Protector (56 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
The second way to discover criminal negligence in the property room was via an audit. Audits could not be done on a whim—there had to be verifiable suspicion for such an undertaking. It had been more than one year since the last audit of the evidence room. The fact that Chris—who was low on the proverbial influential totem pole—was able to convince Brass to audit the property room was a testament to his persuasion. His forthright, choirboy looks didn’t hurt when it came to influencing a department to embark on what could turn out to be a massive internal and media embarrassment.
So, Jane thought, if this was the corruption that Bill Stover was prepared to reveal in court, where did it lead? Planting evidence, perhaps? Unfortunately, Jane knew that was nothing new for big city cops. Her mind went back to that silver cigarette case that mysteriously jumped from the Lawrence crime scene photo and into the supposed possession of the street bum. That was certainly a case of tampering with evidence and, possibly, planting of evidence. Or maybe it was all about losing key evidence so a criminal would walk. Sure, that was a consideration. However, if key pieces of evidence went missing on a regular basis, it would be too much of a red flag. The more Jane considered the possibilities, the more she crossed off the latter idea. Her gut told her that whoever did this would pick and choose the evidence very carefully so he or she would not draw attention to omission.
Weyler’s comment about trouble “downstairs” was an obvious tip-off to the results from the property room audit that Chris demanded. And when Weyler mentioned it, Jane remembered his voice becoming tense and evasive. Was he feeling the heat because it looked bad for his Department or was he feeling the screws tighten because he was part of the deceit? Jane tried to play the process through from beginning to end. Somebody was obviously screwing around with evidence and doing God knows what for God only knows what reason. This brought it all back to Ron Dickson, the “good Christian.” The soccer dad. The guy who collected money for D.A.R.E. The fellow who appeared naive but genuine to Jane. Could she have been wrong all along about this man? Or, perhaps, was someone using him higher up on the Department’s food chain? Jane knew that Ron would be an easy target to deceive. Between the massive confusion downstairs when large amounts of evidence poured in and Ron’s naturally trusting nature, someone he respected higher up in the Department could have slipped behind the counter and stolen key case evidence.
But for what bigger purpose? And, if that was the big corruption revelation that Bill Stover was prepared to disclose, how did the Texas mob fit into this theory? While no one was quite sure, the mob appeared to be pursuing the same old schemes: drugs and fronts for laundering money. They also seemed to have the finances to back them up as well as the power to put mortal fear into those who stood in their way. From the little Jane knew about them, they had to have a tightly-knit infrastructure, built upon blackmail and death threats. And when the Texas mob made a death threat against you, there was almost nothing you could do to prevent it.
They didn’t choose Bill Stover out of thin air. He was an easy blackmail target. You can’t be Denver’s “Entrepreneur of the Year” and also have a secret lust for coke and meth. You might as well walk around with a big “Blackmail Me!” sign on your chest. He willingly allowed his Denver convenience stores to be used as fronts for laundering money. Along the way, he befriended a few drugged out mob lackeys who carelessly bragged about who knew who protected what in Denver. It was a sweet deal for all concerned until law enforcement got wind of the shady dealings and made Stover a “lose-lose” offer he couldn’t refuse.
Jane considered the old “Follow the protection money” lament her dad mentioned. Stuck in Peachville, there was no way to do that. Even if she could research the trail via the telephone, it would take hours standing at The Pit Stop pay phone.
She looked back at the picnic photographs. Jane figured that by May 2 when the photos were snapped, Bill Stover knew he was headed for court and imminent house arrest. Staring at the faces of Bill and Yvonne, Jane noticed a stressed demeanor in their appearance. It was the same troubled look she caught on the faces of David and Patricia Lawrence when she saw their photo displayed on their refrigerator. Jane chalked that up to a bad day. But perhaps, there was more to it.
Given the fact that the two families were obviously very close friends, Jane wondered if it was possible that Bill shared information with David. After all, Bill Stover knew he was going to testify against the mob. He was also a struggling drug addict who may have not been able to keep his mouth shut. Jane knew that pattern all too well. Whenever she needed to get information about a perp, her first stop was to the street junkies who were more than happy to trade good information for a few bucks to buy their next hit. Addicts had no code of integrity; addicts just wanted to cover their ass and get a fix. They’d sell out their mother if someone promised them an eight ball.
Jane scrutinized the photos more closely, trying to form a story from them. But the more she stared at Bill’s tense expression and David’s equally preoccupied countenance, the more questions she had. The only one who might be able to shed light on any of it was lying in her bed and in no shape to answer questions.
The following day, Jane desperately wanted to quiz Emily but the child was still smarting from her gory flashback at the carnival. By the end of that Sunday, Emily had spent most of the day sitting in the backyard, staring vacantly into space. Her mood shifted from apprehension and embarrassment in the morning to a sullen, angry disposition as evening fell. Jane noticed that even an unexpected visit from Dan that evening didn’t alter Emily’s brooding temperament. It was as if a resentful shift had taken hold. Gone was the innocent, inquisitive kid. Instead, a confused, frustrated child emerged who felt manipulated by everyone around her.
Jane tolerated the sullen mood change. But on Monday morning, she was determined to pump Emily for information about the relationship between the Stovers and Lawrences. Emily was still asleep in her own bed that morning when there was a knock on the front door. Jane peeked out the narrow glass panels on the front door and groaned before opening the door. “Hello, Heather.”
“Hello,” she responded with a self-important air. “They’re putting up the decorations for the fourth!”
“The fourth?”
“July fourth?” Heather said with a snotty, “you-certainly-are-stupid” tone. “It’s this Sunday! We have a huge parade. Anyway, I wanted to know if Patty could come and hang out with us while we watch them put up the decorations.”
