Protector. Part 43

"She locked Emily in the closet and made me steal the trophy out of Patty's . . . Emily's bedroom!" Mary continued, determined to spill the beans but feeling as confused as the rest of them. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Calver! I didn't want to do it. I put it in Heather's duffel bag, just like she told me to!" Mary turned to Emily. "And don't worry about wetting your pants. Sometimes I do it, too." Mary looked at Heather. "So there!"

Jane was disgusted with everything she was hearing. She turned to Dan. "Get these brats out of here." Jane lifted Emily from the closet and carried her into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Emily clung tightly to Jane as she placed her on the closed toilet seat. The child was still shaking and breathing heavily. "It's okay. Come on, we have to change your clothes."

Emily reluctantly released her grip on Jane. Jane removed Emily's pajama top and tossed it aside. Emily pressed her forehead against Jane's head. Tears and raw emotion spilled from the very core of her soul. "I saw him," she said between heaving sobs. "I saw him!" Emily collapsed to her knees. "And I saw my mommy and daddy!" Emily buried her head between her arms, screaming out in shock and anguish. Jane knelt close to her, cradling Emily in her arms. She felt useless and yet, at the same time, she knew that all h.e.l.l was about to break loose.

Half an hour later, Emily finally fell asleep on Jane's lap. Jane gingerly removed the child's soiled pajamas and slipped a nightgown from the clothes hamper over her clammy body. She couldn't help but hear the hushed voices that emanated from down the hall when Kathy arrived to pick up the girls. As she sat there on the cold tile bathroom floor, Jane was well aware that her days of anonymity were over in Peachville. Between Sheriff George's investigation, Heather's inevitable declaration to her mother that Jane was not Emily's mother and the disclosure of their real names, there was sure to be a reaction more explosive than the Fourth of July fireworks.

Finally, Jane heard the front door close and sweet silence descend over the house. Realizing the coast was clear, she stood up and carried Emily from the bathroom and into Jane's bedroom. She placed her into the bed and glanced over to her Glock pistol that lay on the bedside table next to her f.a.n.n.y pack. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she walked down the hallway in search of Dan.

She found him standing in the semi-darkness of the kitchen. He was squinting down at the tracks of the sliding gla.s.s door. "One guess how this got put there." He showed the wooden dowel to Jane.

Jane's anger became piqued. She grabbed the dowel and broke it in half over her knee. "That little b.i.t.c.h!" Jane said as she threw the broken pieces across the kitchen.

Dan pointed over to the country dance trophy on the kitchen table. "Mary gave back Emily's trophy."

"All of this over a f.u.c.king trophy! Jesus!" Jane let out a tired sigh. "I knew this sleepover was a bad idea. I knew it and I still let it happen."

Dan hesitated, not quite sure how to phrase his next sentence. "Why do you think Heather said what she did about you not being Emily's real mother?"

Jane briefly turned away from Dan. She was tired of lying to him. "Oh, Dan . . ." She turned back, looking him square in the eye. "Probably for the same reason she locked Emily in the closet! Spite!" Jane said, wearily. She pulled a cigarette from her shirt pocket and lit up. "If Heather were my kid, I'd kick her sorry a.s.s into next week."

Dan carefully observed Jane. "Yeah, well, if I hadn't grabbed hold of you, you would have gotten your chance."

Jane took a hard drag on her cigarette. There was an awkward moment of silence between them. "What is it?" Jane asked.

Dan looked apprehensive. "I . . . ah . . . I'm just . . ."

"What is it?" Jane said, losing patience.

Dan pulled away from Jane, confused and uneasy. "I should go." He started out of the kitchen.

"Dan?" Jane called after him.

"Look, I cleaned up the broken gla.s.s by the door. I'll come by tomorrow morning and replace the front door pane for you . . ."

"Dan, what's wrong?"

"Actually, tomorrow morning is the big Independence Day Parade down Main, so the street will be blocked. I'll come by in the afternoon." Dan walked into the living room, retrieving his baseball bat along the way.

Jane followed closely behind him, suddenly becoming aware of what he was thinking. "Wait a minute!" She reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "I was furious at what Heather did to Emily! How was I supposed to react?"

"Hey, we're both tired and I need to go," Dan said, turning to the front door.

Jane thought quickly, stumbling on her words. "Dan, wait! Emily's father used to lock her in the closet to punish her! It terrifies her! And when I came in here and saw that she was stuck in there and we couldn't open the door, it brought back all the memories of what he used to do to her and to me! And I lost it! I made a mistake! I went for that brat and that was wrong. But you don't have any right to judge me! You have no idea what Emily and I have been through or what we're going through! You picture h.e.l.l and multiply it by ten and then you might get a glimpse of our life!"

