Protector. Part 47

"Dan, I agree with you! I don't have a lot of respect for most cops-"

"And me tellin' you how I was gonna rescue you! Man, I looked like a fool all these weeks!"

"Dan, you did rescue me . . . and Emily."

"You don't need to patronize me-"

"If you hadn't distracted Chris, G.o.d only knows what would have happened!"

"You weren't that far behind them-"

"Every second counted! You did make a difference. And that's not me bulls.h.i.tting you!" Jane let out a deep sigh. "Look, I realize this is awkward. But I want you to know something. I hated having to lie to you all those weeks."

"You were just doin' your job," Dan replied curtly.

"Okay, fine, you're p.i.s.sed off at me. I can deal with that. But Emily really likes you. Before we leave, you owe her a decent good-bye. So do me a favor and put aside your att.i.tude when you talk to her!" Jane turned toward the house.

"Jane, wait!" Dan called out. She turned around. "I don't want to leave it like this between you and me." Dan gathered his thoughts. "It's my own d.a.m.n fault. I thought maybe you and me and Emily had a future together. I just gotta get my head straight. And I gotta face the fact that I never really knew you."

"You did know me, Dan. Do you remember when you and I were walking around the carnival after the dance contest? You told me about your sister and that ex-husband of hers that almost killed her."

"Yeah. What about it?"

"You compared your ex brother-in-law to my supposed ex-husband. You told me that when a woman is used to gettin' beat on, she tends to pick that kind of man, and she doesn't even realize that she's doing it. Then you said that you'd bet a dime to a donut that that's the kind of guy I'd fall for. And you were right."

Dan stood dumbfounded. "You're so much better than that, Jane."

"You know, I've said those exact words on the job to hundreds of women. They just ring differently when they're aimed back at you."

Dan teared up. "From this moment on, you deserve the best life that anyone could ever ask for."

Jane was touched by his words. "Thank you. Now, all I gotta do is convince myself of that."

"Tell Emily I'll come around later to say good-bye." Dan turned and walked down the street.

Jane discarded her dying cigarette and quickly lit a new one. Weyler had been inside talking to Emily for over an hour. Jane felt like she was at the whim of protocol and other people's agendas. She was just about to storm into the house when she caught sight of a familiar car parked across the street. It was Kathy. There she was sitting in the driver's seat with Heather buckled into the pa.s.senger seat next to her, gawking at Jane. Jane clipped her cigarette between her lips and barreled across the street toward the car. Kathy started to jam the key into the ignition. Jane rounded the hood of the car, heading toward the pa.s.senger door. "Take the key out of the ignition, Kathy!" Jane ordered with every ounce of cop att.i.tude.

Kathy dutifully obliged, scared to death. "What's going on?"

Jane swung open the pa.s.senger door. "Get out of the car, Heather!"

Heather turned to her mother, paralyzed in fear. "Mom! Do something!"

Jane quickly reached in, unbuckled Heather's seat belt and dragged the kid out of the car by her arm. "I said get out of the car and I mean it!"

Kathy stormed out of the car and onto the sidewalk. "Where are you taking her?"

"Police business!" Jane said with a serious tone.

"Police?" Kathy said, frightened. "But wha-"

"Stay on the sidewalk, Kathy! This is between your kid and me!" Jane lugged Heather across the park about fifteen yards before jerking the child behind two large bushes that obscured them both from sight. Jane kept a tight grip on Heather's shoulder as she leaned down to get on eye level with the kid. For dramatic effect, Jane pushed back her jacket to reveal her Glock in its holster. Heather shook with fear. Her eyes widened when she spied the gun.

"Well, look at you!" Jane said. "You're really shaking!

"I . . . I . . ." was all Heather could force out of her mouth.

"How does it feel, Heather?"

The kid couldn't take her terrified eyes off the Glock. "Please, don't-"

"How does it feel to be so terrified and so trapped at the same time? That's exactly how Emily felt when you locked her in that closet!"

