“Yeah, was gonna ask about that. Hey, just so we’re clear, we’re here to assist. This is a joint thing, but this is your county. You know this place better than we do. I mean, you found the tree,” Geary said.
“Does that mean you have no objections to me going up to Richmond and talking to the coroner?” Titus said.
“I mean, no objections, but we can just email you the reports,” Geary said.
“I know, but I’ve found talking to the actual person who did the examination can sometimes be more useful,” Titus said.
“You get many murder cases out this way?” Geary asked.
“I … I used to be with the Bureau. Started in Behavioral Science before moving to Domestic Terrorism,” Titus said. Sharing his past with other cops usually led to one of two different responses. Adulation or dismissiveness. Adulation from the ones who wanted to shed their small-town stripes and tin stars for the hallowed halls of the FBI, and dismissiveness from the ones who enjoyed treating their county or city or state like a fiefdom.
“No shit? How’d you end up out here in the boonies?” Geary asked.
Adulation it was.
“My father had a serious surgery, so I came home to help him. Ended up running for sheriff,” Titus said. Geary frowned. Titus figured him for a hard charger. Probably graduated at the top of his class. Smart and hungry like Trey and Carla. The kind of person for whom the idea of leaving the Bureau to write speeding tickets and break up fights in the parking lot of the Safeway was inconceivable.
“Well, that’s … I mean, family is important,” Geary said. He looked over his shoulder at the techs.
“What’s your feeling on this? Mr. FBI.”
Titus adjusted his shades.
“The third person is somebody local. They knew this place. Not just the burial spot but the county. I’m guessing a white male between thirty and fifty. Physically strong. Organized. He’s not flipping from job to job. Probably doesn’t have a steady girlfriend or wife. If he does, they have a dysfunctional sex life. He’s got land. Enough land to build a shed or outbuilding that he soundproofed. Some place semi-remote. Where nobody noticed him bringing in live teenagers and taking out dead bodies. The … injuries he inflicted on the victims were horrific. He has a lot of anger. Lots of rage. There was a lot of religious iconography on the walls of the building where the crimes took place. He may have theomania. He’s obsessed with God or thinks he’s God or is angry with God. Maybe that’s the source of his rage,” Titus said.
“Your email mentioned that they wore wolf masks. You think that was to hide their identities, or was it mostly ceremonial?” Geary asked.
Titus crossed his arms. “I think for Spearman it was just a costume. Latrell too. Not for the Last Wolf. I don’t know, I don’t think he was trying to hide his identity. The wolf plays an antagonistic role in Christian theology. Especially the New Testament. I think … I think that’s how he sees himself. He thinks he’s the Wolf. The Angel of Death. And his rage is both in service to and directed at God.” His voice had dropped to barely a whisper.
The cry from a loon cracked through the air. Geary shivered.
“That’s that FBI training, all right,” Geary said.
Titus blinked his eyes behind his sunglasses and uncrossed his arms.
“That’s just some inferences based on past experience. It’s not magic,” Titus said.
“No, but if we catch this guy, it helps. I put in a request for Spearman’s phone records. See if we can track his movements based on cell tower triangulation,” Geary said.
“That’s good, but I bet he didn’t carry the phone with him when he went to see his partner,” Titus said.
“But the pictures…”
“Are on a SIM card. And the videos were on thumb drives. Probably used a burner phone to take the pictures, then swapped the card. I’d put in a request for Latrell’s phone records too. Hopefully either he or the third man carried their phones with them. It’s not much, but it’s a start,” Titus said.
Geary shook his head.
“What?”
“You’re not bored out here? Gotta be a change of pace from chasing Al-Qaeda,” Geary said.
“We targeted domestic terrorists. White supremacists. Environmental extremists. Radical religious fanatics of all the Abrahamic faiths,” Titus said.
Geary cleared his throat. “Ah, gotcha.”
Before an uncomfortable silence could descend upon them, Titus’s radio crackled to life.
