for a bun and looked over the food spread across the desk. “Pass the chopped beef.”
“Who’s watching Jed Salter’s house?” Mitch asked, scooting the tub toward Munk.
“Two of the new patrol officers. Young ones. This is their first surveillance, and they’re scared to death they’ll screw it up,” he chuckled, drizzling barbeque sauce onto his sandwich.
“How do you know they’re okay?”
“I found them in the locker room, coming out of the shower. I’m not a pervert or anything, I just happened to be there while they were getting dressed. No scars on their chests.”
“Where’d you put them?”
“In Live Oak Park, tossing a Frisbee with a dog. They have a clear view of Salter’s driveway. I told them to call whenever a car pulls in or out.”
“Are they just watching, or will they follow?” Mitch asked, reaching for the barbeque sauce.
“Follow. I want one of them behind whoever leaves, until we call them off. The road they’re on exits the park near Salter’s road. As long as they see a car pulling out of the drive, they’ll be able to pick it up on the main road.”
“Once we tag Jed Salter and know he’s headed to this ceremony, how do we keep tabs on him without being noticed?”
“That’s where I’m stuck,” Munk answered around a mouthful of barbeque. “I’m not comfortable getting anyone else from the force involved. There are five of us, plus the two patrol boys. That should do.”
“Good plan, but Cass can’t follow him.”
“Why not?” she demanded, potato salad dropping from her fork.
“Come on. All that red hair, your lily white skin?” Mitch shook his head. “You glow in the dark. There’s no way you can follow him at night without being noticed, even if we change your truck. And as for the rest of us,” he glanced around the table, “with the exception of the red hair, we’re in the same boat.”
“What about the officers from Watuga County?” Munk asked.
“Hoffner shot me down. I think he doesn’t want to risk being embarrassed in front of another county if nothing comes of following Salter and Peavey tonight.”
Munk heaved a disgusted sigh. “Great. And he’s got no problem leaving his own officers hanging with no backup.”
“Are you really that surprised?” Cass asked quietly.
When Munk answered, his voice was thoughtful. “No. I’m not.” He looked at Mitch. “You think we need somebody with dark skin to tail Salter?”
“And ideally, somebody who’s not on the force.”
Cass hesitated, a smile playing at her lips. “What about Jerome?”
“Blackie’s ex-con cousin, Jerome?” Mitch asked.
“Why not? He’s black, and in spite of gettin’ cleaned up, he still looks like an ex-con. I think he’d be happy to help us, and more importantly, he can keep his mouth shut. In the right car he’s invisible. Menacing maybe, but nobody’ll notice a black man driving out near the river bottom, if that’s where The Sanctuary is.”
“Can we trust him?”
“There weren’t any black men in those photographs.”
“Good point.”
“What about cars?”
Munk wiped a smear of barbeque sauce from his chin. “I’ll figure something out.”
Grey and Porky emerged from the autopsy room, both in fresh scrubs. Truman blinked but kept chewing as Grey shuffled autopsy photographs into the file he carried and slid it into a box, scooting it into a corner. Chairs scraped across the floor and bodies shifted as the two men settled down and reached for food.
“Is this from Red’s?” Grey asked as Porky moaned. The medical examiner cocked an eyebrow at the younger man.
“Sorry boss, but for white folks, they sure know how to do barbeque.”
Cass frowned. “Speaking of white folks, where’s Bernie?”
Grey took a long drink of tea and then burped quietly. “We ran out of bodies,” he explained. “Bernie met Elaine yesterday, and I think he was stopping by the courthouse to see her. He’s hooked. She’s taking him to a local revival tonight. Give him a taste of the Southern church experience.”
“Is she that interested in him?”
“I’m not sure. Bernie’s always been something of a ladies’ man. I’ve never understood it,” he said, scraping the last of the potato salad from its container, “but he’s never lacked for female companionship.”
“As long as he doesn’t break Elaine’s heart, we’ll be just fine. That girl’s been through enough, what with a dead husband and four boys to raise,” Mitch said.
“I wonder…,” Cass said. She turned to Grey. “Which church is Elaine taking Bernie to?”
“I think it’s the Church of the Nazarene, the one that’s out in App Community.”
“Truman, did Mr. Peavey say what church he goes to?”
The young officer slipped his notebook from a hip pocket and checked. “No. But that’s the only revival going on in the county.”
Cass gave him a quizzical look. “How do you know that?”