Dan bounced the baseball bat against the tip of his work boot. "When I drove by and saw those lights on, I thought . . ." Dan let out a tired sigh. "I know how this plays out, Jane." Dan stared at Jane with a piercing gaze.

Dan's shift in behavior made Jane feel very uneasy. "What do you mean?"

"Payback," he replied, not taking his eyes off of her. Jane's gut tightened at his response. Dan looked at Jane another few seconds before turning around and heading out the door.

Chapter 27.

Was it possible?

Jane paced back and forth in the living room after Dan left. Of all the words he could have chosen, why did he choose payback? Was it some twisted coincidence that he used the same word that the killer wrote on that sheet of paper? Could Dan be the killer? Or was he a hired gun brought in to take care of Jane and Emily? Jane's mind raced with various scenarios, each one becoming more complex and absurd. Dan was obviously a card-carrying member of Peachville's tight-knit community. If Dan was the killer, what were the odds that DH would place Jane and Emily undercover in his hometown? Jane's thoughts turned paranoid as she tossed the idea of the murders being an inside job between the DH and the mob and that Peachville was chosen on purpose because it was where Dan lived. As quickly as that idea filtered through her logical mind, Jane realized how patently ridiculous it was.

She considered Dan's possible involvement with a clearer eye. Perhaps his "payback" reference had to do with Dan's intense involvement with his sister's abusive marital relationship and the possible outcome that he feared would be repeated if Jane didn't seek help. After all, he preceded the payback comment by saying "I know how this plays out, Jane." He knew, Jane supposed, because he had lived through the experience with his sister. As Jane paced, snippets of conversations with Dan filled her head. There was the conversation when Dan showed up at their house a couple week's before with his brand-new truck.

"It didn't set me back a penny. I do all the electrical maintenance for the Ford dealership over in Montrose. It's one of my many side jobs. Anyway, instead of payin' me, we worked out this agreement where they trade me a new dealer truck every summer. In the long run, I reckon I'm pullin' the better end of the trade."

Was that just a story, Jane wondered, her mind drifting back to the possibility of a more nefarious link with the mob. Was the truck really part of a payoff from someone else he worked for? Someone like the Texas mob? There was no immediate way to check out his story. It was close to midnight on the Sat.u.r.day before Independence Day. Jane would have to wait until Monday to call the Ford dealership in Montrose to investigate Dan's story.

Jane lit a cigarette and nervously walked in circles between the kitchen and the living room. Through her thick mental fog and confusion, she began to center on the concept of accepting a payoff in exchange for a job. Suddenly, payoff was dominating the importance of payback . When she focused on the word "payoff," she felt as though the right key was opening the right lock. The more she considered all the logical angles in relationship to Dan's possible involvement, the more she realized that Dan simply didn't have what it took to be a cold-blooded killer. And yet, for whatever reason, he was the echoing reflection that tripped her thought process and the one person who might unknowingly lead her to the real killer.

Jane pressed her cigarette into the ashtray. Maybe, she thought, another review of the Lawrence crime scene doc.u.ments would trigger a connection. She retrieved a flashlight from the kitchen and started toward her bedroom. Jane quietly opened the bedroom door and stood in the darkness staring at Emily. She waited, making sure that Emily was still asleep. Jane flicked on the flashlight. After locating her leather satchel, she knelt down and pulled out several folders. The stack of newspaper clippings fell to the floor. Emily stirred. Jane froze, turning off the flashlight. Emily drifted back to sleep and Jane resumed her search, holding the flashlight close to the satchel. She finally found the Lawrence folder and sorted through it. Emily stirred again, this time waking up. Jane quickly shoved the doc.u.ments back into the file.

"Who's there?" Emily asked timidly.

"It's me. It's okay," Jane whispered.

"Why have you got the flashlight?"

"I didn't want to wake you. Go back to sleep."

There was a moment of silence before Emily spoke up again. "I'm scared."

Jane erratically stashed the file back into her satchel and slid it under the chair. She turned off the flashlight and crossed to the bed. "There's nothing to be scared of." Jane touched her Glock pistol on the bedside table. "I've got a gun right here that'll blow a hole the size of Detroit in someone's stomach."

"He's gonna come get me. I know it," Emily said, her voice quaking in fear.

