Protector (27 page)
Authors: Laurel Dewey
Tags: #Police Procedural, #Denver (Colo.), #Mystery & Detective, #Psychic ability, #Women detectives, #Crime, #Suspense, #Women Sleuths, #Children of murder victims, #Fiction, #Occult & Supernatural, #Espionage
“We need to discuss that. When the dust settles on this case, I’m putting in for a new partner. It’s a trust issue, boss. He’s gone paranoid on me.”
“That’s a strong word, Jane.”
“You don’t know what he did last night—”
Chris’ voice exploded in anger toward the suspect in the interrogation room.
“Fill me in afterward,” Weyler said.
Weyler and Jane walked into the narrow, claustrophobic observation room with the two-way mirror. Chris stood with his back to the mirror, leaning over the table and jabbing his thick finger toward the suspect. As for the suspect, he looked as if he hadn’t seen a bath since the ’80s. His long, salt-and-pepper hair was pasted together with grease, dried chewing gum, leaves, strips of newspaper and anything else that he happened to roll into while sleeping in the alleys. He was Caucasian—at least, he appeared to be a Caucasian. Between the dense grime and his suntan, he could have passed for Mexican. His shredded clothes hung over his bony body. He wore only one shoe that was two sizes too big and secured on his foot with layers of duct tape. The chest pocket on his shirt was torn off. The only other pockets were in his pants and they, too, were full of holes. Jane noted every single detail in less than thirty seconds. “Is this a joke?” Jane said, facing the two-way mirror.
“Chris seems to think he’s worth pursuing. The guy’s had plenty of time to dry out but he’s still not making much sense,” Weyler said.
Chris moved away from the table and Jane caught a glimpse of the silver cigarette holder on the table—the supposed link to the Lawrence murder.
“Was the cigarette case stuck up his ass?” Jane asked Weyler.
“How’s that?”
“I’m just curious since there isn’t a pocket on this guy that would hold a Kleenex, let along a heavy, silver cigarette container.”
Weyler opened a small manila file folder and searched the pages. “The PD report shows that the container was found ‘near his person.’ ”
“So he found it in a dumpster or on the side of the road. It doesn’t tie him to anything. The person or persons who did this murder are smart, clever and cunning. Tell me how this guy fits that description?”
“You’re holding back from me!” Chris yelled, angling his body over the suspect.
“Hey, dude, I don’t know what you want me to say,” the suspect replied, his bloodshot eyes widening in fear.
“How about the fucking truth!” Chris screamed back. Jane noticed that Chris’ shirt wasn’t tucked in on one side and his tie was askew. He looked unkempt—a result she surmised from being abruptly pulled away from his vacation at Lake Dillon and having to throw on the same attire he was wearing the night before.
The suspect looked at Chris as if he was trying to make an association. “Hey, dude, you look familiar. You were in my high school, right?”
“Stop fucking around!” Chris yelled, slamming his fist on the table. He grabbed the cigarette holder and held it up. “Where did you get this cigarette case?”
“I’m not sure—”
“Don’t lie to me! A little girl saw you. She was hiding in the shadows watching you take a knife and rip her parents to death!”
The suspect’s face fell in sorrow. “A little girl saw that? God, that’s awful.”
“You were so out of it. It’s obvious. You forgot the coke, but like an idiot, you took this little trinket instead. But their fucking names are written on it!”
“I didn’t take that thing. Somebody gave it to me—”
“You expect me to believe that someone gave you a silver cigarette case!”
“Yeah, dude. This guy just gave it to me last night. Hey, man, I gotta get outta here. I gotta go to Atlanta. I’m catchin’ the dream weaver train.”
Jane turned to Weyler. “How much more of this do we need to watch?” She walked out of the narrow room and stood nervously in the hallway. Weyler followed and pounded his fist three times on the interrogation room door to alert Chris. Chris emerged, flushed in the face and reeking of body odor.
“What is it?” Chris asked Weyler, almost out of breath.
“Let him go.”
“Boss, the guy’s got a piece of property on him from the scene! We can’t kick him!” Chris stole a glance toward Jane. “Goddamnit, Jane! Don’t fuck this up for me!”
“I’m not fucking it up for you! You’re doing a fine job all by yourself!”
“He’s got crime scene property on him, Jane!” Chris yelled.
“And I’m wearing Eddie Bauer pants! That doesn’t make me his cousin!” Jane replied.
“Alright, you two!” Weyler said loudly. “Chris, let him walk.”
“Yeah,” Jane interjected. “He’s gotta get up early and go to work at NASA!”
“My God!” Weyler said in an angry tone, “you’re like two belligerent children! Chris, I know you want to solve this case. I know you want to make the department look good. But you’re shadowboxing with ghosts in there.”
“Then explain how he got the cigarette case! Maybe this asshole hangs with the guys who did it. There could be a viable link here, boss!”
“He couldn’t find the fucking hole in a donut!” Jane said, under her breath.
“Kick him out of here, Chris,” Weyler said, turning toward his office.
“Boss!” Chris urged. “You’re worried about the possibility of that kid being stalked! Well, who’s to say he’s not the guy that tips off the stalker?”
Jane’s ears perked up. This was the first time she had it confirmed that Emily was in physical danger. She turned to Weyler, “So she is being stalked?”
“There’s a possibility but we can’t confirm it,” Weyler said wearily. “Chris got a call several days ago that alluded to a possible situation.”
“When were you planning on sharing this information with me?” Jane pointedly said to Chris.