“My mom plays piano at our ch
urch and fills in for other churches, so she knows which church is doing what. She’ll be playing at that revival in App Community tonight. Their regular pianist is out sick.”
“What are you thinking?” Mitch asked Cass.
“I think it’ll be easy to rule Peavey out. He told us that Mrs. Peavey was at their church getting ready for a revival meeting tonight. Truman, do you remember?”
The young officer checked his notebook again. “He said it starts at six o’clock and probably won’t end until after midnight.”
“What do you suggest?” Mitch asked.
“That we ask Elaine and Bernie to keep an eye on Mr. Peavey. If he leaves, they can make their excuses, call one of us and follow him until we can pick him up.”
Mitch ate a forkful of beans and chewed thoughtfully. “Elaine can handle it, and be discreet. Do you think Bernie’s up for this?” he asked Grey.
The medical examiner raised a dark eyebrow. “Our only trouble will be keeping Bernie from wearing a deerstalker and smoking his pipe.”
Cass laughed. “He doesn’t own a deerstalker, does he?”
Grey nodded. “And a calabash pipe with a meerschaum bowl. He loves the whole Sherlock Holmes thing. Ask him to show you his magnifying glass sometime.”
“Okay,” Mitch said. “I’ll call Elaine and see if she’s willing. And,” he said, checking his watch, “we’d better find Jerome if we want his help tonight.”
Cass caught his eye and glanced across the desk at Porky, who was happily gnawing on a chicken leg. Mitch nodded. Munk caught the exchange and smiled his agreement.
Mitch cleared his throat. “Porky?”
The thin man raised his dark eyes, chewing steadily. He motioned to Truman to pass the cole slaw and scooped a creamy spoonful onto his plate. “Yeah?”
“You working tonight?”
“Depends who dies.”
Mitch blinked. “Of course. We need your help with something.”
“Sure.”
“It’s not your normal thing, cutting up bodies and stuff. We expect these guys to hold a ceremony tonight.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“We’re not exactly sure where this ceremony will take place, but we think it’s got to be in the river bottoms somewhere. We need a few people to follow Salter, and to change off following him. But he knows most of us on the force, and…,” Mitch hesitated.
“He won’t recognize a black dude, right?” Porky asked matter-of-factly.
“Er, yeah.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “But I drive a swish car, man. He might know it. You got an old beater I can borrow?”
“You’re cool with this?”
Porky grinned, white teeth bright in his dark face. “Might as well put this beautiful black skin to use. Besides, my granny and aunties will be proud when I tell ’em I helped catch the men that killed Officer Garrett. That’s a month of Sundays full of cornbread and turnip greens.”
Mitch exhaled, and then grinned. “Munk will take care of cars and explain how tailing Salter will work, about communications and everything, okay?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Cass snapped the lid on her iced tea as Mitch continued. “Cass and Truman, good work today at Mr. Salter’s house. If you hadn’t seen that invitation, we’d still be treading water.” Truman grinned at the praise. “Now it’s back to the grunt work. You any good at getting radios into cars, quick?”
CHAPTER 77
DEACON CRONUS PUTTERED AROUND his garden shed, carefully folding his robe and placing it in the briefcase. He checked the wooden tools he needed for this evening, satisfied that they were clean enough to eat from. Blood was seeping through the bandage on his dimpled hand, and while he was grateful to know the knife was sharp enough to provide a clean cut, he was irritated at his own clumsiness.
He clucked as he worked, small unintelligible noises designed as much to help him focus as to provide comfort. In spite of the importance of his role, he always experienced a twinge of nerves before a meeting. And tonight was special. The last Celebration of Illumination had taken place in 1988, when Lenny Scarborough drew the lot that elevated him to the Circle of Light. The Celebration was an emotional event, sadness over the loss of a member mingled with the hope that came from the initiation of a new member and the drama of the ascension ceremony. Tonight would be no different. Lenny would be mourned, Petchard initiated and Warner promoted, closing the Circle. And from then, their work could continue. God was indeed good.
Deacon Cronus drew a stool up to his workbench and traced a finger over his copy of The Church of the True Believer. He would study, and then begin the complicated, roundabout process of arriving at The Sanctuary. All this subterfuge seemed a waste of time. The Sanctuary had never been violated in the past, but he would follow the old man’s instructions to the letter, as would the others. He lowered his head and prayed before opening the text.
