The Devil of Light

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  “Are they the girls in Lenny’s photos?”

  “What photos?”

  “Come on,” she snorted.

  Salter searched her face. “Photos of what?”

  “Men having sex with men.” She watched his Adam’s apple bounce in his throat. “Men abusing girls.”

  “My God,” he murmured, sagging deeper against the wire. “Children.”

  Cass snarled, hands trembling as she slacked the belts. “You think He’s listening? You think He cares about a group of child molesters? Molesting in His name?”

  His eyes flew wide, beseeching. “I had no idea. You must believe me. I – I suspected.” He struggled with the words. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. They wanted to help. Their innocence, that’s what we needed.”

  “Innocence?” she asked, incredulous. “They’ll never get that back. Don’t bother protesting your innocence. We’ll know exactly how sick you are when we compare your body to those in the photographs. Scars and moles don’t lie, do they?”

  “You won’t find me in them,” he insisted with a soft moan. “I can’t believe it’s gone this far.”

  “What has gone this far?”

  “This isn’t how it should be. The Church has experienced a –,” he briefly attempted to move his arms, stopping quickly with the pain, “– a schism over the last two decades. Some of us believed it needed to return to its roots. Others thought it wasn’t progressive enough.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tighten the belts,” he begged. “Please.”

  Cass obliged, grasping the slippery leather more firmly and ignoring his gasp of pain. “What roots?”

  “We were formed to fight corruption, back in the twenties. The world was in turmoil, morals declining, people forgetting their place; women, blacks, immigrants, all overreaching.” He struggled to draw a breath, slowly expanding his chest against the barbs. “Satan was at the heart of the uproar – the lord of chaos and the master of deception. He’s used the liberal movement in this country to weaken us all, to make us soft. We’re no longer capable of punishing transgressions in a manner to ensure repentance and the seeking of forgiveness. We refuse to recognize evil and accept any excuse to justify horrible crimes. Our weakness allows the liberals to bleed for the perpetrators, then coddle the wicked in prisons with better food, clothing and amenities than their victims have.” He drew another slow breath. “And when they’re released back into society? They’re better equipped for more evil, greater destruction. Ironic, some would say. Exactly what we deserve for our failure to deal with the root of the problem, that’s what we believe. Is it any wonder the world is going to hell?”

  Her mind flashed to her brother Jack, and the sparse life he enjoyed in the state penitentiary at Huntsville. ‘Coddle’ and ‘amenities’ were two words she couldn’t attach to his experience.

  “The Church’s mission was simple,” Salter continued. “Pure. We sought to right those wrongs that the law increasingly wouldn’t touch.”

  “Vigilante justice?”

  He inclined his head. “Our means were more financial than physical. We were never that harsh. We never had to be. The first Klan revival occurred at about the right time to deliver physical justice.”

  “The Church’s initial focus was to maintain the status quo through non-violent means?”

  “Aptly put,” he sighed.

  “And now?”

  “The Klan has disappeared, hasn’t it?”

  “And The Church has filled the void? I haven’t noticed any lynchings or crosses burning on lawns.”

  Salter’s bloodless lips curled in a slight smile. “Our members are a little more sophisticated than that. We’ve hung on to the economic sabotage and,” he grimaced, “some of our members are more accepting of violent means than others.”

  An incident that occurred several weeks previously flashed through her mind. Toby Waller, a local deadbeat with a history of petty violence, had stormed into the courthouse shouting about conspiracies and waving his shotgun. Elaine slapped the panic button and dropped behind her counter while Waller was taken into custody. It turned out that he had lost his job with a local oil company, and subsequently, he’d lost his family home, located on a prime piece of real estate near downtown. The bailiffs had come around with an eviction order and physically removed him from the house. The property sold immediately. The house was razed and within a week, construction for an automobile dealership had started on the site. Funnily enough, the same man ran the oil company and the car company. Waller was found a few weeks later, hanging from a tree that remained in his old front yard, now providing shade for the dealership’s planned showroom. Suicide, people said, but Grey’s autopsy was inconclusive and the case remained open.

  “Toby Waller?” she asked.

  Salter lowered his chin. “He was a stupid man.”

  “Toby was no Einstein, I’ll give you that, but stupidity is a poor reason to steal the man’s home.”

  “He would have been well compensated for that land, but he refused to see reason. When he continued to refuse, against even higher offers,” Salter sighed, “steps were taken to ensure the land would become available for sale.”

  “How?”

  “He lost his job, correct?”

  Cass nodded.

  “He wouldn’t have found another, and he had little money in the bank. Eventually, the house and land would’ve come up for sale due to non-payment of taxes.”

  “That’s… that’s got to be illegal.”

  He chuckled grimly. “All perfectly within the law, I assure you. How do you think most of the landowners in this county have accumulated their property over the years? Purchasing real estate for the price of unpaid back taxes can be quite profitable.”

  “But someone caused Toby to lose his job, so the taxes would be unpaid. That’s unethical, at a minimum.”

