Protector (66 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
Jane recalled a comment she made to Weyler. “There’s a thin line between the mind of a cop and the mind of a criminal. Do you have any idea how often they are one in the same? And how they hide it so well?” At the time, she was referring to her father. But now, those words were meant for Chris. Just like Dale Perry, Chris walked a tightrope between light and dark, dipping his toe more frequently into the black sludge and emerging a little more sullied each time. Jane understood the seductive call of the darkness—the sultry whispers and tempting promises of power and prestige that it held.
When you cut a deal with demons, you do whatever it takes to execute your contract. You steal evidence, like that silver cigarette case. Jane surmised that was accomplished when Chris was briefly alone at the scene after being sent out to get food for Jane and Emily’s stay at the Lawrence house.
You frame homeless bums who you probably know from hanging with the degenerates of society. That would explain why the bum kept looking at Chris and saying that he looked familiar.
You concoct stories of stalkers leaving messages on your voice mail tape at Headquarters that threaten to take out the kid. That was just another back pocket insurance policy so Chris could say “I told you so” when the kid turned up dead.
You attempt to break into the lead detective’s house to find out if she left any notes behind that might clue you in to where the Department sent her. Jane briefly took solace in that she never gave Chris a key to her house.
You lie about your whereabouts. The more Jane charted the timing of events, the more she realized that Chris was never anywhere near Lake Dillon with his boat; that was just a ploy to throw off DH. “And what about that damn boat?” Jane thought.
Ultimately, for Jane, the final questions came down to “Who benefits?” and “Why risk your career on a murderous rampage?” Did Chris benefit from their deaths? Or did someone else benefit who Chris feared? Was Chris acting on his own volition or was there more to it? The final connection murky in Jane’s mind. But the loose puzzle pieces were joining together to form a psychotic portrait of a man who was hell-bent on destroying everything that was good and decent. A burning rage gripped Jane. She grabbed a small vase filled with plastic flowers and flung it against the wall, shattering the glass across the kitchen table. “Goddamn you!” she shouted, her voice cracking in pain.
One way or the other, Jane knew she had to alert Weyler and carefully manipulate the situation so that no one was tipped off. Jane walked into the living room. She stopped near Emily’s closed bedroom door. Jane started for the door when she suddenly heard her name. She turned in the direction of the voice. It was muffled and anxious. In an instant, Jane raced down the hallway to her bedroom, as the voice grew louder. She stormed into her bedroom just as the male voice clipped off quickly. Jane eyed the blinking red light on her beeper that sat on the bedside table. She grabbed it and nervously hit the play button.
“Jane Perry? This is Jeff. Lisa’s brother? Look, I did some digging like you asked. I followed the protection trail. That Weyler guy you mentioned is not involved. But it is clear that a Detective Christopher Crawley has been offering illegal police protection to the immigrant businesses downtown. He gets paid off in goods and services. Something about a boat and other stuff. From what I can sort out, Crawley edged in on businesses that were already paying protection to the Texas mob. They could have killed him and Crawley knows that, but the mob decided to keep him in their back pocket. He does things for them. Jobs . . . Intimidation . . . Whatever they ask. Maybe even murder. The business people downtown are terrified of him. I tried to track him down but he suddenly left town this morning. Mentioned something to one of the shop owners about having to pay back somebody—” With that, the sixty second tape cut off.
Payback. Jane’s adrenalin hit the roof. She grabbed her shoulder holster, snapped it across her body and shoved in her Glock pistol. Tearing open her fanny pack, she quickly pulled out two extra clips and secured them in her front pockets. She threw on her leather jacket to conceal the gun and started down the hallway when she stopped and quickly ran back into the bedroom. Flinging open the closet door, she grabbed her duffel bag and emptied the contents onto the floor. She rummaged through the assorted items until she located the square, thin, black leather container that held her police badge. Jane hid the badge in her back pocket and ran down the hallway toward Emily’s bedroom door.
She tried the door. Still locked. “Emily!” Jane shouted, pounding on the door. “Unlock this door! Let me in!”
An eerie silence fell around Jane. Something was very wrong. She backed up several feet and kicked the door with her cowboy boot, sending splinters of wood flying across the floor. With one final devastating kick, directly onto the doorknob, the door flew open.
Emily was gone. Her pajamas lay in a heap on the floor. Her jeans, boots and shirt were missing from the chair where she’d left them. Jane turned. A gust of wind blew in through the narrow front window. The window screen had been punched through and tossed onto the front lawn.
“Oh, God, don’t do this!” Jane shouted as she spun around and ran out the front door.
Chapter 28
Jane skidded to a halt outside the house on the front pathway, quickly observing the scene. From what she could tell, it looked as if two separate footprints—one belonging to Emily and one clearly belonging to an adult—left indentations in the dewy grass and tracked away from the house, heading down Main Street toward town. The sidewalk was quickly filling up with parade watchers. Orange cones and wooden barricades lined the periphery, preventing people from walking into the street. Half a block up toward the highway, Jane saw a crowd of parade participants busily getting into line in preparation for their procession down Main.
Jane looked up in a nearby tree and saw a city worker adjusting a patriotic flag. “Hey! Did you just see a little girl being grabbed out of that window over there?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, casually.
