by Laurel Dewey
Kit closed the bathroom door, leaving Jane stewing. Locating her large stash of gourmet coffee, Jane set about to make her first strong brew of java. As the coffee percolated, she ducked outside, lit a cigarette, and stood in the softly falling rain sucking every drop of nicotine she could into her lungs.
When Kit emerged, Jane wasted no time. She grabbed a pair of jeans, wool socks, underwear, and a brown turtleneck and ensconced herself in the rust-colored box known as the Hop Sing bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, she reappeared, fully dressed, hair half wet, and eager to wrap her hands around a tall cup of coffee. However, there was less than six ounces remaining in the decanter. “What the hell?” Jane said out loud.
“Oh, I poured two cups off,” Kit announced from her perch on the bed. “I hope that’s all right. I need it for later. Since you’ll be gone all day and not in need of my assistance, I figured I’d take advantage of my time alone and do a coffee enema. It’s an old, natural protocol for cancer. Really invigorates you from the inside out!”
Jane stared at Kit. There was a self-righteous look on her face that Jane read as “Don’t fuck with me, kiddo.” It was the sort of passive-aggressive gaze that Jane took as far more aggressive than passive. First the cigarette and now the coffee. Fine. If it was a battle of wills Kit wanted, she’d picked the wrong woman to play her game. “You want the coffee? Take it!” Jane said, happy to call Kit’s bluff. She dug in her duffel bag and retrieved her Glock. Strapping the shoulder holster over her turtleneck, Jane secured the Glock. And she did it all in plain view of Kit.
“You really feel you need a gun?” Kit asked quietly.
Jane looked at Kit. “You never know when someone’s gonna try to fuck with you.” She let the statement linger in the air purely for effect before donning her leather jacket and turning toward the door.
“One thing before you go,” Kit said. Jane turned just as Kit tossed a metal disc in her direction. Jane awkwardly caught it. She looked at the object in disbelief. It was one of her sobriety chips. “Don’t you get one for twenty-four hours?” Kit asked earnestly.
Jane didn’t know what to make of Kit’s bold gesture. As much as she wanted to thank her for saving the chip, she remained silent as she slipped the disc in her jeans pocket. Nobody was going to snare Jane in a trap under the ruse of altruism.
CHAPTER 19
You couldn’t call it gourmet, but The Coffee Cabin certainly knew how to make a strong brew. Jane located the drive-through, log-cabinesque establishment on her way to Lou’s house. The java tasted like the beans had been blackened, but the surge of caffeine made Jane feel more awake and alive than she had in days. The four-dollar jumbo cinnamon roll didn’t hurt, either.
Jane lit a cigarette, feeling a sense of freedom that she was finally allowed to smoke in her own car. As she curved the Mustang down the two-lane highway toward the remote county road address, Jane did what she always did when she worked a case. She contemplated the various possibilities and what might go wrong. Then she systematically developed a loose contingency plan for every possible occurrence. First, she took the worst case scenario. What if she got to the house and found Lou and signs that Charlotte was there? She still wasn’t sold on the idea that Lou had kidnapped Charlotte, but she knew she had to consider every conceivable option. If she found him there with the girl, she’d call for backup. But what if her mobile phone didn’t work out in the boonies? Okay, Jane thought, she had her Glock and she had enough experience dealing with half-cocked psychos over the years to know how to save the victim.
Then Jane considered the absolute worst-worst case scenario: What if she had to kill Lou in order to save Charlotte? Jane felt a thud hit her solar plexus. She had killed one person in her entire career on the force and she had done it because she knew it was the only way to rescue the victim. There was no glory in it, nor was there a sense of relief. There was just the restless playback in her head that she did what she had to do. Jane knew one thing: As much as she hated pulling the trigger that day, she would pull it again if it meant that someone else would live.
The secluded county road popped up sooner than Jane expected. She pulled the Mustang off to the side of the main road and scanned the area. It was an undulating topography of dried grass and barbed wire fences that seemed to hold in nothing but endless acres of dead air. Jane clicked her cell phone on to check for a signal. There was coverage, but it was sketchy.
