Protector (11 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
Emily sat for a moment, composing her thoughts. “That lady yesterday with the gun. I saw what you did and I heard what you said to her.”
Jane turned her head to the side and spoke, directing her response to Martha without Emily realizing it. “Yeah, well, you were not supposed to be up there.”
Martha turned to Weyler. “Was that comment directed at me?”
Weyler, eyes focused on Emily, ignored Martha. Emily leaned forward a bit. “Well, I was there. Were you scared?”
“No.”
“How did you know what to say to her?”
“I just told her the truth.” Jane took another nervous puff on her cigarette.
Emily leaned forward. “But you knew how to save her?”
“From doing something stupid? Yeah. Look, if you wanted to talk about that Mexican woman, you could have chatted up anybody around here!” Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw the frantic typing of Chris transferring another message: ENGAGE HER, DAMMIT!!! Jane slammed her hand against the monitor and pushed it away so the screen faced the wall.
“What the hell is she doing?” Chris yelled.
“She knows what she’s doing,” Weyler said, keeping his eyes forward.
Emily sat back, sizing up Jane. “I can’t talk to just anyone,” Emily said softly. “Most people lie. My mommy lies and so does my daddy. My best friend moved away and they wouldn’t tell me why. And when I ask them if they love each other, they say they do, but I know they’re lying.”
“Yeah, well, if everybody told the truth, there would be no secrets. And I can’t imagine a world with no secrets, can you?”
Chris pressed his forehead against the two-way mirror. “Is she seriously trying to kill my case?”
Emily leaned forward. “You know stuff, don’t you?” Emily questioned. “Important stuff?”
“Yeah, they call me an encyclopedia of knowledge here at Headquarters.”
“If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?”
Jane took a hard drag on her cigarette. “If I know the answer, yeah, sure.”
Emily leaned her body against the table, resting her elbows on the edge. She hesitated and then spoke. “Are my mommy and daddy dead?”
Jane looked Emily straight in the eye. “Yes,” she said quietly.
Emily’s eyebrows arched upward ever so slightly. Her body tightened as her eyes traced the top of the table.
Martha turned to Weyler in a rage. “My God! How could she do that? The child is not ready to hear that! Didn’t you advise Detective Perry of this? Pull her out of there!”
“Let’s see where it goes,” Weyler instructed. Jane carefully watched Emily’s every move. “I’m sorry, kid,” she said in earnest.
Emily looked up at Jane, eyes wide. “Who’s gonna make my lunch?” Jane was caught off guard. She searched for something to say. “Somebody will make your lunch and your breakfast and your dinner and you will be okay.”
Emily looked off to the side. She seemed to go into a daze. Jane sat back, waiting and hoping that whatever was buried within Emily would stay buried. As the child zoned out, her breathing became slightly heavier and her eyes stayed fixed on her reflection in the two-way mirror.
The trio of onlookers in the observation room stood transfixed.
“Jesus,” Chris said quietly to Weyler. “The kid does know something.”
Emily came out of her daze and stared at herself in the mirror. “I know a secret.”
Jane felt her body stiffen. “Is that so?” was all she could manage.
Emily got up and slowly made her way toward Jane. She hesitated briefly before cupping her hand to Jane’s ear and whispering.
Weyler and Chris strained to hear the microphone pick up any sound but it was useless. “What in the hell—” Chris said under his breath. As Emily whispered into Jane’s ear, Jane remained stonefaced. When Emily finished, Jane kept a poker face but turned her head slightly toward the two-way mirror. Chris shook his head in frustration. “I don’t fuckin’ believe this.”
Emily pulled away from Jane, never once taking her eyes off her. Jane gathered her thoughts. “Is that all you have to say?”
Emily stared, absolutely transfixed by Jane’s face. “It’s really . . . weird . . .”
Jane’s gut unexplainably clamped down. Staring back at Emily, she felt slightly disoriented. “What’s . . . weird?”
Emily looked off to side as if she were trying to remember something. “I can’t explain it.” She carefully crossed back to her chair and sat down.
Jane did her best to shake off the disjointed sensations competing for her attention. Damn, the booze. “Well, I’ll leave you be.” Jane plopped the cigarette butt into her coffee cup and got up. But before she could take a step, Emily reached out and tightly grabbed her hand. An electrical jolt raced down her spine as she locked eyes with the child. The deeper Jane sank into those eyes, the closer she came to losing control. She had seen the exact same eyes filled with fear looking back at her more than twenty years ago. But there was something else—something closer that tugged at a fresh memory. She could feel herself falling into herself. It was all she could do to yank her hand out of Emily’s grasp and head out the door.
Jane slammed the door shut and pressed her back up against it. She grabbed her head as a jumbled blur of blurry images raced in front of her. Weyler emerged from the observation room, followed closely by Martha and Chris.
“What have you done to that child?!” Martha barked at Jane as she pushed her aside and went into the interrogation room.
Jane kept staring straight ahead, still not able to focus.
“What the hell did she whisper, Jane?” Chris yelled.
“Goddamnit, Jane! I’m lead detective on this case. Not you! What the fuck did she say?”
Weyler stood waiting, observing Jane and her reaction. Jane turned to Chris, clearly unsettled. “Fuck you.” With that, she turned, grabbed her satchel and headed toward the elevator. Weyler followed.
