Redemption

by Laurel Dewey

  Murder. That was something Jane couldn’t deal with again. She’d had her fill that past summer of slaughtered bodies and the dying eyes of a ten-year-old she couldn’t save. The memory had incited grisly nightmares and whiskey binges until her life came crashing down around her. Perched on the fragile slope of newfound sobriety, Jane wasn’t sure she could mentally handle another case where the child ended up dead.

  Jane glanced at the TV. A bevy of ubiquitous yellow ribbons dotted the rain-soaked trees and fences around Oakhurst. These symbols of remembrance and town unity were standard fare for any missing child case. The poster with Charlotte’s cherubic photo was displayed across the screen, and Jane scrutinized informal circles of children and women holding candles in prayer vigils as they softly sang “Amazing Grace,” while a misty rain fell around them. Bergman himself couldn’t have filmed the scene with more grim lighting. It was a well-orchestrated, all-American, yellow-ribbon spectacle, perfected and packaged by the media over the years, thanks to the numerous headlining child abductions. Instead of the Junior Miss Pageant, Jane pondered, it was the Junior Gone Missing Pageant. Through it all, Jane couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere out there Charlotte Walker was wearing her red leather jacket while watching this national television exhibition and laughing her ass off.

  After packing, Jane settled under the glare of the kitchen lamp with a fresh pot of Columbia Supremo steaming beside her and read through the thick files Kit had given her before leaving the apartment that afternoon. Kit kept copious notes during the initial trial, along with a neat, chronological stack of newspaper clippings. There were also copies of short reports made by detectives and given to Kit. While the reports didn’t offer any earth-shattering information that couldn’t be gleaned by court documents and Kit’s detailed trial notes, it did show that at least one detective brought in to work the case from Carmel, California, seemed friendly and willing to offer more than the stock “I’m sorry for your loss” statement. There was a loose note with a header that said, FROM THE DESK OF CHARLES SAWYER, dated, August 10, 1990. The typewritten note read:

  Dear Ms. Clark,

  After our phone conversation last week, I researched your two requests.

  In regard to Stacey Peters, state records indicate that this past February, Ms. Peters was found hanging from a closet rod in a San Francisco hotel room. At the time of her death, there was no permanent residence listed for Ms. Peters, nor did she own a vehicle. It appears she was homeless and possibly engaging in prostitution. Her death was listed as autoerotic asphyxiation, complicated by a significant amount of heroin in her system. From what I can gather, Ms. Peters had not been in contact with her son for nearly four years. This corroborates the information given to you by Lou Peters.

  As for your second request, I have been unable to locate any documented material that can prove the two alleged rapes of underage girls by Mr. Peters. I appreciate that you trust your sources. However, without legal documentation or the voluntary verbal revelation by the victim or victims, I’m afraid there is no way the alleged rapes can be brought forth in the current indictment of Lou Peters. I realize this may put Mr. Peters’s case more firmly in the defense’s court.

  I regret that I could not report back to you with more positive news. I was brought into this case as an adjunct investigator and will soon be transferred onto another homicide investigation. However, I will continue to take a private interest in the outcome of Lou Peters’s case.

  Sincerely,

  Chuck Sawyer

  “Lovely choice of death, Ms. Peters,” Jane murmured after rereading the words “...death was listed as autoerotic asphyxiation.” This sexual ritual is defined as asphyxia caused by intentionally strangling oneself—typically hanging—while masturbating in order to intensify the orgasm through reduced oxygen flow to the brain. Jane likened the insane act to masturbating in the bath water and dropping in an electric toaster at the point of climax. The entire act and those who practiced it—including the few who lived to tell about it—was the ultimate hedonistic, sexual power trip. Jane surmised that it said a lot about Stacey Peters and her insatiable obsession with satisfying purely carnal needs without recognizing that the likely tradeoff for five seconds of temporary pleasure was permanent death. But what did that prove? She was a sick woman who caused her son irreparable psychological harm, but it didn’t necessarily provide a viable reason for his possible actions later in life. If that theory could float, Jane argued, she should be able to have carte blanche in her expression of rage toward others with no repercussions. Deep-seated anger had been her fulcrum for years. When she drank, the red-hot ire burned like acid. With nearly six months of sobriety, the vitriolic outbursts had subsided. But the undercurrent of rage bubbled like a volcano just before it erupts.

