Protector (5 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
“Are you finished?” Weyler said calmly.
“Yes . . . sir,” was all Jane could manage.
“Then I must inform you that, until further notice, you are on suspension.”
Jane’s mouth went dry. Weyler’s declaration was like a hard center punch. “I’ve never been suspended in my life! There’s gotta be a way to work this out!”
“I might be willing to reconsider if you agree to that psych counsel.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“It’s not blackmail, Jane. It’s just me making sure you follow the rules.”
“Let me get this straight. I play DH’s game, go for this psych counsel and tell them whatever they need to hear . . . just like Chris did? And then I can come back and figure out all those baffling murder mysteries?”
“Putting your pointed sarcasm aside and taking the sessions seriously, yes, that’s what needs to happen for you to see the inside of this department in the near future.”
“Uh-huh,” Jane muttered, her eyes canvassing the ceiling. “Well, I’ll go to that psych counsel when pigs fly out of my ass.” Jane started for the door.
“You know, Jane. One day that stubborn, insolent streak is going to get the better of you.”
“What makes you think it hasn’t already?”
Chapter 4
“Jane!” Chris said, barreling over to her from his desk. She was out the door and headed for the elevator. “Jane, wait!” He caught up to her as she was slapping the “down” button at the elevator. “What in the fuck’s going on? Why haven’t you answered my twenty plus phone messages? I came by twice and your old neighbor lady said you were inside but you weren’t answering the door.”
Jane stared ahead, ready to explode. “Leave me alone, Chris.”
“We need to talk.”
“Talk about what?” Jane said, turning and glaring at Chris.
“The fuckin’ price of rice in China! What do you think?” Chris furtively looked around, making sure their conversation was still private. “We gotta talk about us,” he said, softening his stance.
Jane looked at him in silence, shook her head and turned back to the elevator. “Jesus! You really do think you’re God’s gift but you’re just a fuckin’ boot licker!”
“Excuse me?” The softness quickly dissolved.
Jane slammed the heel of her palm against the elevator button. “You tell them exactly what they want to hear in your psych counsel and you kiss their asses—”
“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not a maverick like you! I just come in here day after day and do my job and put the occasional son-of-a-bitch behind bars whenever I can!”
“Save that shit for the media, Chris!” Jane gave up on the elevator and turned toward the stairwell. Chris followed, determined to get in the last word. Jane headed into the stairwell, digging into her satchel for cigarettes. Popping one out of the pack, she lit up as she made her way down the stairs. The sound of their footsteps and voices resounded throughout the cement structure.
“Are you crazy?” Chris yelled out.
“The jury’s still out on that one!” Jane replied, keeping a good ten steps in front of Chris as she puffed on her cigarette. “Get off my back, Chris! I mean it!”
“Jesus Christ, don’t you ever turn it off?” Jane neared the heavy security door that led into the Denver PD lobby. Chris bounded down the stairs and blocked Jane’s ability to open the door. They stood face-to-face, inches from each other. Perspiration poured from Chris’ forehead, causing a minor rash to become redder around his hairline. His fair skin and ruddy complexion always made it look as if he’d run a marathon after only minor exertion. Between his wired persona and his aggressive, take no prisoners demeanor, it was all Chris could do to keep his natural rash outbreaks to a minimum. “I said wait!” Chris demanded, out of breath, as he slapped the palm of his hand across the door.
Jane took a long drag off her cigarette. “Is it that you like to hear the sound of your own voice or is it that you just don’t hear?”
“Jane, we fucked up the case. Okay?” Chris said, confidentially.
Jane was taken aback by Chris’ statement. He was never usually one to admit wrongdoing. Jane studied his eyes. “You mean it?” she asked with a softer tone.
“Of course I mean it.”
“Why didn’t you say that to Weyler?”
“I told him I blamed myself!”
“You said you blamed Stover!”
“Jane, Weyler just made me point person in a double murder I can really put to bed. But you and I have to work together on it. This case, Jane, is gonna put me . . . us back on top.”
Jane regarded Chris with an incredulous glare. “You go from ‘We fucked it up, Jane’ to ‘Let’s figure out how to put Chris back on top?’ What is up with you?”
Chris moved closer, tilting his head in an awkward manner. “I need you—”
“Get away from me.” Jane pulled her body away from him.
“Jane! I’m not kidding!” Chris yelled in a desperate tone. Jane spun around and continued down the stairs to the basement where the evidence room was located. Chris leaned over the railing. “Jane! We can make it right!”
Jane swung open the basement door and entered the huge evidence entry area. There was always that smell down there. Jane figured you could be blindfolded and when you got to the basement, you’d know it by the odor of over one million pieces of evidence—all crammed into metal shelves and waiting to be called up to solve a crime. Bloodied baseball bats used to bash in a husband’s head lay next to carefully sealed plastic K-Paks bags of cocaine, marijuana and meth.
Ron Dickson, one of the evidence technicians, stood behind a metal security grating, signing out one of the detectives from burglary. The place was unusually still and silent. Ron wasn’t the kind of fellow Jane would have talked to outside the office. Maybe it was because Ron was very obviously a Pentecostal Christian. Or perhaps it was because he always had a smile on his face and something positive to share with Jane. He’d brag about one of his three kids winning a league soccer tournament or that he collected more money than anyone else at Headquarters for D.A.R.E., a group he held in high esteem. Jane wondered at times how he made it through life so trusting and somewhat gullible. He worked amongst the blood and the drugs and the obscene photographs and he somehow remained cheerful. When Jane finally asked him one day how he did it, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s a God thing!”