"Please . . . I-"

"How does it feel to think you're gonna die?"

"Die?" The air caught in her throat. "I don't want to die. Don't shoot me!"

Jane eyed Heather with a sinister glare as she sucked the life out of her cigarette and flung it on the green gra.s.s. "Shoot you?" She waited, oozing the kind of intimidation usually set aside for hard-core criminals. "Well, let me think about that." Jane said, as if she were actually contemplating the notion of plugging the brat. "No, I think shooting is too d.a.m.n good for you. Here's the deal, Heather. I've always known the truth about you. Now, you know the truth about me. So, here's some advice. Number one, I strongly suggest that you straighten up fast and be kinder to those around you. And number two, you better grow eyes in the back of your head. Because you will never know when I'm gonna be right behind you. You may think that you're all alone, but I'm gonna be watching you. And if I see any sign that you are harming another human being . . ." Jane stopped and sent angry blades of malice toward Heather.

Heather seized up, cringing at what was coming next. "Wha-What?" she stuttered.

A satisfied grin crept across Jane's face. "If I told you, I'd ruin the surprise."

Heather bought Jane's story. Jane matter-of-factly adjusted the kid's collar and glanced down at the moist gra.s.s where Heather stood. Jane found another reason to smile. "So, you're gonna remember what I've told you?"

"Yes," Heather replied, still frightened.

"Okay. You're gonna walk back to your mom's car, you're gonna get in and you're gonna keep your mouth shut about everything I just said to you. Because if you don't, this entire town is gonna find out that you just wet your pants. Do I make myself clear?" Heather's mouth dropped open. Jane leaned closer to the kid's face. "Do I make myself clear?" Heather nodded, absolutely terrified. "Go on! Get outta here!"

She watched Heather make a mad dash across the gra.s.s toward the car, jump into the vehicle and urge her mother to get in and drive fast. Jane lit another cigarette as Kathy tore up Main Street. Just then, Jane spotted Weyler walk out the front door carrying a briefcase. As usual, he was dressed in his tailored navy blue suit, crisp white shirt and crimson red tie. She made a beeline toward the house and met him on the front steps. "Can I go in and see her now?"

"Not yet. The nurse hasn't finished with her," Weyler replied, sitting down on the porch steps, his long legs awkwardly extended.

Jane anxiously sat next to him. Weyler clicked open his briefcase and pulled out a sealed plastic bag that held a one page, single s.p.a.ced, typed letter. The notepaper had obviously been crumpled into a ball and then recently flattened. "After I got your call today," Weyler said, "I stopped at the Lawrence house per your instructions. I pushed on that d.a.m.n desk for fifteen minutes to find the secret b.u.t.ton. Finally, I got that back compartment open and I found this." He handed Jane the plastic bag. "You were right."

Jane looked at the paper. "The letter." Reluctantly, she read it to herself.

David, After we talked the other night at my office, I gave your offer of help a lot of thought. I hope it wasn't the booze talking on your end, because I really need you to back me up in case the s.h.i.t hits the fan. I got myself painted into a corner and I now I have no choice but to testify and tell the court what I know about the T. mob and all the Denver big shots that front for them. They're going to be putting Yvonne and Amy and I into protective custody until it blows over. But, like I told you, I got a bad feeling about things. I'm pretty much screwed either way you cut it. When I told you the names of the players the other night, I couldn't remember the last name of that homicide cop I mentioned. You know? The one from the Denver Police Department? Well, I remembered it. It's Chris Crawley. He works homicide at the Denver PD. I've never met the guy, but from what I've been told, he's a loose cannon. He works both sides of the fence. From what the boys told me, late last year he cut in on some off-hours 'security' jobs downtown in the immigrant section where the T. mob has a foothold. He was strong-arming the Asians, lying to them, telling them they had to have protection if they wanted to succeed. He got some sweet deals out of it, money, a boat in trade, etc. Anyway, the way I heard it, the T. mob said they were going to blow his cover to the higher-ups in the police department if he didn't agree to what they said. So Crawley agreed to work with them. But it wasn't like they had to twist his arm to do it. I heard he pretty much got off on the idea. He protects them. He hides evidence for them. Sometimes, he even steals evidence so it goes permanently missing. He'll lie in court for them. But here's the thing, David. The word I got is that he'll partner with them on hits and then work the same case to swing attention away from the mob. He got f.u.c.ked up on meth like I did so there's no telling what he's capable of. The thing is, I was just shooting the s.h.i.t with one of the mob guys and I let it slip that I knew about the cop. And I may have mentioned that I told you about Chris. David, I was high and I wasn't thinking straight when I said it. Anyway, I'm not sure but I think it might have gotten back to Chris. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the rest.