  Jane wondered why Kit had asked Detective Sawyer to locate Lou’s mother. Was she expected to give testimony against Lou? What was she supposed to say? “I raped my son and that’s why he’s fucked up now.” Mothers weren’t known for tipping evidence against their own flesh and blood. That fact was even more applicable when said mother would be admitting a grotesque felony against said son. So what was Kit’s reasoning for asking an obviously busy detective to track down Stacey Peters? It seemed incongruent to Kit’s second request: verifying the alleged rapes of the two fourteen-year-old girls when Lou was underage. One request could curry sympathy from a compassionate jury; the second could convict him by showing prior criminal acts.

  Jane shuffled pages and found a roster of case detectives and their accompanying office numbers. She found Sawyer’s name and number and looked at the clock. It was 6:30 Colorado time. Sawyer easily could have changed numbers in the last fourteen years. Still, Jane felt a need to talk to him. If anything, she wanted to get another cop’s bead on Kit Clark. She also wouldn’t mind his take on Lou Peters and what, if anything, went wrong in respect to the case. After all, he didn’t have to say that he would take a “private interest” in Lou’s case. Knowing fellow cops as Jane did, she was positive that after fourteen years, Chuck Sawyer had formed clear opinions about the case. Maybe, Jane speculated, that opinion was that the evidence against Lou Peters was weak and that, perhaps, he was the wrong guy? If Jane could immediately find enough evidence that Lou was not guilty of Ashlee’s murder, she could easily deduce that he had nothing to do with Charlotte’s abduction and save herself a wild-goose chase across the country.

  The whole case was eliciting far too much conjecture and doubt for Jane. She lit a cigarette and reasoned that she took the case out of desperation—not a shrewd motivating factor. If she’d had the three grand to give Jerry on her own, she would have done it and pressed on with obtaining local cases—cases that didn’t revolve around fourteen-year-old mysteries that were supposedly tied to the number one missing child story at the moment. Jane realized that she could be walking from one humiliating fiasco in Denver into an even greater chaotic chasm in California. To her knowledge, nobody else was making the nefarious connection between Lou Peters and Charlotte Walker. Investigators would automatically look at family members first and rule out their involvement. After that, all felony child sex offenders living in the area where Charlotte went missing would be interviewed and crossed off the list as their alibis proved true. This would certainly include Lou Peters. Then the search would depend upon any tactile evidence, eyewitness accounts, knowledge of any rifts with friends or boyfriends, or simply the possibility that Charlotte had just left town. Jane reflected on the very good possibility that her high-profile connection with this wild hare of a case could be the final nail in her professional coffin. “Fuck,” was all she could muster.

  Jane dialed Detective Charles Sawyer’s number. As expected, she got a neutral recording that didn’t offer much insight into who the number belonged to. A male voice said, “I’m either away from my desk or out of the office. Please leave your name and number and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.” After the beep, Jane left a rocky-worded message
for Detective Sawyer, stating her name and then realizing that anyone but Detective Sawyer who received this message might recognize her name and make immediate connections if Jane alluded to the Lou Peters case. She wanted to do everything possible to keep her name and Lou Peters’s name as far apart as possible. Jane recovered her full throttle cop voice and finished off the message with, “I need to connect with Detective Sawyer regarding a cold case.” She gave her cell phone number and hung up. With the New Year’s holiday less than a week away, Jane figured she wouldn’t be hearing back from anyone anytime soon.

  She poured another cup of coal black java and returned her attention to the files. The summary of details regarding the location of Ashlee’s body and the cause of death was written in typical offhand fashion. “On June 23, 1990, the fourteen-year-old victim was found approximately 7.2 miles off Palo Colorado Road within the Pico Blanco wilderness area....” Jane located Lou Peters’s mug shot in the file and noted the date: June 26, 1990. They find the body and three days later they nab a suspect. Fast work, Jane figured. They either felt 100 percent sure that they had their perp or they moved too quickly out of desperation to nail the killer and got the wrong guy.