Jane leaned against the door and took a long drag on her cigarette. She figured that Chris had headed back upstairs or out to the double homicide. The detective from burglary walked to the elevator and disappeared behind the large steel doors.
“Detective Perry?” said Ron, his cheerful voice bringing Jane out of her slight daze. “I sure don’t mind if you smoke but if they find you down here with that cigarette, I’ll be in a world of trouble.” He pulled out a large coffee can with a handmade note taped across it that read “PUT YOUR BUTT IN HERE.” Jane reluctantly sidled over to Ron and took one last long drag before plopping it into the can. Ron was wearing a perfectly pressed pair of chinos to go along with his perfectly pressed navy polo shirt. On the shirt was a discreet button that said, “D.A.R.E. to keep kids off DRUGS.” Jane imagined Ron’s ivory-skinned wife dutifully pressing his pants and shirts, affixing either his D.A.R.E. or “Proud Soccer Parent” button onto his shirt and sending him off to work with a gentle kiss. When Jane was around Ron, she always felt very loud, very crude and very lost. “I’m sure I’m not the first to say this, but welcome back!” Ron said with an honest smile.
Jane tried her best to twist her lips into what could pass for a smile. “Thanks, Ron.” She dropped her leather satchel against the counter. When Ron spoke to you, he always looked you straight in the eye, no jittery shifting back and forth. It was a sign to Jane that he was honest and speaking from the heart.
“Are you feeling alright, Detective Perry?”
Jane could have said a million smart-ass answers, but between feeling the need to censor her vocabulary with him and still stinging from Weyler’s suspension, she decided to settle on the truth. “No, Ron. I’m not feeling alright.”
“Is it your hand? If it is, my wife makes an herbal salve that works wonders.”
“The hand’s fine. I just have a lot on my mind.”
Ron hesitated. “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward but when I heard about what happened to you and Detective Crawley and that poor family, I asked our faith circle to include you in their prayers. My wife and I also prayed for you.”
Jane leaned on the steel counter and turned to Ron. “What did you ask for?”
“We prayed that you would be protected, and for God to give you direction.”
Jane’s eyes trailed off to the side. “You think God heard your prayers?”
“Yes, ma’am. And I know in my heart He will give you the answers you need very soon.” Ron placed the palm of his hand over Jane’s bandaged hand. “He works in mysterious ways, Detective Perry.” Jane stood still, taken aback by Ron’s bold gesture. His clear, blue eyes seemed to look right through her. It might have been the end result of her five-day drinking binge but she felt as though Ron knew things about her that she buried long ago. The elevator doors opened and two detectives from assault emerged, chatting loudly and carrying bags of evidence. “Excuse me,” Ron said, gently withdrawing his hand and attending to the detectives.
Jane grabbed her leather satchel and moved aside. Her head spun with various forms of strategy that would convince Weyler to put her back on the board without having to endure hours of psych counseling. This kind of deep thinking required tobacco, however. She headed back into the stairwell and lit up a cigarette. Leaning on the railing, she lost herself in thought. Jane heard the big steel door open from the lobby entrance and the patronizing voice of Martha Durrett. It was hard for Jane to concentrate on her thoughts while Martha was chattering. The 47-year-old worked for the Department of Social Services and was a constant thorn in Jane’s side. Part of it was Martha’s voice, a strident and annoying one. It was hard enough to stomach her voice when one was feeling normal but it was especially brutal with a hangover. Martha had a habit of clipping her words with the precision of a sharp knife as she moved through the world as though she owned it.
“Come along, dear,” Jane heard Martha say in that ever-condescending tone. “It’s just two quick flights up. Come, come!” Jane shook her head in disgust at Martha’s schoolteacher manner. She didn’t know who she was talking to but she felt sorry for them. The stream of smoke from her cigarette drifted up from the basement. Like a human smoke alarm, it didn’t take Martha long to blare. “Is someone there?” Martha leaned over the railing. Silence. “I say, is someone down there?” Martha sounded more agitated. Silence. “Wait right here,” Martha said to her hushed companion. Jane heard the sound of Martha’s sensible rubber soled shoes scuffing across the floor and tramping down the stairs until she lit on the landing above where Jane stood. “Ah-hah!” Martha dug her fists into her wide hips and drew herself up to her full five-foot frame. She looked down at Jane with a scowl and a chiding “Tch, tch, tch” with her tongue. “Detective Perry. You know smoking is forbidden inside all Denver County and City buildings! Put that awful thing out before you set off the sprinklers!”
Jane leaned back against the wall, took a long, exaggerated drag off her cigarette and let the smoke slowly curl from her lips in a continuous ribbon. “You know, Martha, standing there like you are in that light, I can’t decide whether you look more like Napoleon or Hitler. Either way, fuck off!”
Martha quickly looked up the stairs and then bounded halfway down toward Jane. “Detective Perry!” Martha said in a hushed tone, “curb your language! I have a young child up there!”
“Does she realize what a complete asshole you are?” “Detective Perry! I will not say it again! Please refrain from—” Martha’s attention was drawn upward as the child peered over the railing, her brown hair hanging softly in midair. Jane looked up at the girl and moved away from the wall to get a better view. “Emily,” Martha chided. “Step back. I’ll be right there.”
Emily Lawrence started to retreat when Jane spoke up. “Hey, Emily! Don’t listen to her! Run like hell and don’t look back!”
Emily stared at Jane in stunned fascination. Martha grabbed Jane by her elbow and brusquely took her aside, out of Emily’s view. “Detective Perry, you are very much out of line!”
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