Turning onto the county road, Jane took her time winding around the paved road and checking the bars on her cell phone. She came to a rundown trailer on her left. Noting the address, Jane realized she had another half mile or so to go before reaching Lou’s house. Driving farther, she came upon yet another trailer, this one painted bright pink. Rounding another turn, she arrived at Lou’s address.
The house was a former, old-time schoolhouse that had been tenuously refurbished just enough to make it livable. Generous curls of gray paint coiled off the sides of the house. The front windows were missing drapes. From Jane’s position, the front yard looked barren. A trio of large trash containers lined the road in front of the house. Each was stuffed so full of trash that the tops could not close. Jane checked her cell phone. There was only one bar. She backed the Mustang 100 feet down the road and parked it under a lone oak tree.
As she walked toward the house, the wind whipped around her body, driving the cold deeper into her bones. The clouds parted briefly, allowing a split second of sunshine to stream onto the road before being smothered by another bank of storm clouds. Jane reached the house and the trash bins. Opening the first one, she found several brown trash bags packed full. The second bin included assorted items that ranged from pieces of old carpeting to rusty tools. The third bin held a mix of old newspapers and plastic water bottles. Apparently, Lou was not into recycling. Out of curiosity, Jane pulled out several newspapers and checked the dates. They were all back issues of Oakhurst’s local paper, The Sierra Star. The most recent one was from October, while the oldest dated back to May. Jane dropped the stack back into the bin. As they fell, the pages fluttered, exposing sections that had been carefully cut out with scissors. Jane retrieved one of the newspapers and flipped through it. The holes ranged from two inches square to half a page. Some of the missing pieces of newspaper were located in the section titled “Religion”; others were located everywhere from the front page to the color insert that featured the weekly specials at the market. Clearly, there was no rhyme or reason to what was cut out.
Jane tossed the paper back into the trash bin and closed the lid. She glanced up at the house and caught a glimpse of gleaming metal partially hidden around the left side of the house. She looked closer and realized it was the back end of a motorcycle. The hair raised on the back of Jane’s neck. Detective Charles Sawyer had mentioned that Lou rode a motorcycle and used it, according to Sawyer, to entice Ashlee.
Okay, Jane thought, Lou is here. She carefully walked around the trash bins and turned into the front yard. The dead grass lay matted against the soaked earth, drowning in deep puddles of rainwater. Jane briefly considered knocking on the front door and being forthright. But she always preferred to silently case a house first before confronting a possible suspect. Jane gingerly slogged through the mud as she headed for the right side of the old house. Coming up to the first drapeless window, she peered into the room. It was a mudroom with stacks of loose boxes piled to the ceiling. Moving a few steps farther, Jane looked into the second window. The large main room lay stark in front of her. Across the thrashed wooden floor were several rolls of duct tape. A tangle of rope sat in the corner. The only other item in the room was a full-length mirror, propped up against the wall. Jane’s heart started beating faster. Duct tape, rope, and a mirror. These were three of the items Sawyer said Lou had purchased prior to kidnapping Ashlee. Jane leaned in closer to the window when she heard a young girl’s scream coming from the back of the property.
Instinctively, she reached for her Glock and turned toward the sound. The screa
m echoed into the wet morning air, lingered for a few seconds, and then quiet descended once again. Jane kept her right hand on the Glock and flattened her back against the house, cautiously moving toward the back of the property.
“Don’t!” the girl screamed.
Jane’s entire body stiffened. Quickly, she checked her cell phone. There was a shaky bar of coverage—not enough for clear transmission of a phone call. “Shit!” Jane whispered under her breath. She continued her methodical approach. The mud under her boots made a pronounced sucking sound with each step.
“That’s gonna hurt!” the girl yelped.