"No one is coming to get you, Emily."

Emily realized it was time to say the one thing that she'd been holding back-the thing that didn't make any sense but had haunted her since she sat in her closet after her parents' murder. "You're gonna think I'm crazy, but-"

"I don't think you're crazy, Emily."

"No, I mean," the child tried to put her thoughts into words, "I saw-"

Jane interrupted. "I know what you saw. And I promise you that whoever did that will never hurt you." Jane's voice shook. "I won't allow it."

Emily turned to Jane. The soft rays of the moon illuminated her face. Jane could see Emily's furrowed brow and a disarming look come over her. "Your voice sounded like a lie when you said that."

Jane knew the child could feel the truth. "When I say that I won't allow it, that's not a lie. I will protect you with my own life."

Emily turned toward the wall. Jane didn't know what to make of her action and moved off the bed, when Emily's timorous voice splintered through the silence. "Don't leave me," she whispered.

Jane wanted to return to the living room and continue hashing out possible scenarios. But Emily's pleading voice won out. Jane removed her shoes and slid under the covers.

Emily wedged her back closer to Jane's body and let out an exhausted sigh. "I love you," Emily whispered.

Jane was all at once paralyzed in the pitchblack of that room. In one sweeping movement, the staggering enormity of her situation punched her hard in the face. Emily was-n't just saying those words as an aside; she meant them from her heart. Jane started to respond, but she couldn't. She closed her eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.

The first thing she felt was heat-blazing heat that smoldered against her body. She opened her eyes and found herself standing in the center of a pool filled with blinding light. Jane brought her left hand to her face to shield her eyes from the glaring reflection. Seeing her left palm, she noted the backward date of 10-24-99 burned into her flesh. There was the distinct smell of metal . . . hot metal. She felt movement behind her and spun around. Out of nowhere, she suddenly had a Glock clutched in her right hand. The intense light played tricks with Jane as she extended the Glock outward. She waited, her heart racing. All of a sudden, the head of a wolf leapt from the brilliant glare and consumed her. Jane knew she was dying; she could taste death's acrid bite on her tongue. This is what it truly felt like. The heat devoured her as she slid into the void.

Emily awakened to silence-dulcet silence. She turned and saw a magpie perched against the bedroom window. He pecked his beak at the dusty gla.s.s. Emily watched as the bird turned to face her. She couldn't help noticing how his penetrating stare seemed so cold and vicious. He let out a loud caw, c.o.c.ked his head and flew out of sight.

She turned to check the time. 8:45 a.m. Looking over at Jane, Emily saw that she was still sound asleep. The child's head felt heavy and numb-an emotional hangover from reliving the gruesome memories the night before. The more she remembered everything, the more she wanted to get out of bed and move around the room. Emily heard the city trucks plodding down Main Street, getting ready for the July fourth Parade. Right now, watching a truck set out orange cones sounded like the perfect distraction.

Moving slowly so as not to awaken Jane, Emily slipped out from under the covers. She looked around the floor for her slippers. Jane stirred, turned her body toward the bedside table and went back to sleep. Emily peered across the room to the corner chair and spotted her pink slippers hidden underneath it. She tiptoed across the floor. In kneeling down to collect her slippers, she brushed her hand against Jane's leather satchel. She looked at the satchel as something caught her eye.

It was one word: child. The word was part of a larger headline from one of the many newspaper clippings Jane had shoved into the satchel the previous night. Emily tried to unfold the newspaper to see it more clearly, but it was stuck too tightly into the satchel. Emily slid the satchel toward her. She lifted the article in question out of the satchel and read the headline: DENVER NEIGHBORHOOD STILL IN SHOCK OVER FAMILY'S MURDER-TEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD AMONG VICTIMS Emily first thought the article was about her parents, but realized that the accompanying photo did not match her neighborhood. The photo showed a middle-aged woman standing on a street with the Stover's house diffused in the background. Emily read the caption under the photo: "This is just tragic," Gilpin Street resident, Ellen Del Alba sadly told reporters. "I didn't know the little girl very well, but she seemed like such an adorable child."

Emily looked at the house in the background. It looked just like . . .

But, it couldn't be. Emily set the clipping aside and pulled out the next one.

CAR BOMB KILLS FAMILY OF THREE IN THEIR DRIVEWAY.

This story featured a photograph that showed the scene the morning after the attack. The photo showed Jane standing near the yellow crime scene tape, her left hand freshly bandaged. Nearby was the green and white Gilpin Street sign. Emily stared at the photo of what was left of the charred Range Rover. She studied the driveway with its distinctive manicured cedars. It started to look far too familiar.