I don't know who to turn to right now and I sure as h.e.l.l don't know who the f.u.c.k to trust. You're the only one I've told this to. You can't tell Patricia. She'd go f.u.c.king nuts. I just figured after your offer of help, that if I got it in writing, you'd have proof if anything happens to me. Keep this letter like we talked about. If they kill me, maybe this'll hold up in court and Yvonne and Amy will at least know that I tried to do the right thing. I've done the wrong thing for so long and f.u.c.ked up my life and the lives of my family. If the mob does take me out, at least I'll'die with some integrity.

Please hide this letter in a safe place until everything blows over. And watch out for yourself and your family, okay? Knowing me isn't safe right now.

Your friend, Bill Jane handed the letter back to Weyler. " 'n.o.body takes me out.' That's what Chris said up on the water tower. They threatened to kill him if he didn't do the murders. Do we know any of the other players that Stover was going to give up?"

"No."

"So, you're telling me that every single one of those victims died for nothing?"

"That's what I'm saying," Weyler said somberly as he placed the plastic bag with the letter into his briefcase.

"How did we miss the connection between the Stovers and the Lawrences?"

"Chris ran some pretty good diversion tactics. Hey, we checked computers, email, interviewed coworkers-"

"There were photos of them together, boss!"

"Yeah, I just saw them inside when I talked to Emily."

"They were stuck way in the back of Emily's bedside table drawer. I had a h.e.l.luva time prying them loose. But I never once thought to look through them!"

"The ball got dropped on that one, but everything else we did was thorough. Look, it's d.a.m.n difficult to put two and two together when someone on the inside is constantly s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with the equation."

"You know, every time I sat in this house and tried to piece the case together, I never once considered Chris in the mix. I thought . . . I thought it was you."

Weyler looked at Jane. "How did you reason that one out?"

"You put me in a town with no backup. You make a point not to inform Sheriff George. I can only talk to you and no one else. And you're always talking about your 'connections' and people who owe you favors. I mean, come on, boss. It all added up."

"Well, let's see. I put you in a town with no backup because there was no viable reason to get others involved and we didn't want to attract unnecessary attention. As far as I was concerned, you were just laying low until we caught a break in the case. I chose not to inform the sheriff because I was told that Sheriff George can't keep his mouth shut. I only wanted you to talk to me because, once again, it simplifies everything. As for my 'connections,' well, what can I say? You hang around long enough, you have connections. It doesn't mean they're nefarious in nature. That was just the spin you decided to put on the word."

"Then tell me this: when I was going through the Lawrence file, the Property Report Form from the crime scene was missing. Why did you leave that one page out of my pack?"

"One of the evidence techs must have forgotten to copy it and send it upstairs."

Jane wasn't expecting that simple an answer. "They forgot to make a copy?"

"Apparently so." Jane shook her head in stunned silence. "So, Detective, if you don't mind my asking, how are you doing?"

Jane stared off into s.p.a.ce. "Oh, s.h.i.t, boss. I don't know. When I woke up this morning, I thought I knew who I was."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know anything."

"That's not true."

Jane knew she couldn't share her odd, paranormal experiences with Weyler. "It's been a weird six weeks, boss. And it all lead up to me . . ." Jane's voice trailed off.