  His shoulder twitched. “Progress.”

  “How can you consider that progress?”

  His lips twisted in a superior smile. “Do you have any idea how many jobs will be created thanks to the car dealership that’s being built? How many God-fearing men will be able to support their families?”

  “And how much money will the dealership make for its owner?”

  Again, he attempted to shrug, grimacing with the effort.

  Cass spoke softly. “It wasn’t suicide, was it?”

  Salter’s eyes slid closed, the sneer sliding from his lips. “I objected.”

  Cass’s heart hardened. “If you disagreed, why have you stayed?”

  “Membership is for life. There is no leaving.”

  “Not true. Mr. Shepherd walked away.”

  “Shepherd,” Salter said quietly, “knew things. I don’t have that same luxury.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s Nathaniel, isn’t it?”

  He recoiled as if she had slapped him.

  “Your son died during the initiation ritual, didn’t he?” Cass continued, speculating based on Rose’s comments that morning. “He had a heart condition, something you didn’t know about, and the shock of seeing his father raising a knife to kill him was too much.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No,” she replied, “I don’t. I don’t understand how you could expose your child to something like this…,” a snarl curled her lip, “this cult. I don’t understand how you could tie your son to a table and have him believe that you’ll kill him unless God intervenes. You literally scared him to death. That’s sick, Mr. Salter. They aren’t responsible for Nathaniel’s death. You are.”

  “Yes, I am,” he moaned. “And they won’t let me forget it. I cannot leave The Church. They won’t allow it.”

  “Then let me help you, Mr. Salter. Help me destroy them, as they destroyed Nathaniel, as they’re destroying you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Really?” She loosened the belts and ached from the surge
of warm blood into her stiff fingers. “I was serious earlier when I said you’ve lost a lot of blood. You don’t have much more to lose. What does it matter now?”

  “Yes, Detective. I’ll die out here, whether you have the rage inside you to kill me or not. That barb is deep in my thigh. They can’t take me off the wire without disturbing it, and once it’s moved it’ll be difficult to stop the blood.” He sighed as Cass pulled herself forward, tightening the belts again. “You were right about the running. I have overdone it. I’ve struggled with the activities of The Church, suffered over them, and running was an escape.”

  “Why didn’t you report them?”

  “They would’ve killed me,” he stated flatly, tired eyes searching her face. “And my family couldn’t have survived a second tragic death.”

  “How could they kill you and get away with it, Mr. Salter? You’re the president of Arcadia’s biggest bank. We might not worry too much over Toby Waller, but we’d pull out all the stops to investigate your murder,” she sneered.

  “Investigate the men who ordered the killing of your associate, Chad Garrett?” He slowly drew another breath. “Men who can murder a police officer are too powerful for you. And you have nothing on Garrett’s death, or Toby’s, for that matter. And you’d never tie either to us.”

  “I’ve got your confession now, Salter. We’ll find the evidence we need.”

  “Even if you did – and believe me, you won’t – you wouldn’t be able to tie it to us. It wouldn’t be allowed.”

  A surge of fury at her helplessness flashed white through her brain. She loosened the belts again. “Too many important people, right? Who are they?”

  “What?”

  “We know there’re thirteen of you, including your new initiate, Petchard. I’ve seen Deacon Cronus. Lenny Scarborough is dead, so is Greg Newton,” she continued, watching as Salter’s eyes fluttered closed. She checked the dark liquid pulsing into a wider pool. “Who else?”

  “Tighten the belts,” he gasped.

  “Why should I, you sick pervert?”

  “Please,” he sighed. “You have no idea how much we do for you.”

  “For me?” she barked, jerking the belts tight, shoulders quivering from the strain.

  “Yes,” he gasped. “The police force, and justice in general.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The hot house that burned this weekend?”

  “What about it?”

  “Your forensics man got no useable prints off the pots, am I right?”

  Cass nodded.

  “Tell him to slice open the bags of potting soil. He’ll find cocaine stuffed inside them. An especially large shipment, hence our timing for the fire.” She gasped as Salter grimaced. “What has Forney County been having a problem with lately? It started over in Elysian Fields, not too long ago. Your Officer Truman did some good work undercover over there, but it wasn’t enough.” His eyes fluttered closed and slowly reopened. Blood loss was making him weak. “Drugs. Cocaine, in particular. What better way to transport sealed bags of coke than tucked inside huge bags of potting soil? It’s just a shame the fire didn’t purify the entire place. But the entrepreneur who started that operation has received a very clear message and will be moving on.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  His brief chuckle collapsed into a sputter as he moved, barbs digging deeper into his torn flesh. “We have our ways.”

  “If this is true, why didn’t you notify the police?”

  “What would you have done, Detective? We couldn’t have given you probable cause to search without sacrificing our sources. You didn’t even know someone was growing marijuana commercially in Forney County. How could you have stopped him?”

  “We have our ways, Mr. Salter. We could’ve followed him, observed him.”

  “And how many more kids would’ve been caught up in a toke or ‘just a little sniff’ while you tried to follow him? How many lives would be wasted?”

