by Laurel Dewey
“Confidential?” Dale said with a heavy dose of mockery. “Well, let’s see. It has something to do with that Lawrence double murder.”
“Why would you say that?”
“The guys at DH keep me up to date with what’s goin’ on. You gotta hit the road after what went down two nights ago.” Jane stiffened. She had no idea that Dale knew about Martha’s murder. “You know, in all my years on the force, I never fucked up as bad as you did two nights ago.” Jane couldn’t argue with Dale’s comment. She had been telling herself the same thing ever since it happened. “So, the Department is sending you away for a while.” Dale surmised. “Or, maybe not just you. Maybe they’re shoving the kid onto you. Yeah, that’s how it works. That’s how it always works.”
Jane wasn’t sure where she had lost control of the conversation but she knew that if she didn’t get out soon, Dale would read her like an open book. “I have to go—”
“They’re sending you away to some shithole small town,” Dale declared with that same devious look in his eye. “They got you a house and they’re giving you cash and they told you to ‘blend in’ for as long as it takes. What they didn’t tell you is that you’re walking into a fuckin’ land mine.”
Jane studied Dale’s face. “What are you talking about?” “It’s gotten too messy. The whole Department will not be taken down because of your fuckup. Decisions had to be made.” Dale’s tone was succinct and brutal. “You take the two lambs and you sacrifice them for the good of the others.”
Jane felt a shiver radiate down her spine. “That’s not it at all.”
“Don’t be a fuckin’ idiot, Jane. You mark my words. Something will go wrong. And you’ll be all alone in some backwater town with no backup. Just you and that kid and the one who will finish the job.”
Jane let Dale’s words filter through her system. “What if I don’t let that happen?”
“You think you got what it takes? You think you have the guts to point a loaded gun at someone and pull the trigger? Or would you rather just lay down and get the shit kicked out of you until you die?” Dale’s eyes dissolved into a hateful glare. “Am I the only one who knows the answer to that question?”
Chapter 16
Sleep was hard to come by the night before Jane’s departure. No matter how much she tried to bar Dale’s voice from her head, his words continually reverberated until she thought she’d go mad. “That’s how it always works,” he told her, referring to DH’s relocation decision. What did he mean “always works?” Jane wondered. Was she really walking into a trap? Did DH have some hidden, sinister protocol for dealing with unruly cops? If so, who was behind it? Was it Sergeant Weyler? As much as Jane didn’t want to pin Weyler with a secret agenda, she couldn’t help but consider the possibility that he had some nefarious motive that Jane wasn’t yet aware of. Behind that dapper, PBS-loving exterior could lurk a darker side. Jane recounted all the “connections” Weyler talked about—“connections with higher-ups” in the Department, “connections” with the DA’s office. Just exactly who were these high-powered connections?
The more Jane pondered Weyler’s behavior, the more questions she had. How was he able to pull off an overnight visit for a juvenile victim at the crime scene? That was strictly off the books. How did Weyler know exactly where to find Jane when he located her at the firing range? Was she that predictable in her comings and goings or was he having her followed? And then there was that pager he gave Jane outside of the firing range. He specifically told Jane that she was only allowed to contact him once she was in Peachville. Was that so only Weyler could feed her the information he chose to give her? And of course, his order not to tell anyone about where she was going. How convenient, she thought. She and the kid could end up dead and no one would know for weeks or possibly months. It could all be a string of innocent occurrences or it could be important clues that led to a fatal conclusion.
These were the troubling thoughts that haunted her throughout the night. And the more Jane fell into a pit of fear, the more her father’s voice dominated.
“You think you have the guts to point a loaded gun at someone and pull the trigger?”
That was the one that stung. Jane’s protective nature was ingrained into her being. It was not just something she did—it was who she was. She would protect someone at all costs, even if that meant dying in the process. But still, she hesitated long ago when she could have pulled the trigger. She let herself be tricked and paid a heavy price. Jane wanted to believe she had what it took to finish the job. She needed a guarantee that she could stand across from another human being and end their life in one millisecond. And if the person across from her ended up being Sergeant Weyler, Jane worried that she would repeat the identical outcome from years ago. If she allowed that to happen, it would end with her death. And after her demise, Emily would follow.