“Sheriff, we got a 415 down at the courthouse. Two groups arguing in the road. Deputy Ortiz requesting backup,” Cam said on the mic.
“Ten-four. Relay to Deputy Ortiz I’m on my way,” Titus said into the receiver.
“We’ll let you know what we find. You’re gonna have to tell me some of your FBI stories sometime,” Geary said.
“They aren’t that interesting,” Titus said.
Red DeCrain’s face came to him like a message from Morpheus sent to him in a waking nightmare.
* * *
Ricky Sours and his cabal of revisionists were surrounding the statue like a phalanx minus the pikes. Jamal Addison and a large group of young people were halfway in the road, halfway out. Between the two groups was Carla, doing her best to keep them separated. Titus parked in one of the diagonal spaces directly in front of the courthouse building. There was a long black streak on the statue that had the indistinct edges of spray paint. A Confederate flag lay on the grass, ripped in half.
“Heritage not hate! Heritage not hate!” Ricky screamed at the top of his lungs. His doughy face was speckled with red splotches. A black baseball cap with the characters 2A emblazoned in white was pulled down tight over his stringy dirty blond hair streaked with gray. He wore a shirt emblazoned with both Old Glory and the Confederate battle flag. He held a pole in his hands that had a few tattered pieces of the Stars and Bars attached to it.
Titus knew if you asked Ricky he’d say he was incensed because wokeness was trying to erase his history. He’d say he was only trying to protect the story of his ancestors. Titus wondered if folks like Ricky really believed that tale when they told it to themselves. Titus knew what men like Ricky were really disturbed by was the fact that people, mostly people of color, had the temerity to challenge the lie of antebellum honor and chivalry that had been shoved down the throats of every child in the South for generations.
A lie that people like Ricky embraced with the darkest part of their hearts.
“Jamal, get across the road!” Titus roared. He used every ounce of bass he could muster so he could be heard over the growling din of the opposing forces.
“Sheriff, they tried to assault this young man!” Jamal yelled back.
“He vandalized the statue! We was just trying to hold him until the police came!” Ricky hollered.
“Jamal, get these people across the road. Ricky, you ain’t got no right to put your hands on nobody,” Titus said.
“You taking their side, why am I not surprised?” Ricky said. A few of his fellow neo-Confederates voiced their agreement.
“I’m not taking sides. I’m trying to ascertain exactly what happened. Jamal is taking his people across the road. Now you calm your folks down and let’s talk about this. Or do you want me to start arresting everybody?” Titus asked. Ricky tried to find Titus’s eyes behind his shades so he could register his disgust, but the mirrored aviators stymied his attempt at a standoff. Even without seeing his eyes, Ricky must have sensed a steel in Titus that wasn’t prone to bending to the whims of others. He turned and herded his group across the lawn until they were standing on the steps of the courthouse.
Titus walked up to Carla.
“What happened?”
Carla was breathing hard. A few strands of her coal-black hair had freed themselves from the tight bun she wore for work. They snaked their way down around her neck.
“Got a call that a kid had vandalized the statue. When I got here, Ricky and a few of his crew were holding the kid down. Then Jamal was driving by and he pulled over and hopped out. Next thing I know, Ricky’s got twenty people here and Jamal’s got fifty and everybody’s screaming bloody murder,” Carla said.
“Was it the white kid with the dreads?” Titus asked.
Carla nodded. “They were holding him down when I got here. How’d you know?”
“Grass stains on his jeans. Black spots on his hands. Also he keeps looking over at me. Who ripped up Ricky’s flag?” Titus asked.
“I … I don’t know. Things were out of hand by that point,” Carla said.
“Things always get out of hand when Ricky is involved. I wish he’d just stick to running his trash trucks. Go to that kid and ask him does he want to press charges. I’m gonna talk to the rebs,” Titus said. Carla walked across the road to the sidewalk in front of the library.
Titus approached Ricky and his group.
“You gonna arrest that boy?” Ricky said.
“You should be asking am I going to arrest you,” Titus said.