  “Victim’s nude body was discovered lying on her back on a southeast limestone outcropping by hikers.... Victim’s head suffered fatal blows from a heavy, jagged object. Indications at the scene show that a limestone-included rock [see photo] was used to deliver the fatal blows.” Jane looked through the files for the photos and then realized that Kit obviously was not given any.

  She continued reading. “Due to significant heat generated by the exposed limestone, victim’s body was partially ‘cooked,’ thus attracting condors to the site. This accounts for the partial removal of flesh in victim’s upper right thigh, torso region, and eyes. Accounting for heat, exposure to wind and rain, and postmortem effects of scavengers, estimated time of death is between June 20 and June 21, 1990.” Jane skimmed the page. “Latex condom found next to victim’s body. Particulate matter ranging from grains to several, one-centimeter chips found pressed into latex. Ejaculate present. Extreme lacerations on labia indicate repeated rape using the handle of a narrow, wooden object prior to death....” Turning the page, Jane saw a cop’s crude drawing of a cabin and its location in relation to where Ashlee’s body was found. The detailed description explained the drawing. “Cabin is located approximately 350 feet over a ridge from where victim’s body was found. It appears to be an old abandoned structure once used by the Boy Scouts.... Victim was held in a closet [see photo]. Perpetrator affixed several four-foot-long mirrors inside closet. Remnants of rope and a gag were found inside closet. Also, five battery-powered camp lanterns were found. A single hammer [see photo] was located at the rear of closet. Streaks of blood on wooden handle indicate this object was used to rape victim....”

  Jane had a fairly gruesome visual of the scene. She downed the last of her coffee, poured another cup, and skimmed several more pages until locating Ashlee’s toxicology report, dated July 7, 1990. “Toxicology shows sustained levels of Valium in victim’s bloodstream.” Valium? Jane mused on the finding and then quickly deduced that the perp kept Ashlee drugged throughout most of the kidnapping. She checked back in the notes and confirmed that no ropes or restraints were found on Ashlee’s body when it was found on the limestone. While she couldn’t be sure, Jane figured that the murderer made sure Ashlee was unconscious—possibly from the Valium—when he removed her from the cabin and carried her nude body to the place where he finally killed her. But why drag her body out of the cabin to kill her? It seemed a bit dramatic to Jane. Then again, she had dealt with a few homicides over the years where the murderer seemed obsessed with sending a message either by the way he arranged the body after death or by staging the corpse in a location that was meaningful to only him.

  Sorting through additional pages, Jane ran across a page titled, WITNESS STATEMENT. It seemed that there was a lone witness—a Mr. Bruce Zatkin—who reported in great detail to investigators what he saw. The sixty-three-year-old retired civil engineer was camping in Pico Blanco with his wife for the week of June 16 to June 23, 1990. Their campsite happened to be less than half a mile from where Ashlee was held in the abandoned cabin. Under oath, Zatkin swore he observed Lou Peters on six separate occasions during that eight day period walking alone on an unused trail, carrying what appeared to be small bags of food. Zatkin later testified that each time he saw Lou, his gait was “deliberate” and always in the direction of the cabin’s location or away from it. “I didn’t think much of it the first couple times I saw the guy,” Zatkin wrote in his declaration, “but then it just seemed strange. It looked like suspicious behavior....” As Jane read the detailed transcript, she wondered why Zatkin didn’t follow Lou if he thought there was reason to be concerned. Apparently, the investigator wondered the same thing and inquired about it. “Hey, I don’t want people bothering me,” Zatkin said, “and I don’t bother them. If I’d known what was going on with that little girl, I’d have contacted the authorities immediately....” Jane read between the lines of Zatkin’s statements. Here was a fellow who was obviously devastated that he could have possibly prevented Ashlee’s grisly murder. The transcript made it clear that Zatkin thoughtfully made many mental notes on Lou’s comings and goings and was more than happy to share his information and impressions with investigators. So what happened at the trial with Zatkin? Jane dug through the files in search of anything that would answer that question. She came up empty-handed. Did he fold? Did he refuse to testify? Did he change his story? The prosecutors had a mature, respectable, highly observant lone witness who was obviously not a flake. That’s gold to a prosecuting attorney. What happened?