CHAPTER 78
CASS STARED AT THE colorful painting in The Church of the True Believer, eyes unseeing. Thoughts fluttered and crashed in her head, and she wondered if any of the illustrations in the book depicted a scene they would find tonight. She jumped as Mitch placed a cup of coffee on a phone book open on her desk. “Thanks,” she murmured, blinking to clear her vision.
He settled in a chair opposite hers and put his boots up on the desk, frowning at her look of confusion. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know,” Cass answered slowly, examining her thoughts. “I just… I guess I’m a little tired.”
Truman slumped into the room and poured a cup of coffee. His uniform was filthy and the sweet smell of gasoline puffed into the air as he collapsed in a chair. Mitch grinned. “What happened to you?”
“Munk found the cars for tonight,” he said, wiping an arm across his sweaty forehead. “From a junk yard. We had them towed out to your house and got them running and full of gas. Got radios in them, but it ain’t pretty. Darla sure is nice – she made cookies for us.” He took a sip of coffee, grimacing as the hot brew mixed with the dirt on his lips. “Did you call Jerome?”
“Yup. He’s gone home to change into some dark clothes.”
“Porky’s done the same. Even said he was going to take off all his jewelry – that should take a while.”
“Why’s he doing that?” Cass asked.
“He said something about moonlight glinting on his ear cuffs,” he shrugged. “I think he’s pumped to be involved.” Truman eyed The Church of the True Believer. “Anything in that book that’ll tell us what they’re going to do tonight?”
Cass turned the book around to face him. “Have a look if you want. I keep thinking about the girls in the pictures from Lenny Scarborough’s place.”
“Why?”
“I figure they’ll be there. One kid, maybe I could understand how they could fall for all the attention that this group must lavish on them. But two or more? There’s just no way a group of girls would allow themselves to be molested, is there? They’d have to be extremely vulnerable. Who would have access to more than one girl in that situation? Who would they trust?”
“With more than one kid involved, I’d imagine that somehow these men have made them feel special,” Truman said. “Like being part of this group makes them unique, lets them belong.”
Mitch looked thoughtful. “You remember John Lee Grifford? He got sent down for abusing his son a few years ago. When I talked to the boy about what happened, he kept defending his father. Saying how he and his dad had a special relationship. But when you saw how they lived.” Mitch cleared his throat. “Man, it was disgusting. That man treated his dogs better than he did his wife and kid. She knew about the abuse, but didn’t call the police because he beat her.”
“Could this be something like that?” Truman asked.
Cass lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It makes sense they would target kids who are in a bad situation.” She glanced down at her desk and stopped speaking as her glance fell on the ad for the First Bapti
st Church in the local phone book. A list of the church’s staff and their job titles was partially covered by her coffee mug, and she lifted it to get a better look. “I totally missed it,” she breathed. “Jed Salter goes to church there. He was borrowing a cabin from a church friend for his camping trip tonight.”
Truman had followed Cass’s eyes as she examined the page in the phone book and now he gasped, blood draining from his dirty face. “Oh man.”
“What is it?” Mitch demanded.
Cass froze as the horror of her thoughts crystallized. Truman snatched the phone book from her and leaned over the desk, motioning Mitch closer as he whispered, “Do you know what the Deacon’s job is?”
“No, why?”
“It might have changed, but last time I heard…,” Truman smoothed the phone book open and ran his finger down the list of clergy. “Yeah, Deacon Cronus is still the Youth Minister.”
CHAPTER 79
THE OLD MAN PUT the truck in park and puffed contentedly as the lean man left his crew and ambled the short distance to meet him. He wore stained leather chaps over his jeans and a battered cowboy hat, hand-me-downs from one of the previous bosses. Hitch swept the hat from his head and slapped it at his chaps, dust billowing with each movement, before leaning an arm against the pickup’s open window.
“You must have friends at the DNA lab.”
Hitch grimaced, the movement drawing the lines in his narrow, weathered face deeper. “What was it?”
“You take a piss out there?”
“Shit.”
The old man roared with laughter. “You took a shit, too?”
“No.” Hitch sighed. “How did they find the site?”
“Some black whore saw you.”
“How?”
The old man struck a match and sucked at his pipe, relighting it, wondering if the odd DNA explained the man’s amber eyes, his lean features. The police department had dismissed the sample as corrupted, but the old man, he wasn’t so sure. Evil, he knew, takes many incarnations. “No idea. She was doped up and it sounds like she was unconscious for most of it.”
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