That sobering realization left her wide awake into the early morning hours. She stared at the radio next to her bed and turned it on, scanning the dial until she heard Tony Mooney’s enigmatic voice. He was becoming a bad habit for Jane but something kept drawing her back to him.
“Welcome back to the second hour of the show. To all my soldiers of the star-soaked skies, doesn’t it feel like déjà vu all over again?” Jane turned her head on the pillow and stared at the radio. “We’re talking tonight about that giant web of unexplained interconnectedness that powers this solar system—that intricate and yet soul-specific generator that unites each of us with another. It’s real, my friends. Oh, yes. It’s very real. Your rational mind tells you it doesn’t exist but your heart—which is your true mind—convinces you of its truth . . . It’s the engine that drives our lives and dictates our evolution with another soul.” Jane rolled over on her side, facing the radio. Mooney leaned closer to the microphone. “It’s the unexplained bond between twins or a mother and her child. Like two hearts beating as one; two minds linked. Thoughts and realities, tightly interwoven like threads across the universe. We all experience it one time or another in our lives. It may only be for a brief moment or it can span a lifetime, but we all have the opportunity to dive into the pool of shared consciousness . . .”
Jane awakened at dawn. Filters of pink-tinged light radiated like fingers across her bedroom window. She turned to the right, expecting to see her clock but immediately felt disoriented. Jane lay on top of the covers and was catty-corner on the bed, her head resting in the bottom left corner of the mattress. Somehow in the night, she deduced, she must have gotten up and fallen back on top of the bed. The radio played low in the background, still on the same station that featured Tony Mooney’s nightly program. Jane lifted her head. She felt drugged. It was worse than a hangover; she felt as if she’d run a marathon all night long.
Jane sat up and stared at the carpeting. Strewn across the floor were the stacks of legal-sized notepads, files of the Stover case and the newspapers that she’d stuffed into her bag for the trip. Her first nerve-wracking thought was that somebody had broken into the house during the night. Grabbing her Glock, Jane carefully made her way down the hallway and checked the front door. It was locked securely from the inside. Looking around the living room, nothing was askew. An icy quiver crept up her spine as she returned to her bedroom and stared at the chaotic splay of coveted case information. Setting the Glock on the bureau, she knelt down and collected the newspapers, files and notepads, replacing them in her duffel bag. Looking over to the side, just under the bed, she saw the corner of a yellow legal notepad. She pulled it toward her and felt an odd sense of recollection. A blur of images suddenly raced before her eyes. There was a flash of blinding light followed by the blistering outline of a Glock followed by the millisecond likeness of a wolf’s face. Jane shook her head backward and the visions ceased. She thought the insanity was over—a lingering side effect of booze-fueled binges. But she was stone cold sober and the same bizarre, unrelated visual imprints had returned. Jane paged through the yellow notepad until she came upon the unexplaine
d rudimentary drawing of the wolf’s face and the two words, WOLF FACE, all in capitals. She still didn’t remember drawing it—a fact that continued to disturb her. It was the last entry in the notepad. At least, it was to her knowledge. Jane turned the page. There, filling the next lined page was another crude drawing. This one depicted the palm of someone’s left hand. Imprinted across the palm were numbers.
Jane stood up and held the notepad up to the mirror, revealing 10-24-99. It seemed to obviously be a date but it held no significance to Jane. She stared at the drawing, realizing again that she was the elementary artist. Staring back at the floor, Jane surmised that she unexplainably awoke, rummaged through her bag and for some unknown reason, drew a picture of a hand with a backward date before collapsing on top of her bed. Cautiously, she checked out the remaining pages of the notepad and found them blank. “Oh, God,” Jane whispered. “Please make it stop.”
