by Laurel Dewey
“That’s not enough motive to make somebody kidnap a kid—”
“Rachel has to know Lou!”
Jane revealed the sighting of the red hummingbird tablecloth, a comment that elicited a gasp from Kit. “Of course they know each other. But until I can place either Lou Peters or his motorcycle on her property, it’s a fucking cat and mouse game. If I didn’t have the restraints of Clinton Fredericks on my ass, I could drive around more freely and not be afraid of tipping my hand.”
“He took the bait this morning. That’ll buy you a couple free hours tomorrow.”
“Clinton’s not the only one who knows what the Mustang looks like.” Jane disclosed the unexpected encounter with Lou, eliciting another dramatic gasp from Kit. “Any further chance of anonymity is looking dicey.” Jane sat on the bed, dejected.
“It’s very simple how to solve this,” Kit declared offhandedly. “Rent a nondescript car and park it around the block so Clinton can’t see it.” Jane was staggered at how simple a solution that was. “By the way,” Kit added, “who’s Christina Aguilera?”
“Huh?” Jane was considering what type of car to rent.
“I suppose she’s a singer. They had a spot at the shop for a wig style she must have worn on the 2003 MTV Awards.”
Jane half listened to Kit. “Hell if I know. Check her out on the Internet.”
“Ah,” Kit said, waving Jane off, “I’m not Internet savvy. Besides, there’s better things I’d like to investigate on the Internet.”
“Like what?” Jane asked, pouring the last of the morning’s coffee into a cup.
“I still have a soft spot in my heart for Big Sur. I’d look up photos of Point Lobos, The Ventana Inn, maybe Jade Cove.”
Jane sat down in front of her computer. “Pull up a chair and I’ll show you how to go down memory lane.”
For the next half hour, Jane gave Kit a quick lesson in surfing the net. Jane let her loose on the computer while she checked the phone book for rental cars. It took Jane a half hour to walk into town and five minutes to choose the most ironic, nondescript vehicle: a blue, Buick sedan that looked as if it could be the kissing cousin of Kit’s old jalopy. Jane picked up lunch at The Circle 9 Diner and returned to the cabin, parking the Buick behind The Bonanza Cabins in a vacant area.
“You’re gonna laugh when you see the rental car!” Jane exclaimed as she entered the cabin. Kit sat motionless in front of the computer, staring at the screen in a pensive manner. Jane set down the food and peered over Kit’s shoulder at an aerial view of Jade Cove. The panoramic photo took in the sweeping Pacific Ocean and jagged rocks along Highway 1. “What is it?” Jane asked tentatively.
“My house was right there,” Kit quietly said, pointing to a minute spot on the screen.” Jane leaned closer to get a better look. “The guesthouse sat back in the trees, overlooking the creek which ran along this way.” Kit traced her index finger along the narrow gulch. “I just remembered something I saw.”
“What?”
“It was the day before Ashlee was killed. He’d come back to the house like he did the whole time she was missing, so he’d have an alibi. I was beside myself with grief and worry. I went outside at twilight to smoke a joint and calm down. I happened to look up toward the guesthouse and saw Lou. He was standing on the rim that overlooked the creek. He was focused intently on something below. I snuck around quietly from the other side and stood in the conifers looking down into the gulch. There were two kids, teenagers, lying on the side of the creek, having sex. I looked over at Lou.” Kit paused for a moment, flashing back on the scene. “There was just enough light to see his face. He had this look of pure rage. And he was masturbating. It didn’t feel right to me. Not the kids having sex or Lou masturbating...it was that look on his face.” Kit turned away from the computer. “About an hour later, I went outside again and I saw him coming up from the gulch in the dark with a flashlight. He walked by me carrying a plastic bag. The look of rage was gone, but he had a frenzied edge. He said something like, ‘Kids don’t have any self-respect any longer. It’s bad enough what they do down there, but they don’t have to litter the gulch with beer cans and condoms!’” Kit stood up and crossed to her bed. “Looking back, I think that was the trigger he needed to kill Ashlee, because he took her life less than twelve hours later.”
“I thought he planned all along to kill her on day fourteen, in keeping with his whole ‘Power of Fourteen’ theory,” Jane gently asked.