  “So you and your Church helped us out?”

  Salter’s lips drew away from his teeth, his mouth a black slash across his pale face. “You’ll dismantle that hot house, burn the marijuana and destroy the cocaine. Pretty good bang for our buck, don’t you agree?”

  “You justify all that,” Cass lifted her chin toward the clearing, “that religious mumbo-jumbo and abusing kids, in the name of vigilante justice?”

  “Divine justice, Detective. The kind our liberal country can no longer stomach dishing out. We should put that old hanging tree in front of the courthouse back to the use for which God intended it – swift and certain justice.”

  “What if you get it wrong?” she demanded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if one of your little projects targets an innocent man?”

  Salter’s eyes softened into a mix of pity and regret. “It has.”

  A tickle of apprehension swept through her body. “Who?”

  “I can’t betray them, even when they’re wrong.”

  “Who? Who was innocent?” Through the trees, Cass heard the wail of a siren and fought to find the right words before help arrived. “Tell me who the other members are. You’re right, you’re dying. I’d love to let go of these belts and watch you die. Your sins are –,” she choked, wondering how to measure sin. “You let them abuse those girls. You’re a monster, the same as they are. Meet your God in peace, Mr. Salter. They can’t hurt you now. Help me stop them,” she pled.

  His eyelids fluttered and again he attempted a smile. “You’re a good kid. Your brother doesn’t deserve what happened to him,” he said softly, drawing a long breath as Cass froze, stunned at his words. When his lungs had reached full capacity, he tensed. “Tell my wife and children that I love them,” he whispered before sweeping his eyes heavenward and wrenching his body against the wire, throwing Cass off balance. Stiff from her vigil, the belts slipped from her hands and she tumbled to the ground, sliding through the pool of blood.

  “NO!” she wailed, finding her feet and lurching at the body, struggling to tug the belts tight again. “Was it Jack? Did you do this to Jack? Oh God, please no,” she moaned as Jed Salter’s body released its last breath and sagged into the twisted barbed wire. Truman crashed through the undergrowth, followed by two paramedics carrying heavy cases. All three were sweating heavily.

  “Help me!” Cass cried, clutching at the belts with shaking hands.

  They lunged at the body, a waft of wintergreen chewing tobacco following in the still air. Truman pulled her away as the paramedics checked for a pulse and probed at Salter’s wounds. She strained against the firm arm wrapped around her waist, her hands in claws, fingers too stiff to move. Randall Mahaffey turned, white uniform shirt glowing in the moonlight, and shook his head once, hands still by his sides.

  Her eyes slid closed and she covered her face with bloody, clenched hands. “Oh my God,” she breathed, collapsing against Truman’s slight frame, “I killed him.”

  CHAPTER 90

  SHE FOLLOWED TRUMAN BACK through the forest leaving the paramedics to wait with the body for Grey to arrive and pronounce Salter dead. She was trembling, numb from pulling the belts tight, from listening to Salter, from fear for Jack. Her mind snapped to her absent partner.

  “Have you seen Mitch?” she asked.

  “We all started to run down that bumpy path when we heard the first shot. Looks like he stepped in one of the deeper gullies and broke his leg.” Truman shook his head. “Somehow, he got back to the cruiser and called in for back up and ambulances. They found him passed out over the front seat. Guess the pain got him. Randall said they took him away in an ambulance.”

  The clearing was in turmoil when they reached its edge and Cass hung back, amazed at the damage. Flames leapt from the burning cabin as a firefighter struggled to drag a hose from the dark path leading to the road. He flipped a valve and water spewed forth in a white surge, forcing him to lean forward against the flow. Steam billowed upward, ad
ding dampness to the biting smell of burning petrol and dried wood that permeated the air. Three officers stood at the mouth of the dirt trail, backs to the clearing, arms outstretched to hold back members of the press struggling to get clear shots of the action and shoving microphones forward. Sheriff Hoffner stalked the small space, lips in a tight, bloodless line. His eyes followed Kado’s every move.

  Kado darted through the scene, taking photographs and measurements, trying to preserve as much evidence as possible. Munk worked with him, collecting labeled bags, pouring casting mix and sticking flags into the ground. His potbellied form was scorched from his dash into the cabin to save Evelyn, most of his wispy brown hair now singed black. His eyes were grim. Cass wondered if his anger sprung from the kidnapping of his sister, or from putting faces to the abused girls. Munk’s life was an agony of regret over his own child, and Cass knew his heart was torn every time a child was hurt.

  Greg Newton’s body lay where it had fallen, the hood now completely removed from his face. Surprisingly, his glasses were still in place. Cass’s stomach flipped at the physical confirmation of what she had done. Deacon Cronus remained hunched, still handcuffed to the table, head bowed in an attitude of supplication. Grey and Porky flitted between the two, and it was only when her stunned mind recognized what this meant that Cass squatted in the shadows to examine the Deacon’s crouching form more closely.

  “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?”