by Laurel Dewey
“He grabbed you?” Jane’s blood boiled. “That fucking asshole!”
“I’m fine. Now, please, tell me what happened!” Jane calmed down and delivered the day’s events, interjecting the connections as she told the story. She finished by showing Kit the postings on the Ministry Forum. “He thinks he’s Jesus?” Kit yelled.
“He’s thirty-three. Bartosh made reference on many occasions to being reborn at the age of thirty-three, the same age when Jesus died. Lou obviously attached great significance to that.”
“Wait a second. If Lou’s energy is poured into literally being Jesus, then he can’t live past the age of thirty-three!”
Jane realized Kit was correct. Criminals add to their patterns each time, and their plans often become more intricate. She quickly reread his last posting on the Forum. “I am of the age in which it has been prophesized. There will be a great sacrifice on my part, but it is a sacrifice I will joyfully make! I KNOW my Judas will appear shortly” stood out to Jane. “He’s going to take himself out with her,” Jane said.
“Who’s his Judas?”
“With any luck, I am.”
“There’s got to be some sign of where he’s holding her, Jane!” Kit declared.
“I’m sure there is, Kit. But short of reading his favorite books of Isaiah and Matthew all the way through for a clue—”
“What do we know for certain? What words resonate with Lou?”
“Jesus, Emmanuel...sacrifice—”
“Sacrifice! Isn’t that what he did to Ashlee? Isn’t that what he’s planning to do to Charlotte?”
Jane grabbed the Gideon Bible. “There’s gotta be hundreds of references to sacrifice in here.”
“Start with Isaiah and Matthew.”
Jane set the recycling bin on the floor between the beds and instructed Kit to search through the papers for any further clues to the mysterious cutout sections from The Sierra Star newspapers.
They went about their projects with a dual sense of impending doom. Jane ran her finger down the pages of Matthew, but quickly realized that with nearly thirty pages of text and time ticking away, there had to be a faster way to mine out what she needed. Crossing to her computer, she located an online Bible concordance. Entering the words “sacrifice” and “Matthew” into the search engine, she located two verses. But after reading them, they clearly spoke against sacrifice. She changed her search to include Isaiah and found three verses. The first one didn’t form any connection. The second spoke of “the Lord hath a sacrifice in Bozrah, and a great slaughter in the land of Idumea.” While it seemed to portend a clue, Jane felt that it was too obscure for Lou. She didn’t know everything about how Lou’s mind worked, but she did know he was literal. Obscure references weren’t his style. That left the third matching verse in Isaiah; a verse that was as literal as they come:
Upon a lofty and high mountain hast thou set thy bed: even thither wentest thou up to offer sacrifice.
Jane turned her attention back to the Ministry Forum. There were two references to mountains: “The Glory of God will shine forth at the mountain and they will all know ME” and “The mount is in sight.” Jane recovered the map she got at the Shell station, laying it across her bed. She assumed he wrote these words seated at the computer in Rachel’s guesthouse. But the guesthouse was surrounded by thick conifers. How could the mount be in sight? Jane checked the area on the map around Rachel’s house. No mountains. Jane continued to search. The only remote connection to a mountain or mount was Pinoche Peak, located within the Sierra National Forest and skirting Yosemite National Park. She ran a quick search on the name Pinoche and uncovered nothing of significance. Jane reread the references to mountains again. “The Glory of God will shine forth at the mountain....” Why “at the mountain” and not “on” the mountain, Jane wondered. She worried that her detective’s eye might be reading things in that weren’t there; an ironic twist when dealing with a psychotic who does the same thing to validate his crimes.
Jane watched the top rim of the sun quickly set outside the cabin. Any chance of searching for Charlotte in daylight had passed.
“Hey, look at this,” Kit said, “I didn’t know Charlotte was in the school pageant?” Jane turned to Kit.