Jane’s mind raced as she picked up speed and finally hugged the corner of the house. She stealthily bent her head around the corner of the house just enough to get a clear view of the scene. A large, high-backed wicker chair stood in the middle of the muddy yard with its back to Jane. A young, preteen girl sat in the chair. The brief movement of another person could be seen sitting in front of the girl. From this angle, the whole scene looked depraved to Jane. She decided to make her move. Emerging from her safe cover, she kept one hand on the Glock and stood with her feet firmly planted on the wet ground. “Charlotte?” Jane yelled with authority.
The sound of a girl screaming in fright pierced the air, and was soon joined by a second screaming girl. An auburn-haired girl in her early teens leaped from in front of the chair. The younger girl, who looked to be around ten, jumped out of the wicker chair and stood next to the older girl. They stared at Jane in a state of confusion for a few long seconds. Jane noticed that the younger child held a frog in her hand. She released her grip on the Glock and quickly covered the gun with her jacket.
“Who are you?” the older girl asked.
“I’m—”
“What’s going on here?” a booming voice yelled, coming at Jane from around the front of the house. Jane spun around. A large, mountain of a man in his early forties strode toward her with angry purpose. “Who the hell are you?” the man asked with impunity.
“Perry!” Jane said in an automatic response.
“Perry who?” the man asked, sneaking a quick glance to the girls and then looking back at Jane.
“Perry Grey.” It was the first word that came to her mind as she looked at the drab sky.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Grey?”
“I’m looking for Lou Peters.”
“I don’t know anybody named Lou Peters,” the man said, his voice calming down a few notches. “We’re new in town. Just moved into the place two weeks ago.”
“Not much furniture,” Jane said, more as a leading question. She couldn’t help it.
“Yeah, well, my wife’s showing up in a few days with all our stuff. Good thing, too. This place was a mess. Had to rip up carpeting and pull all the trash—” The two girls gradually drifted toward Jane, interested in what she was saying. The man addressed them. “Hey! Aren’t you two supposed to be cleaning out the back rooms? What in the hell have you got in your hand?”
The youngest held up the frog. “We saw him moving across the yard, Dad. He was limping. We were trying to make him feel better.”
“Put him back where you found him, and hop to!” He clapped his hands together as added emphasis. “This place is not gonna clean itself!”
The girls dutifully returned the frog to the wet ground and went about their chores. The older girl, however, made a point of lingering close by.
“You gotta stay on ’em 24/7, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jane replied. “So, you moved here two weeks ago?”
“We took ownership of the place then. We’ve been back and forth to Idaho several times during that period.”
“Did it just come up vacant?”
“No. It’s been empty at least a month. I know because I was out here around Thanksgiving to check out the place.”
“I see....” Jane’s mind temporarily drifted.
“Who’s this Peters guy?”
“He’s...bounced some checks around town. I’m from the collection agency. This was his last known address.”
“They track you down in person now?”
“When you’ve bounced as many checks as Peters has, you get special treatment.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“Well, thanks for your time,” Jane said as she sloshed through the muck and headed back to her car. The man went into the house, closing the door behind him. Jane was outside the front yard when she heard the sound of muddy footsteps behind her.
“Hey!” the voice said in a half whisper.
Jane turned to find the older girl running to catch up with her. The kid looked back at the house and then motioned for Jane to move farther down the road to move out of sight. When the girl felt she was at a safe distance, she stopped walking and turned to Jane in a friendly manner.
“So, his name is Lou?” The girl’s hazel eyes danced with excitement.
“Yeah,” Jane replied warily. “You know him?”
“Weeelllll,” the girl said with a coquettish tilt of her head, “I can’t say I know him. But I met him. I just didn’t know his name. Lou, huh?” It was obvious she was in love.
The girl melted into a flirtatious vixen. She spun her auburn hair around her index finger and used every ounce of charm to draw Jane into her confidence. Jane, however, was impervious to the kid’s scheme. “How’d you meet him?”
“He stopped by a few days after we got here. I mean, I’m assuming it’s the same guy. He picked up a box that he left. Said it was church stuff. But I didn’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t exactly look like your typical Bible-thumper, if you know what I mean.” The girl’s hazel eyes twinkled with a mischievous sparkle.