“Maybe when you shared what the kid likes to whisper to you!” Chris replied with a mean twist to his voice.
Jane looked at Weyler. “If Emily is in real danger, I need to know about it.”
“It was one call,” Weyler said. “Chris tried to trace it but it was from a phone booth somewhere in . . . where was it?”
“Littleton,” Chris quickly replied.
“More than likely it was some freak,” Weyler assured Jane.
“Boss,” Chris said, “I know this guy’s fuckin’ crazy, but we have to turn over every rock just in case it leads to something significant. If we kick him, put a car on him. Find out where he’s going . . . who he’s talking to . . . We’ve gotta figure this out, dammit!”
Weyler rested his hands on his hips and stared ahead deep in thought. “I appreciate your steadfast determination, Chris. But I just don’t feel it’s worthy of pursuit.” Weyler turned and headed into his office.
Chris looked at Jane, burning holes of red hot anger into her. “If something happens to that kid, Jane, and it comes back to this guy, it’s on my head, not yours!”
“He wants a one-way ticket to Atlanta! Or was it Atlantis?”
“So he’s fucked up! That doesn’t mean there isn’t some weird connection!”
“Exactly what connection would that be? Have you thought about what you were going to tell the DA’s office when you presented this character to them? Let’s see, he knows a bum who knows another bum who knows a guy who works at Starbucks who found the cigarette case in a dumpster behind Safeway. The one bum stole it from the guy at Starbucks, then that bum traded it to the other bum who then gave it to the guy sitting in there who’s catching the dream weaver train to Atlanta!”
“We have to solve this crime.” Chris’ voice was tired and hoarse. “You just don’t get it. I’m going to lose every goddamn thing if I can’t put this case to bed. I’m working my ass off while you’re sitting back and chatting up the kid!”
Jane moved closer to Chris and spoke in a confidential manner. “I never wanted anything to do with this case. I’m just doing what I’m told to do. And you, more than anyone, should understand that!”
Chris regarded Jane with a quizzical eye. “What do you mean?”
“Figure it out.” Jane turned away.
Tension gripped Chris. “If you know something and you’re not telling me—”
Jane wearily faced Chris. “I know a lot of things.” “That kid did tell you something—”
“Maybe she did. But if I told you, I don’t know that you’d have the necessary discernment to evaluate it. God, Chris, look at you! You smell like piss and you look like shit. And you have the nerve to say that I’m fucked up?”
There was an uneasy silence between the two of them. Chris sized up Jane. “You think you’re smarter than me?” Chris asked.
“Right now? Yes.”
“You don’t know everything, Jane.”
“I know a shitpot more than you and that’s all that counts.” She turned on her heels.
Chris stared at Jane with penetrating anger. “Where are you going?”
“I need to talk to Weyler alone.”
“Why alone?”
“Chris, you really gotta take something for that paranoia.”
“Like a drink?” Chris replied. Jane froze. Chris knew he hit a soft spot. “What’s it been? Two? Three days? That’s a fucking lifetime for you. Has your skin started to crawl yet? Has your head started to pound? Are your hands shaking? ’Cause I know how addicts get when they’re jonesin’ for a fix. And I’m looking at a walking example of it right now.”
Jane turned around to face Chris. Everything he said was true but there was no way she would own up to it. “Fuck you.”
Chris grabbed Jane by the arm. “No, Jane. Fuck you.” His cutting stare lingered before he headed down the hall and disappeared around the corner.
Jane spun around and made her way into Weyler’s office. She closed the door and stood against his desk in an aggressive stance. “As far as I’m concerned, this case is over. Call Emily’s aunt and uncle in Cheyenne and get her out of this city!”
“I’m not ready to cut and run. It was one phone call, Jane. One. And it was probably just some nutcase.”
“You really believe that?”
“Pretty much.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve ‘pretty much’ had it with the direction of this investigation. I’ve been lied to. I’ve been spied on. And I’ve been stuck in a house with a kid who’s got a puzzle piece memory and tells me stories of how her daddy liked to drink and how her parents liked to yell a lot.”
“What else is she saying?” Jane hesitated for a second, but it was long enough to garner suspicion from Weyler. “What did she tell you, Jane?”
There was no way Jane was going to bring up the whole “third voice” that Emily said she heard on that fateful night. Jane wanted the whole thing to be over and she was determined to do anything to make that happen. “It’s like I’ve said before. There is no justice or righteousness in making this kid remember what happened that night.”
“That’s where you and I disagree. I say there’s no justice or righteousness without it! And I have the final word on this matter. So I suggest you turn around, go back to that house and continue to draw out what you can from that child’s memory. Do I make myself clear?”
Jane stared at Weyler, gradually realizing that any attempts to argue were futile. She was stuck. Trapped. Lured into a situation that repelled and sickened her. All she wanted to do at that moment was to get in her car and drive and keep driving until she was a million miles away from that place. She wanted to numb the monster that was waking up inside her. Walking back into that house and facing Emily was like volunteering for torture. And yet, there were no words that would convince Weyler to change his mind.
Jane instructed the patrol officer to stop by a sandwich shop en route to the Lawrence house. The way she was feeling, there was no way she was going to cook lunch. She arrived back at the house just before one o’ clock. Neighborhood kids gleefully rode their bikes alongside the pathway that edged around the glimmering lake. It was as though the world outside the Lawrences’ house was blissfully unaware of the nightmares that lay within the walls of that dwelling.
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