“He did. But don’t you see? I could have stopped him. I saw that rage—”
“You didn’t know Lou kidnapped her! You can only make that rage connection with hindsight.”
Kit buried her head in her hands, sobbing. “I could have saved my girl. I would have given anything to save my precious girl. I would have given myself!”
Jane grasped Kit’s hand. “I know you would have.”
“We have two days! Two days and that bastard will do it again!”
“I’m gonna find Charlotte,” Jane said with confidence.
“Dead doesn’t count!” Kit’s tone was edged with fury. “This trip will have been worthless if she’s not found alive!”
“I’ll find her alive.” Jane passed the bag of food to Kit and crossed to her computer. She searched for half an hour looking for an adequate map of the northern stretch of Highway 41 where she saw Lou turn, but all she found were nameless roads that seemingly led nowhere. While Kit picked at her food and skimmed through the stack of The Congregation Chronicle newsletters, Jane checked out the Ministry Forum. There were several new discussion threads since her last visit, with one titled “The Age of Un-Reason, Part II” started by Dr. John Bartosh. Jane scrolled down the page and found that “The Power of Sacrifice” thread had one addition. It was a reply from Manul.Crst.123 to Jane’s vulnerable, early morning retort from the day before.
Dear Mary.mog,
A girl’s father should be her guardian. Without the strength of a father, a girl is left helpless and at the whim of evil in the world. I see so many girls today in the same boat as you were in. Their fathers might be living in the home but they are not truly THERE for them. Sadly, so many fathers LEAVE, as mine did, and they don’t care if their children are left to suffer in a sadistic home. My mother, like yours, was weak. She let Lucifer into her heart. The weak always do. She drowned in darkness and dragged me with her. I still hear the voices in my head. “You’re no good!” “You’ll never be anything.” Do you still hear the voices, Mary.mog?
Manul. Crst. 123
GOD WITH US
Jane felt paralyzed as she read the last sentence. The whole thing felt far too invasive and yet...it seemed that someone else shared the same endless tape of admonitions in their head. Jane started to close out the Forum when she reconsidered and posted a quick response.
Manul.Crst.123,
Sometimes. But the voice has taken on a different tone lately.
Mary.mog
“Oh my God....” Kit quietly whispered.
Jane turned around. Kit was staring at one of the newsletters, her mouth agape.
“What is it?”
“It’s an obituary from fourteen and a half years ago. For...for Donald Kapp.”
“Kapp?” Jane searched her memory. “The guy who died in the shoe factory explosion you were linked to?”
Kit nodded in a slight daze. “I didn’t know he was a member of the Lamb of God Congregation.” Kit scanned the obituary. “He was very involved in the Congregation. Member of The Brotherhood Council—”
Jane crossed to the bed. “Let me see that.” Kit handed her the newsletter. Jane read through the glowing memorial. “On this day, five years ago, our brother in God was taken from us so callously....” framed the second paragraph. “His wife was thankfully unharmed in the blast, but she still suffers his loss greatly. Please pray for her....” Jane turned the page and found a series of grainy photographs of Donald Kapp and his family. “Wait a minute....” Jane stared at one of the photos. “
That looks like....” Jane searched the room for another photo. She located it in her satchel and held it next to the newsletter. “You tell me,” Jane asked Kit, showing her the photo she’d stolen from Bartosh’s hallway. “Is Kapp’s daughter one of the two sad-looking girls in the front row?”
Kit closely analyzed the photos. “Yes. She is.”
Jane sat down on her bed. “You said Lou lived with various families within the Brotherhood Council, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it possible that Lou could have briefly lived with the Kapps after Donald’s death to help out the family?”
“It’s more than possible,” Kit said, feeling a mysterious piece of her past click into place. “It’s highly probable. Lou told me how he filled in for the various families whenever they needed a man around the house. He seemed quite proud of that fact.”