Jane waited until Mike was well on his way to work before leaving a message on his tape. Attempting to sound as ordinary and offhand as possible, she asked him to pick up her mail and take it to Weyler, per his instructions. She paused, trying to formulate some suitable good-bye, not knowing when or if she would ever return from her covert trip to that small-town, netherworld of Colorado known as Peachville. But before she spoke, Mike’s machine abruptly cut her off.
The vehicle pulled up in front of Jane’s house. Peering outside, she saw Weyler getting out of a car. Securing her shoulder holster and Glock, Jane grabbed her bags and turned around to face her living room. She gazed around the room and drank it in. If it was really good-bye, she wanted to etch the memory in her mind. Jane opened her front door just as Weyler walked up to the porch.
“Give you a hand?” Weyler asked, reaching for Jane’s luggage.
“Sure.” Jane felt her body tighten. Whether warranted or not, she regarded her boss with a modicum of suspicion.
Weyler trotted down the pathway and unlocked the hatchback of a station wagon. Jane walked toward the car with angst written across her face. “What’s this?”
“This is your new car.”
“Oh, dear God. Tell me you’re kidding.”
“It’s almost a brand-new Subaru Outback wagon.” Weyler slammed the hatchback shut. Jane moved closer, her mouth slightly agape. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out, Jane. It’s got cruise control, a sunroof and a CD player.”
“Really?” Jane said, still not believing she was expected to drive what she considered to be a boring, cookie-cutter, assembly-line car. “Wow, I just got a chill.”
“Save your sarcasm, would you?”
“What? I’m thrilled you decided you give me a vehicle that goes from zero to forty in no time flat! Where’s the dog?” Jane asked.
“The dog?”
“Don’t golden retriever/lab mixes usually come with the purchase of any Subaru wagon? I need a dog to complete the picture of the perfect single mom with her kid.”
“Are you done?”
Jane walked around the rear of the wagon and noted a series of stickers on the bumper. One was a cheerful blue-and-white sticker that proclaimed “I Brake For Butterflies!” Another read “Love Mother Earth” while still another urged people to recycle and save trees. “Where did you say you got this car?”
“It was part of a drug confiscation. The woman was a 52-year-old meth dealer.”
“A meth dealer owned this car? Well, glad to know there’s one meth dealer out there who brakes for butterflies.”
“We do need to get going.” Weyler slid his angular body into the car as Jane followed. “We’re meeting Emily at a drop point out by the old Stapleton Airport. I’ve asked one of the patrol officers to drive her there.”
“How is she?” Jane asked, carefully choosing her words.
“Physically, she seems to be quite well. Emotionally, she’s still shaken up. But I’m sure once she sees you, she’ll calm down.” Jane pulled out a cigarette. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t smoke while I’m in the car,” Weyler stated.
Jane put the cigarette back in the pack and looked out the window as Weyler drove down Milwaukee Street. She debated how to handle their time together. She would have to tread a tenuous line between treating him like her boss and addressing him as if he were a suspect. More than anything, if Weyler was involved in a covert police deal, Jane wanted to make sure that she didn’t let on. “So,” Jane said, “does this happen a lot?”
“How do you mean?”
Jane kept looking out the window. She knew if her eyes met Weyler’s, she could possibly give herself away. “You know, have there been instances in the past when detectives have had to lay low with a witness?”
“There’s been a few,” Weyler said, adjusting the rearview mirror.
“I see. Do you pick the same town each time?”
“That’s confidential information.”
“Uh-huh,” Jane responded, feeling very uneasy. While it wasn’t in her to petition someone or beg them for forgiveness, somehow she felt that perhaps a last minute appeal might help. “You know, boss, I know I haven’t been the model cop for a while. And I can understand if you . . .” Jane searched for the right words, “if you were so pissed off that you decided to teach me some sort of lesson—”
“This is not about teaching you any lesson, Jane—”
“I’m just saying if it were, so be it. But Emily doesn’t deserve to be dragged into some sort of mess because of me.” Jane knew if she went any further, Weyler would become too suspicious.