“Not today.” Jane started to close the door when Heather slammed her hand against it.
“Wait!” she demanded.
Jane felt a strong ire building for this brat. “What?”
“We won’t go far. Just like a block up on Main!”
Jane wanted to scream. “What part of the word ‘no’ don’t you understand?”
Heather stared defiantly at Jane, her left eyebrow arching slightly. An evil grin crept across her face. “Have a nice day!” she said, turning on her heels.
Jane shut the front door and turned to see Emily standing in her bedroom doorway. “I want to watch them put up the decorations!” Emily said emphatically.
“No,” Jane said, lighting a cigarette and walking down the hall to the kitchen to grab her morning coffee.
“Why!” Emily yelled, quickly following Jane down the hall.
“Because I want to talk to you!”
“All we ever do is talk. You and me! I want to be with people my own age!”
“Goddamnit, Emily! I said I need to talk to you!”
“Aw, shit!” Emily said, angrily shoving the kitchen chair under the table. “It’s always about you! It’s never about me!”
“Hey, what in the hell do you think we’re doing in this fucking town?” Jane took her coffee cup and headed back down the hall to the living room.
“I don’t know. You don’t tell me anything!” Emily said, following Jane. “I just figured we’re sitting around waiting for me to remember whatever it is I’m supposed to remember so you can solve your case and leave this ‘fucking town?’ ”
“Okay, stop!” Jane realized the conversation was going nowhere. “Sit down,” she said with less fire in her voice. Emily remained standing. “Emily?” Reluctantly, Emily complied, stoically crossing her arms across her chest. “You want to cut me off?” Jane asked, noting Emily’s body language. “Fine! But we’re going to sit here and have a rational conversation whether you like it or not.” Jane set down her coffee cup and took a drag on her cigarette as she plopped into the chair across from Emily. “You may not believe this,” Jane said calmly, “but I know exactly what you’re feeling right now.”
“No, you don’t,” Emily said, resentment pouring out of each word.
“Yes, I do. I’ve been on this earth, breathing in and out, longer than you. And I’ve had to endure a lot of shit. I’m not trying to make out like I’ve suffered more than you. I’m just telling you that I know what you’re feeling. You’re pissed off because you want to be in control but the powers that be aren’t letting that happen. I’m yanking your chain every single day, telling you what you can and can’t do. Meanwhile, your memory is serving up little pieces of disjointed crap that doesn’t make sense, but scares the hell out of you nonetheless.” Jane couldn’t help but think of her own chaotic visions of blinding light, Glocks, bizarre wolf faces and backwards dates on hand-prints. “Trust me, kid, I do know what it feels like to see things that disturb you and make no sense.” Emily considered Jane’s statement. “So, you feel like you’re being used. And you know what? You’re absolutely right.” Emily looked surprised. “What? You thought I was going to tell you that you’re not being used? That’d be a lie and I don’t lie to you. The Denver PD used you and I’m using you to try and solve your parents’ murder. If you want to know the God’s truth, I didn’t want this case. Not because of you, but because of what I know you must have gone through.” Jane leaned forward. “I’ve seen what you can’t see. I’ve seen what you don’t want to see. I’ve felt the same fear that you feel . . . And I’ve heard the voices, Emily.”
Emily couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was it possible, she wondered? Could she risk telling Jane everything or would Jane think she was crazy? Would she even believe her? “Jane, I—”
“I’ve never asked you the tough questions,” Jane interrupted. “I’ve never forced you to tell me every last detail of what you can remember. I didn’t want to be the person responsible for destroying you.”
Emily realized it was all about what she saw at the house. She quickly reasoned that to reveal anything else to Jane at that moment would complicate everything.
Jane took a long drag on her cigarette. “Some things have changed in the last couple days. You and me are up against the wall. So, I’ve got to ask you the hard questions in order to connect the dots.” Emily slowly nodded. “You’ve told me that your parents fought a lot and that they fought more frequently in the weeks leading up to their murder. Can you remember anything that was said during those fights?”
“I tried not to listen. I’d go in my closet and close the door and turn on my Starlight Starbright.”
“You weren’t sitting in your closet all the time. You had to hear something.”
“Daddy came home later and later. He said he was helping A.J.’s daddy with his computer at his office—”
“Your dad’s office?”
“No. At A.J.’s dad’s office. A.J.’s dad got confused a lot. A.J. told me he acted crazy sometimes. He didn’t know anything about computers and so my dad said he would help him. My dad was a computer whiz.” Jane tried to put things together. She pictured David sitting in the back office of one of Bill Stover’s convenience stores—the same back office where the Texas Mob was thought to have set up shop. “I heard Daddy say to Mommy once that he felt important ’cause he could help out A.J.’s daddy.”
“Did that mean a lot to your dad? Feeling important?”
“Sure. Everybody wants to feel important.” Emily’s mind drifted momentarily. “But Mommy didn’t like that Daddy felt important helping out A.J.’s daddy.”
“Really?”
“It scared her. They fought a lot about that before Mommy and me went to Moab for our camping trip. I asked her when we were away why she was so scared, but all she’d say is that Daddy makes bad decisions because he’s a drunk and he wants to be a big man and he’s really just a little man. I didn’t get what she meant by that.”
Jane recalled the conversation she had with Weyler at the Lawrence house. One of David’s coworkers said that he displayed a cocksure attitude around the office that was unusual for him. Perhaps, Jane surmised, David’s strut was because he felt important when he hung out with Bill Stover. That strut, however, vanished within weeks, according to Weyler’s information, and was replaced by muffled telephone calls and erratic behavior. “What kind of bad decisions was your mother referring to?”
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