Jane stood up and started to pace, fleshing out a plausible premise. “So, let’s say one of those families was the Kapps. From the tone of this article, there was a lot of unresolved anger because of the way Donald Kapp was killed. They’re dredging it up in the newsletter five years later... Look here,” Jane pointed to a paragraph. “‘It is always sad when someone we love passes into our Lord’s hands. But the pain is even harder to bear when the death was easily prevented.’ You know what I read between those lines? Mrs. Kapp is angry. She can’t let it go. And she’s gonna tell everybody in earshot exactly how much those who were responsible for her dear husband’s death should suffer. And what do you know? Less than six months later, who’s showing up on Kit Clark’s doorstep asking to rent the guesthouse?”
An uneasy pallor colored Kit’s face. “I...I don’t understand—”
“Remember when I asked you why someone like Lou Peters would be interested in renting a guesthouse from a Bohemian like yourself? It didn’t fit. But now it does.”
“Wait....” Kit struggled with the diabolical concept. “The Kapps suggested he—”
“No. It was Lou’s idea. You said he’s easily influenced by what he hears? So he’s living with Mrs. Kapp and her sad little daughter and all he hears is ‘Katherine Clark took part in my husband’s death.’ Here’s a guy who admittedly believes in the literal translation of the Bible. Vengeance may be mine, sayeth the Lord but there’s also an eye for an eye—a life for a life.”
Kit’s eyes widened. “I was his target?”
Jane took a step back to consider the vile possibility. “If everything else plays out, then yes, I think you were.”
“Then why didn’t he kill me?”
“He got to know you and he found out that—as you’ve said to me—even the Devil speaks the truth sometimes. But just because she’s the Devil, it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t say things that make impressionable nineteen-year-old boys vacillate from their original intention. Lou opened up to you and you listened with your heart. You offered him compassion for his tortured childhood. You were probably the only person in his life who genuinely befriended him with no motives...no judgment. The thing you regret the most—your lack of judgment—may have been the one thing that saved your life.”
Kit let it all filter through. “But if there must be an eye for an eye, then that means Ashlee was the sacrifice for me.”
Jane recalled Detective Charles Sawyer’s vivid description of Ashlee’s naked body baking on the limestone rock in Pico Blanco. “It looked like a sacrifice to the gods of Pico Blanco,” Sawyer commented. “Ashlee showed up that summer,” Jane offered, “and Lou made her fit into his warped ‘Power of Fourteen’ theory. It was the dark union of a twisted mind and a Biblical bullet.” Kit sunk back onto her bed, struggling with Jane’s haunting scenario. Jane’s mind raced with a million possible connections. “There’s nothing you can do about what happened fourteen years ago. Don’t waste the energy. I need you to stay mentally strong so you can help throw Clinton off the track tomorrow.”
Kit looked up at Jane. “I won’t let you down. Don’t worry.”
Jane clicked on the TV, skimming through the cable news channels. CNN promised a live link to Oakhurst’s command post with Clinton Fredericks within the next half hour. The time window afforded Jane the opportunity to drive the rental car to the cabin and transfer items from the Mustang without worrying about Clinton’s prying eyes. Jane muted the sound and instructed Kit to keep an eye on the upcoming story before heading around the block to get the Buick.
As Jane rounded the Cabins’s front office, she glanced into the parking lot of the adjacent motel. The suits from the FBI were packing their sedans and heading out of town. It was obvious to Jane that the powers that be believed Charlotte was dead and the manpower to find her alive was no longer necessary. She stopped to check the Fresno Bee headlines. There was nothing about Charlotte. Both the child and the headlining story had sunk into the void.
Barry stepped out of the office carrying a large newspaper recycling box. “Sad thing about them not finding Charlotte, isn’t it?” Barry said, dropping the heavy box on the concrete.
Jane was surprised to hear Barry waxing with such melancholia. “Yeah.”
“Yep,” he replied, collecting outgoing mail from the postal box by the office’s front door. “The action’s slowin’ down! I’m losin’ media folks every day! Damn! There go my big plans for building the Virginia City DE-luxe cabin!” Barry shook his head in disgust and went inside.
Jane’s initial impression hadn’t changed—Barry was still the same sentimental bastard. She drove the Buick into the lot, parking it next to the Mustang. A soft rain fell as the afternoon light sunk under a blanket of dark clouds. Jane smiled at the Buick and how it resembled Kit’s old clunker. After transferring items, Jane opened the trunk to check it out. She heard the cabin’s door open and Kit’s footsteps. “Well?” Jane asked, partially hidden behind the open trunk. “What do you think of my rental choice?”