"Did you think you could actually kill a man-even a man who deserved to die-and not feel something deep down in your gut?" Jane was surprised at Weyler's candor. "Good G.o.d, Jane, you're not a d.a.m.n robot. When did you start thinking you weren't allowed to feel like the rest of us?"

Jane's mind drifted back to that loathsome memory so many years ago. "A long time ago, boss."

Weyler observed Jane. "Because of what your father did to you?"

Jane looked at Weyler in shock. "You know?"

"I don't have to know the details. All I know is that you've walked around your entire adult life talking yourself into a lie."

"You're losing me, boss."

"You've told me that you've been dead for years. But you're very much alive. You walk around with that c.o.c.ksure swagger because you think you're inadequate. I've told you many times, you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. You believe that evil breeds evil. So, you think you're evil. But your heart tells me differently. Your actions don't equal your perceptions, no matter how hard you try to fit that mold. All these years, you've been living an illusion. You're not dead. You're not stupid. And you're sure as h.e.l.l not evil. Your father? That's another story. As always, it comes down to that inevitable question of nature versus nurture. Your good nature triumphed over your nurturing. Jane, you've been waking up in someone else's nightmare for a long time. Let it go."

Jane let his words sink in. She took a drag on her cigarette. "All the stories we tell ourselves. All the convictions we serve that don't serve us. It's like falling into the ocean and you're hanging on to the towrope of a boat. And it's dragging you under, and killing you. But you hold on because you think it's your job to drown. We're all just too afraid to let go of that towrope."

"You let go of that towrope, Jane, and you might find freedom."

Jane took another drag on her cigarette. "That's a frightening proposition."

"Fear is a brilliant weapon, my dear." Weyler stood up.

Jane turned away from Weyler. "When you finally come face-to-face with the thing you fear the most, the thing that's been d.o.g.g.i.ng you for your entire life . . . when you really look at it for what it truly is . . . it's not that it's easy . . . but . . ." She looked at Weyler. "I killed a man today in order to save another person's life. And I don't regret it. But there's no satisfaction in it."

Weyler rested his hand on Jane's shoulder. "I want you to take some time off."

Jane nodded. "Yeah. I think I will." She stood up and faced Weyler. "I got to do some thinking. I gotta figure out where I fit in and what I'm good at."

"I already know the answer to that one."

"I gotta know it, boss. I've got to be able to picture where I'm supposed to be."

"Well, how about this: Picture yourself sitting at Sergeant Hank Weiting's desk down the hall from me. He retired last week so that office of his is real empty and just begging for a competent individual to occupy that swivel chair."

"Boss, I don't know . . ."

"I hear you." Weyler started off down the front pathway. "Sergeant Jane Perry. That's got a d.a.m.n good ring to it." Weyler glanced back at Jane, who returned his look with a skeptical expression.

The nurse exited the front door. "She's asking for you," she said to Jane.

Jane tossed her cigarette and jumped to attention. "Good. I need to talk to her."

"She needs to be unconscious for a while. I gave her a sedative five minutes ago." Jane winced at the thought. The nurse handed her a prescription bottle. "When she wakes up, if she's the least bit fretful, give her two more. That should even things out."

"Even things out?" Jane's said in a mocking tone. "That's a tired euphemism, don't you think? Be honest. You want to keep her numb."

"That's the kindest thing you can do for that child right now. I'll check in tomorrow morning." The nurse strode down the path and out the front gate.

Jane stared at the bottle of pills. "And so it begins," she said to herself.

She entered Emily's bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her. Emily lay under the covers with her back toward Jane. Jane set the bottle of pills on the dresser and started out the door when Emily spoke up. "I'm not asleep."

Jane walked to the bed. "You're gonna be out of it in a few minutes."

"No, I won't." Emily turned around to make sure n.o.body else was in the room before letting two pills slide out from her pajama sleeve.

Jane smiled at Emily's slight of hand. She sat on the bed. "You know, the nurse wants you to take those so you'll sleep."