Protector. Part 17

"Emily!"

Emily looked up, still in a half-daze. "Mommy and Daddy were fighting. Then somebody else showed up . . ."

"Somebody else?"

"I listened through the door." Emily was silent for a second. "There was an accident!" she recalled, with a tinge of fear.

"Accident?"

"That's what the man said. He walked over there," Emily pointed toward the kitchen, "and into the kitchen."

"How do you know?"

"I heard the kitchen door close up in my room," Emily replied in a slight trance. The child fell deeper into the memory. "It was quiet. But when he came out of the kitchen, the yelling started. And then . . . I don't know . . . everything's dark." There was a loud thump-thump on the front door. Emily jumped and grabbed hold of Jane.

"Emily?"

The voice outside belonged to Martha Durrett. She had obviously received the call from Weyler and was wasting no time coming to the child's aid.

"Can I go with you?" Emily said, still hanging on to Jane's shirtsleeve. "I promise I won't say a word!"

"Emily, you can't come with me. Why don't you pull out that 'Think' game. That psycho-babble s.h.i.t is right up Martha's alley!"

Thump-thump-thump! This time the knocking on the front door was louder. "Emily!" Martha's voice was deeply concerned. "Please come to the door!"

Jane turned to Emily. "I'll be back in a couple hours." "Okay," Emily said, discouraged.

Jane started down the stairs then turned back to Emily. "Hey! What's rule number three?"

"Don't go outside unless you say so," Emily replied softly.

"Don't you ever forget that."

Chapter 13.

Sat.u.r.day traffic around DH was usually insignificant. However, since this was Memorial Day Weekend, the parks were full of families and various roads were closed off to accommodate the street festivals. The patrol officer and Jane pulled into the DH underground parking structure almost a half hour after Weyler had given her the news about a possible suspect in the Lawrence murder. In her mind, that had given Chris a full hour to screw around with the subject in the interrogation room.

The third floor of DH was like a ghost town when Jane got off the elevator. She made her way down the hallway to the first interrogation room and knocked on the opposite observation room door. Weyler opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

"So, what's going down?" Jane said apprehensively.

"The guy's pretty incoherent," Weyler said to the point.

"Are you talking about Chris or the perp ?" Jane said, taking a jab at Chris.

"You know, I'm aware that things are not working for the two of you on a personal level, but he's still your partner."

"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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.s?" 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 f.u.c.king 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 a.s.sociation. "Hey, dude, you look familiar. You were in my high school, right?"

"Stop f.u.c.king 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? G.o.d, that's awful."

"You were so out of it. It's obvious. You forgot the c.o.ke, but like an idiot, you took this little trinket instead. But their f.u.c.king 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. "G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Jane! Don't f.u.c.k this up for me!"

"I'm not f.u.c.king 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 G.o.d!" 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 a.s.shole hangs with the guys who did it. There could be a viable link here, boss!"

"He couldn't find the f.u.c.king 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 a.s.sured Jane.

"Boss," Chris said, "I know this guy's f.u.c.kin' 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 f.u.c.ked 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 b.u.m who knows another b.u.m who knows a guy who works at Starbucks who found the cigarette case in a dumpster behind Safeway. The one b.u.m stole it from the guy at Starbucks, then that b.u.m traded it to the other b.u.m 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 hoa.r.s.e. "You just don't get it. I'm going to lose every G.o.dd.a.m.n thing if I can't put this case to bed. I'm working my a.s.s 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. G.o.d, Chris, look at you! You smell like p.i.s.s and you look like s.h.i.t. And you have the nerve to say that I'm f.u.c.ked 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 s.h.i.tpot 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 f.u.c.king 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. "f.u.c.k you."

Chris grabbed Jane by the arm. "No, Jane. f.u.c.k 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."