Emily pulled out another newspaper clipping. Her eyes filled with terror and she began to shake uncontrollably. She worked her way up to a standing position, never letting go of the newspaper clipping.

The scuffling sound awoke Jane. Still half asleep, all Jane could see was Emily's back and that the child was looking down at something. "Hey . . ." Jane said quietly.

Emily spun around, gasping in fright. She hid the newspaper clipping behind her back and regarded Jane with a look of abject fear mixed with contempt.

Jane quickly surveyed the scene. The crime scene photos , she said to herself. "Oh, Jesus. You saw the photos?"

Emily was breathing so hard, she could hardly speak. "Yes."

"You weren't supposed to ever see those," Jane said, flipping back the bed covers. "Here, let me-"

"Get away from me!" Emily shouted, nearly choking on her words.

Jane sat on the bed, perplexed by Emily's behavior. "Emily?"

Emily backed up several steps to the wall, never taking her eyes off of Jane. She inched toward the bedside table, keeping a healthy distance between herself and Jane. "I don't understand! You promised me. But you . . . lied to me," Emily nervously stuttered.

Jane sat frozen on the bed. Something was very wrong. "Emily," Jane said calmly, as though she was talking a sniper down from a tall building, "what is it?"

"I was wrong! You don't want to protect me . . . You want to kill me!"

"Kill you? Emily-"

"Don't lie to me!" Emily screamed. "You knew him all this time!"

"I knew who?"

"The man in my bedroom!" Emily screamed. With that, she revealed the newspaper clipping that was hidden behind her back. "The man in my bedroom!"

It was the front page of the Rocky Mountain News. It was a photo of Jane. Right next to a photo of Chris.

It didn't immediately register with Jane. "Chris?" She let his name sink into her consciousness. "Chris was the man in your bedroom? Are you sure?"

"You knew!" Emily screamed.

"No, I didn't!" Jane uttered in a state of shock, glancing away from Emily. "Oh, my G.o.d," was all she could say. "Emily, I-"

Jane turned back, just in time to see the newspaper clipping fall to ground. Emily lunged forward, grabbed Jane's Glock pistol on the bedside table and moved back against the wall. The child pointed the gun, two-handed at Jane. "You're not gonna kill me like you killed my mommy and daddy."

Jane felt a strange calmness come over her. It was the same, eerie, centered feeling she always got when her life was in danger. "Emily. Put the gun down."

"No!"

"I didn't kill your mommy and daddy. You know that."

"It says in the paper that he's your 'partner.' I know what that means! It means you do things together!"

"We didn't-" Jane stopped. "I didn't take part in any of this."

"Liar!" Emily screamed, aiming the gun toward Jane's head.

"Look me in the eye, Emily. I am not lying to you. I did not know Chris was the man in your bedroom until you told me!"

"How could you not know? He's your partner! Partners know everything about each other!"

"No, Emily. That's not always true."

"How could you not see all the bad in his eyes? Didn't you look?"

Jane was asking herself the same question. She shook her head in frustration. "I can't answer that question."

"I trusted you. I believed in you."

"You still can, Emily."

"No! I can't!" Emily screamed, fighting back tears.

Silence washed over them, interrupted by Emily's gasps of air. "So, this is the way it's gonna end?" Jane carefully asked. "Okay. So be it. You know, Emily, I could tell you that if you kill me, they'll put you in jail. But that's not true. When the police ask why you shot me, tell them you were positive that your life was in danger and that you had no choice. They'll believe you. They'll believe you because you are a good, decent, innocent person and I'm pretty much the opposite. You talk to Sergeant Weyler about Chris, okay?" Jane reasoned that Weyler wasn't involved in the corruption. "He'll take care of it for you. And when all the dust settles, you'll go to your aunt and uncle's house in Cheyenne where you can live happily ever after. At night, you can rest easy, knowing that I'm dead and that Chris is on death row for what he did. Right now, all I ask is that when you shoot me, use only one bullet. I'd rather you didn't have to unload a clip of ammo. You've got enough gruesome memories, you don't need more. Just lower the gun a little bit so it's square with my chest. That's called a 'center punch' and it always works. You've got one shot and if you aim for the head . . . well, even good cops miss that one. So, lower the gun, pull the trigger and then get out of here."

Emily stood paralyzed, her finger dancing across the trigger. Jane's words echoed loudly in her head. "You're trying to confuse me."