There was a heavy pause before Kit spoke. “Is that you?” she whispered.
Jane heard a remote sound in Kit’s voice. She poked her head around the trunk’s lid. “Of course it’s me—” Jane caught herself. The misty rain softly collected on Kit’s hair, forming a delicate halo around her head. Her eyes looked vacant, like two hovering orbs with no clear direction. Jane realized Kit was sleepwalking. “Hey, we better get inside,” Jane gently suggested taking a few steps toward Kit.
As she moved closer, Kit stared at Jane in a disconnected, yet intense manner. Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, sweetheart....” Kit said with a catch in her throat. “How’s my girl?” Jane stared into Kit’s loving eyes. It was a look Kit reserved for only one person. Kit took a few steps closer to Jane as tears streamed down her face. She extended her hand to Jane’s face, tenderly stroking her cheek. “You’re whole again, baby.” She grabbed Jane and hugged her tightly. “God, I miss you.” Kit sobbed hard as she pressed Jane tightly to her body. “I’ll be with you soon.”
Jane felt a wellspring of sadness overcome her. She couldn’t hold back her emotion as she wrapped her arms around Kit. This is what it felt like to be Ashlee. This is what it felt like to be deeply loved forever.
Kit pulled back just far enough to study the face in front of her. Her brow furrowed as she watched a tear fall from Jane’s eye, though Jane knew that Kit was still seeing Ashlee. “Why are you crying, sweetie?”
“It’s okay,” Jane whispered. At the sound of Jane’s voice, Kit fell back into her body. The shock of waking up forced her forward into Jane’s arms. “You were sleepwalking again.”
Kit ran her hand across her face, trying to sort out her thoughts. “But...she was...wasn’t she?”
“Come on,” Jane said, holding Kit steady as she maneuvered her toward the cabin’s open door. Kit moved uncertainly. As she approached the gem- and water-filled glass jars lined outside the cabin, she caught her heel on the pavement. In steadying herself, Kit accidentally toppled a jar, shattering the contents onto the ground. A large chunk of jade broke loose inside the jar and came to rest atop spli
nters of glass.
“My jade water!” Kit exclaimed
Jane settled Kit inside the cabin before returning with a bag and towel to tend to the broken glass. Overhead, the clouds parted, sending a warm shaft of sunlight across the parking lot. Jane lifted the small chunk of rough jade but immediately felt a shard of glass cut her finger. Without thinking, she let the jade fall to the concrete. It struck the pavement, cracking into two pieces. “Shit,” Jane said as she stared at the broken stone. Drops of water glistened on the jade, reflecting a radiant sparkle thanks to the sun’s appearance. Jane’s attention was drawn to one of the broken pieces. At first she thought it was a stray piece of glass stuck to the stone. But upon closer examination, she realized the pinpoint of shiny particulate matter was part of the stone. “Damn,” Jane whispered, “that’s it.”
CHAPTER 31
JANUARY 4
It had been another restless night of sleep for Jane. Her head raced with the intricate connections of events that had occurred fourteen years ago and the probable links that proved Lou killed Ashlee and that he cleverly used a prop to cast doubt on his guilt. If he indeed was solely responsible for kidnapping Charlotte Walker, Jane wondered if he planned to frame someone else for this crime. The pieces of the puzzle slowly took shape as the wee hours of the morning crept forth. Jane was painfully aware of the date. If patterns served, Charlotte would be killed the following day.
The weight of that overwhelming thought forced Jane out of bed and outside to smoke a cigarette. She scanned the parking lot with a mindful eye. A third of the media trucks had indeed vacated the premises, off to hunt and shoot fresher prey. There was no sign of Clinton’s SUV. Jane surmised he was getting a few good winks so he’d be in tip-top shape for his stakeout in the woods later that morning. The Buick was safely secured once again behind the Cabins. All seemed peaceful. And yet, Jane knew that somewhere out there, Charlotte was going through a living hell.