“As long as you do as I asked, you’ll be fine.” Weyler’s response sounded oddly tart to Jane. “Keep the pager on and only call me when you absolutely have to. I’ll do the same. Remember, do everything you can to blend in.”
Jane’s ears perked up at the same words her father repeated the night before. “Blend in. Right.” Jane tried to shake off a sense of foreboding. “You talk to Chris?”
“No. He left a message on my voice mail that he was heading back to Lake Dillon. He mentioned something about having some guy up there install a more powerful motor on his new boat.”
“A new motor? What kind of money are you paying this guy?”
“Between his overtime and off-duty jobs, he’s putting in pretty good bank.”
“Too bad he can’t afford a personality,” she muttered under her breath.
“He’s going to be gone for another day or so unless his allergies kick up again. It seems good, clean mountain air always stirs up that rash of his.”
“I’ve always said, he operates better in filth.” Jane bit her lip. If Weyler was part of a corrupt police faction, Jane’s cutting words could come back on her. She quickly decided to change the subject.
“You ever pursue that idea of following the protection money in the Stover case?”
“Not yet. I’ve been a bit occupied.”
“You know, it’s a valid possibility that should be looked into. If we follow that trail, maybe we can find some common denominators.”
“I can tell you right now that the most common denominator you’re going to find is the Texas mob and then it always comes to a screeching halt.”
“But maybe by questioning other businesses we could discover a link to a specific individual who—”
“Jane, I understand your desire to solve the Stover case. But right now, I need you to focus on the case in front of you. You see my briefcase?” Weyler asked.
Jane looked around to the backseat. “Yeah.”
“There’s a manila envelope in there with copies of the Lawrence crime scene photos. I made a set for you. Put it in your bag. Next to it, you’ll find another envelope. There’s five thousand dollars in it. Your rent on the house has been prepaid so that money should be enough to cover living expenses for you and the child.”
Jane collected the two envelopes from Weyler’s briefcase. As she slipped them into her leather satchel, two questions crossed her mind. How far in advance had the rent been paid on her house and how lon
g was five thousand dollars supposed to last? “So, this is gonna cover everything I need?” Jane probed, trying to discern more information. “I don’t want to suddenly come up short—”
“Don’t worry,” Weyler said, looking straight ahead. “You won’t.”
Jane didn’t know what to make of Weyler’s last comment. But even if she could have figured out a clever response, it wouldn’t have mattered. Weyler turned a corner near the old Stapleton Airport and pulled up behind a parked, tan sedan. He turned off the motor and handed the keys to Jane. She started out of the car when Weyler put his hand on her arm. “Whatever happens over there, whatever may come to pass, I want you to realize that it’s not about blame anymore. It’s about the job. You understand?”
Jane couldn’t look at him. Her heart raced as a wave of rage welled inside. If she and Emily were being led to the slaughter, she had no intention of being knocked off without a good fight. “Yeah, boss, I understand.” Jane said, with a defiant tone.
Jane and Weyler exited the Subaru. Almost simultaneously, Emily and the patrol officer got out of their vehicle. Emily stood by the side of the unmarked sedan, her Starlight Starbright navy blue, vinyl case clutched in one hand. She was dressed in a short-sleeved cotton dress with pictures of tiny daffodils plastered all over it. A gauze bandage covered the left side of her injured temple. To Jane, the kid looked as though she had been through a war and was the last soldier standing. Emily’s face lit up when she saw Jane. In turn, Jane felt a sense of comfort when she locked eyes with the child.
Weyler conferred with the patrol officer as Jane walked over to Emily. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Emily replied with a soft smile.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. It only hurts a little. I can get the stitches out in ten days.”
“Good.” Jane glanced over at Weyler, who was still talking to the officer. She bent closer to Emily. “They explain everything to you?” Emily nodded. “You cool with this?”