  The more she read, the more questions she had and the more she wished she could talk one-on-one with Detective Sawyer. Jane leaned back in her chair to stretch her back. In doing so, she knocked her hand against another file. A white, legal-sized envelope fell out of the file and caught Jane’s eye. The word BARTOSH was written across the outside in an enraged cursive twist. Clearly, Kit was either irritated at something else when she labeled the envelope or she was taking out her ire on whoever Bartosh was. Jane opened the envelope and removed all the contents. After several minutes, it became clear that Bartosh was Dr. John Bartosh, the appointed defense expert that Kit had angrily alluded to during her initial office visit. The now sixty-five-year-old had, until recently, lived in the Big Sur area. He had been there since the early 1970’s with his wife, Ingrid. From what Jane could gather, this psychologist and doctor of theology had experienced a hardcore spiritual awakening in 1973 that lead him to practice a strict form of Christian Fundamentalism. At age thirty-three, he started a fundamentalist church in Big Sur called “The Lamb of God Congregation” which was determined to counter and destroy what Bartosh labeled the “free love and drug culture” of Big Sur during that time. He quickly emerged as an outspoken leader in what he referred to as his “personal crusade against secular society and the destructive power that society has on young people.”

  Jane had to wince at some of Bartosh’s narrow beliefs: a woman’s place was in the home, a wife must do what her husband tells her as if “God himself was speaking through him,” sexuality between a husband and wife was for procreation only, God was a vengeful God bent on judgment and destruction of sinners, pubescent boys and girls were easily tempted and had to be sheltered from anything “worldly,” girls and women needed to be modest in all forms of their behavior and dress.... Jane’s head was spinning as she read one archaic, narrow-minded idea after another. It was hard to fathom that this kind of man was described as “charismatic” by his followers and was happily accepted into the Northern California community as someone who could “kick the Devil out of town.”

  There was one reference after another to the way Bartosh decoded the Bible’s teachings and most of them were, in Jane’s opinion, too literal. Much of that literal translation had to do with raising children in a loving, yet str
ict, fear-centered existence that taught them to trust the church and detest the secular world. Jane read an example of Bartosh’s extremely literal teaching: “In Proverbs 22:15 we are told: ‘Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.’ When punishing your child, you must only use a rod. A rod is the Biblical form of chastisement that our Lord speaks of and freely encourages. Explain the use of the rod to your child and he/she will come to accept that God is speaking through the rod. Always pray with your child after chastisement and compel him/her to tell God that he/she is sorry for sinning against Him. Seeking God’s mercy will bring him/her closer to our Lord.” Jane took a long drag on her cigarette to digest that little gem. After being on the receiving end of a lot of rods, belts, and sundry implements as a child and teenager, Jane knew that if someone told her God was speaking through them, she would have quickly become an atheist. “Always pray with your child after chastisement and compel him/her to tell God that he/she is sorry for sinning against Him. Seeking God’s mercy will bring him/her closer to our Lord,” Jane reread. Was that mercy for the child or the parent, she wondered?

  Jane resumed reading and discovered that, amazingly, one family after another joined Bartosh’s church, determined to protect their children from the evils of the Cultural Revolution. He became a trusted counselor whose advice was followed without question. Jane gleaned from the pages of information that Bartosh’s main conviction was that the Devil had a tight grasp on every individual, and that led to Sin with a capital “S.” She had to smile at some of Bartosh’s ideas. One idea, in particular, professed that a young girl in her early teens must guard her thoughts every hour of the day. If she allowed herself to entertain the notion of what a boy’s lips would feel like on her cheek, there was no telling where that illicit thought could lead. As Jane continued to read, she noted a recurring theme: Fear. The Devil was to be feared. One’s thoughts were to be feared. The possible results of one’s thoughts should definitely be feared. Youths didn’t feel enough fear and needed to actively generate more fear to save their souls. And, of course, sex was dirty.