“Did you notice where the kid and the guy were headed?”
“Guy? There was no guy.”
“She was alone?”
“No. That woman . . . what’s her name? She works at the real estate office . . .”
“Kathy?”
“Yeah, Kathy. She walked up there and, I don’t know, I guess asked her if she wanted to watch the parade or something—”
“Oh, shit,” Jane muttered under her breath. “Did you notice where they went?”
“They walked under the barricade and across the street, headin’ down Main.” Jane scanned the growing crowd on the other side of the street. She ran to the Subaru and started to get in when the city worker called out to her. “Hey, you can’t drive anywhere until the parade is over! City regulations! The street’s blocked!”
“It’s an emergency!” Jane shouted back to him.
“Lady, you can’t drive anywhere! They can’t have gone far. You’re better off catching up with them on foot!”
Jane slammed the car door and brusquely fought her way through the throngs of revelers. She slunk underneath the orange wooden barricade and raced across the street, repeating the same maneuver on the other side until she reached the empty sidewalk. Jane ran down the sidewalk, scanning the crowd for any sign of Kathy, Heather or Emily. A block and a half up Main Street she spotted Heather leaning against a metal stair rail. As usual, the child had a petulant look on her face as she stood with her arms tightly folded across her chest. Jane made a mad dash for her.
“Heather!” Jane said, out of breath, “Where’s Emily?”
“I don’t know any Emily!” Heather said with a nasty tone. “I know a Patty—”
“Where is she, Heather?” Jane yelled, tiring of the kid’s attitude.
“You better stay away from me! If you hurt me, I’m telling the sheriff!”
Jane suddenly looked up at the building behind Heather. “For God’s sake!” Jane yelled as she tore up the front stairs of the sheriff’s office and ran into the building. She stopped momentarily when she stepped inside the antiquated office. A heavy wooden counter stood ten feet in front of her. There wasn’t a soul in sight. She heard two voices speaking in quiet, subdued tones in an adjacent room. Jane lunged toward the counter’s latched door and tried to open it, but it was locked. She jumped onto the counter and spun over to the other side. Once her feet hit the marble green flooring, she could see Sheriff George having a serious conversation with Kathy. “Hey!” Jane called out in a clipped shout as she moved toward them. They turned in unison with looks of apprehension on their faces. Jane walked toward Kathy. “You stupid bitch!”
“There! You see, Sheriff?” Kathy said, standing closer to Sheriff George’s side. “That’s the kind of hairpin anger I’m talking about!”
“Now, look,” the sheriff warned Jane, “you better just calm yourself down.”
“You have no idea what’s going on here!”
“I have a very good idea!”
“Where’s Emily?” Jane demanded.
“Emily? Right, Emily. She’s just fine and dandy,” the sheriff replied.
“Where is she?” Jane shouted.
“She’s safe. She’s in the back room with our deputy,” Sheriff George said sternly.
Jane started for the back room. “I have to talk to her!”
The sheriff moved his large physique in front of Jane, halting her progress. “You don’t need to be talking to her right now—”
Jane stared down the sheriff. “You don’t understand—”
“Oh, yes I do. I know you’re not who you say you are. I know you are not that child’s mother!”
Jane took a step back. “Oh, Christ,” Jane mumbled as she ran her fingers through her tangled brown hair. She didn’t want to deliver the bombshell in front of Kathy but she realized she was backed into a corner. “Okay, look, before I go into this, I want it known that I have done everything above board and according to procedure.”
“Is that right?” Sheriff George retorted, a smug look on his face.
“Yes!” Jane said, taking offense at his tone.
“Is slapping that child across the face part of your ‘procedure? ’”
Jane was rattled by the sheriff’s question. She searched for the right response as Kathy stared at her. “I . . . ah—” Jane stumbled on her words.
“Do you deny assaulting that child?” the sheriff intoned.
“She was hysterical. She was hurting herself. She’d just heard devastating news—”
“So you decided to assault her to make the news more pleasant?”
“Stop saying ‘assault’! I did what I had to do!”
“Ah! You do admit striking the child?”
“Yes, I hit her! Look, what happened back at the house is between the kid and me! No one else needs to get involved!”
“You mean, like, Social Services?”
Jane regarded the sheriff with a confused stance. “Social Services? This is bullshit! Time is ticking away! I’ve got to talk to her!”
Jane started for the back room when the sheriff once again stood in front of her. “She is perfectly alright back there!”
Jane knew she had to spill the whole story. The familiar, off-key clamor of the Peachville High School marching band could be heard moving down Main Street. Jane turned to Kathy, “The parade’s starting. Go outside and watch it with Heather.”
“I’m staying right here,” Kathy defiantly replied.
Jane let out an exhausted sigh and faced Sheriff George. “Fine. You know I’m not her mother—”
“And I know your name is not Anne Calver. Your real name is Michelle Mason.”
“Michelle Mason? What?”
“You were arrested earlier this year for methamphetamine production. Your vehicle was impounded by the Denver Police Department but somehow you managed to get it back—”
Jane realized the sheriff did a license plate check on her Subaru and the data still showed the previous felon who owned the car. “Shit! PD didn’t change the plates!”
“How’s that?”
“The plates! They didn’t change the plates before they gave me the car!”
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