“No, actually, I don’t know what you mean,” Jane asked, keeping her stoic persona engaged.
“He was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous! Blue eyes, brown hair that’s all tangled by the breeze....” Her mind sensually remembered the face. “And a really cute ass,” she added with a friendly cadence. “It didn’t hurt that he had a motorcycle to go with his cute little body. Tons nicer than my dad’s worthless piece of shit motorcycle. It was baby blue with this cool sticker of a white dove on the back. I mean, it just shows you how sensitive he is, ya know? A dove!”
“Uh-huh,” Jane said, unimpressed.
The girl was getting irked that her playfulness was not working. Her tone became slightly forceful. “Well, it just doesn’t make sense that a guy that good looking and that sensitive is bouncing checks all over town! Hey, like, people make mistakes, right? We’re all human!”
Jane couldn’t believe how desperate the girl was to apply as many worn-out clichés as she could muster to create the glowing image she wanted for Lou. In an instant, Jane understood the powerful effect Lou Peters still had on young girls. “Where was your dad when Lou came over here?”
The girl’s face quickly changed into a pissed frown as she rolled her eyes with an overly dramatic flare. “He’d gone into town. It was like the only time he didn’t have us in eyesight! God! It’s like, I need a life, ya know? It’s bad enough that he moves us to this shithole town so I can rot my life away! Like I’m supposed to... what? Do whatever he tells me, be a good girl, get good grades... blah, blah, blah. Puhleeeeease, spare me!”
“So, you only saw Lou once?”
“Yeah. To talk to him.” The girl obviously had more to offer. As was her tried-and-true routine, she waited, arching her eyebrow in a provocative manner in hopes of eliciting more interest out of the adult. When Jane’s steely eyes didn’t give in to the kid’s method, the girl quickly offered the information. “He drove by on his cool bike the next day. But my dad was in the front yard and yelling at us to rake the leaves. Lou just kept going down the road. Never saw him again. Thank you, Daddy!”
Like Jane said, the perpetrator always chooses the perfect victim. The only problem here was that this kid had a father who was big, loud, intrusive, and overprotectiv
e. “This all happened two weeks ago?” Jane asked, calculating the days. The girl nodded. “Okay,” Jane said satisfied. She took a step closer to the girl. “How old are you?”
The tight proximity of Jane’s body intimidated the kid. “Sixteen.”
Jane heard her voice inflection rise up, signaling a lie. “If you’re sixteen, I’m twenty-one.” Jane put on her cop bravado and muscled her frame toward the kid in the most daunting pose she could muster. “I’m asking you again. How old are you?”
The girl was clearly nervous. “Fourteen,” she managed to get out.
“You wanna see fifteen?”
The kid’s eyes grew as big as two hazel saucers. “Yeah,” she stuttered.
“Then stop trying to race the clock. Be fourteen. Do stuff that fourteen-year-olds do. Then be fifteen and do things that fifteenyear-olds do. If you don’t fuck up your life, you’ll make it to eighteen and you can leave this shithole town and strike out for greener pastures. And by the time you get to be twenty-five and the world’s kicked you in the teeth, you can cry yourself to sleep at night, wishing you were fourteen again.”
The girl stood in stunned silence. A hard pitter-patter of raindrops tapped against her face as she regarded Jane with bewilderment.
“Hey, where’s your sister?” her father’s voice rang out in the distance.
The girl rapidly turned toward the house. “I’m out here. The lady....” she hesitated, not sure what to say.
“Needed directions to the post office,” Jane whispered, coaching her.
“Needed directions to the post office!” the kid yelled.
“Okay, make it quick!” her father yelled back.
“Go on,” Jane said, turning around and heading to the Mustang.
The girl started back into her front yard, then stopped. “Hey, wait!” Jane reluctantly turned around. “You yelled out the name Charlotte when you saw us in the backyard. Isn’t that the name of the missing girl in town?”