Weyler turned back to Chris. “Let me handle this!” Jane slammed her hand against the “down” button on the elevator. The doors opened and she got on. Weyler slid into the elevator just before the doors closed. Jane pounded the button that was marked “parking.”
“What happened in there, Jane?” Weyler asked in a probing manner.
“Leave me alone!” Jane was still shaking and trying to keep herself together.
“When she grabbed your hand, something happened.”
Jane pounded the “parking” button harder and harder. “Nothing happened!!!”
“I was standing on the other side of the wall! Don’t tell me nothing happened!” The doors opened onto the parking level and Jane burst off the elevator. Weyler stayed close on her tail. “If it was nothing, then why are you shaking? Why can’t you look me in the eye? Why can’t you tell me the truth you’re so fond of telling?”
Jane stopped several feet from her car and turned to Weyler. “You want to know what she said? She said, ‘I know they’re watching us from the other side of that funny mirror.’ Satisfied?!” She swung open her unlocked car door and got in.
Weyler leaned his hands on the open window. “Alright. But that doesn’t explain your present behavior. What are you not telling me?”
“Boss, I swear to God, if you don’t take your hands off this car . . .”
Weyler stood back. Jane shifted her car in reverse and screeched out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of blackened rubber on the cement and the lingering echo of screaming tires.
Chapter 7
Jane slammed her Mustang into gear the second she cleared Headquarters. She looped around the Civic Center, changing lanes erratically. Angrily, she slapped her head several times trying to bury the emerging memory. A pitter-patter of fat spring raindrops dotted the windshield as Jane curved around Cheesman Park. The rain began to fall with vengeance, making it difficult to see more than a car’s length in front. Jane pulled over to the side, under a “No Parking” sign as the rain beat like fists on the roof. Jane grabbed the steering wheel, stared into the oncoming storm and gave in.
“Janie!” Mike screams.
She is fourteen and back in the kitchen staring at Mike who is in a fetal position on the floor where he landed after Dale slapped him out of his chair. A steady pit-pit-pit of hail mixed with snow hits the kitchen window.
“Shut up, you weak fuck!” Dale screams as he leans over Mike.
Mike cups his hands over his ears and holds his breath. Dale punches Mike hard in the head as Mike lets out a bloodcurdling wail.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you!” Dale screams, moving closer to Mike’s face.
Mike holds his hand out to Jane, his eyes filled with terror. “Janie! Help me.”
Jane grabs his hand and jerks him off the floor. Mike retreats behind Jane’s body.
“I’m not fuckin’ done with the little faggot!” Dale yells.
“Yes, you are!” Jane yells back, meeting his angry pitch.
Dale turns over the kitchen table sending the macaroni and cheese across the room. He storms toward Jane, back-handing her hard across the face, but she stands her ground. “Don’t you fuckin’ raise your voice to me!”
“He doesn’t want to look at photos of dead people while he’s eating,” Jane says, her voice more controlled.
“Get outta the way!” Dale bellows. Mike stays pinned behind Jane, his head buried in the center of her back.
“Mom hated having those pictures at the table but she never told you!” Dale smacks Jane across her other cheek with the flat of his hand. “She just kept it inside but she hated it!” Dale lays another hard slap across Jane’s face. “She hated those pictures, she hated this house and she hated you! That’s why she died! To get away from you!”
The blood wells in Dale’s face. “You fuckin’ bitch!” he screams as he grabs Jane by the hair and punches her across the face. Blood spews from her nose and onto Mike as he takes refuge against the doorjamb. Jane starts to fall to her knees but catches herself. She looks at Mike. “Go to your room, Mike.”
Dale pulls Jane upward then slams her flat against the wall. “Don’t you ever say that kind of shit to me again! You understand me?”
Jane pushes her face just inches from her father’s face. “It’s fuckin’ true!”
Dale lets go with a punishing series of slaps to Jane’s face. Mike still stands paralyzed in the doorway.
Jane falls to her knees, blood trailing from her nose and into her mouth. She screams at Mike. “Go to your room!”
Mike tears across the living room and races up the stairs to his bedroom.
Dale leans down, barking in Jane’s ear. “You think you’re so fuckin’ smart? You don’t know shit!”
Jane pulls herself up, fists clenched. “I know more than you’ll ever know!” Jane swings at her father’s face but Dale grabs her arm before it makes contact.
“You wanna play hardball?” Dale uses one hand to jerk Jane’s arm behind her back and the other to pull her head backward with a clump of her hair. “You wanna play hardball, bitch! You got it!”
Jane tries to break free as Dale shoves her forward to the kitchen door that leads outside. “Get your hands off me!” Jane screams.
Dale kicks the screen door open wide. “Shut up! You understand me?” He pushes his body against Jane’s, forcing her outside in the fast-falling snow. The snow flies against her face, the icy cold stinging her flushed cheeks and cut lip. Jane digs her heels into a patch of snow as Dale tries to push her closer to the workshop door that stands ajar. He swings open the wooden workshop barn door with his foot.
“Move!” Dale yells.
“No!” Jane shouts before shooting a thick wad of spit mixed with blood at her father’s face. Dale rears back, his rage at the boiling point. With all his strength, he pushes Jane forward into the workshop. She skids across the soft dirt floor on her shoulder. Dale closes the door behind him, whipping off his thick black belt. He lunges toward Jane and . . .
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