Jane recalled that Shane mentioned he had found Charlotte’s Christmas pageant photo in the Christmas Day paper before he was set to meet her. “Holy shit,” Jane said. “Let me see that!” Jane grabbed the paper and stared at the photo. There was a group of schoolchildren, dressed in manger garb and circling a wooden cradle. It was the standard crèche scene, with the three wise men, the angels, Joseph, the baby Jesus, and Mary. And front and center was Charlotte’s smiling face looking back at Jane, wearing the identical brunette wig from her mother’s salon. The caption read, “Charlotte Walker, age twelve, played Mary....”
That’s how Shane knew how old she was and that’s how Lou found out. Jane knew it was also his final trigger. In his mind, brunette-haired Charlotte was defacing the name of his heavenly mother.
It was only a matter of one day before Lou played out the finale to his distorted drama. Jane figured she could continue to find a needle in a haystack or she could make a bold move and call the only person who might know where Lou had taken Charlotte.
She opted for the bold move.
CHAPTER 34
Jane would need to use a pay phone to make the call. She knew if they saw her number on their caller ID—the way they accessed her number when she called to set up the interview—they would not pick up. After informing Kit of her plans, Jane drove the Buick to the Shop ’n’ Save, a seemingly appropriate location, and crossed to the pay phone. She lit a cigarette and dialed the number she’d jotted on a piece of paper.
“Hello?” the kindhearted voice answered.
“Ingrid!” Jane said with an affected, syrupy tone. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she replied with an uncertain sound to her voice.
“Checking the caller ID?”
There was a pause. “Ah...yes—”
“You should know this area code pretty well since you get regular calls from Rachel Hartly checking in.”
“Who is this?”
“Feeling paranoid?” Jane’s tone hardened as she sucked a drag on her cigarette. “That’s all in a day’s work for you and John, isn’t it? It’s kinda the way I felt when I was standing about twenty feet from where I am right now at the ol’ Shop ’n’ Save four days ago! Here’s a little local trivia: they pronounce the street Boo-na and not Bwaa-na.” Jane heard a slight catch in Ingrid’s throat. “It’s a pisser getting caught lying, isn’t it? Especially when God hates liars so much.”
“Now, wait one second, Miss Perry.” Ingrid did her best to gather her righteous indignation. “If we are speaking of liars, you must admit your own attempt to fabricate your identity as well as misrepresenting yourself as a writer for Christian Parenting Today. My husband checked with the magazine’s editors. That’s when he discovered that there was so such person as ‘Jackie Lightjoy’ on their staff. I also recognized Miss Clark from a distance when she got into your Mustang after you left our house.”
“From her many appearances in court, no doubt?”
“That’s correct.”
“So you called my cell to find out who I was and I was dumb enough to answer with my name.”
“It was simply to confirm our suspicions. My husband remembered you from your appearance on Larry King’s program. He’s got a very good memory. I called the Denver Police to talk to you, but I was informed by your sergeant that you were no longer employed there and that you were working independently in Oakhurst.”
Jane recalled Weyler mentioning a woman who called DH to request Jane as a speaker at her son’s graduation. It had seemed an obscure invitation to Jane when Weyler first told her. But it was the kind of innocent-sounding ruse she now knew Ingrid used to get the information she needed. Weyler innocently passed along the information to Ingrid that Jane was no longer at DH and out of the state w
orking in Oakhurst. “I get it. You’ve got Jane Perry and you’ve got Katherine Clark; a detective and a woman whose mission in life it is to keep a certain criminal off the street. Then you find out that I’m in Oakhurst, exactly where Lou Peters lives... or should I say Emmanuel? And since you and your husband protect Emmanuel from all the bad people who want to punish him, you were making damn sure my presence was known by your local disciple, Rachel Hartly. What was that conversation like when she obediently called you to report that she observed me in the parking lot and that she’d keep an eye on me? Did she promise she’d alert Emmanuel to my presence? Maybe tell him the kind of car I drove, so he could be on the lookout for me?”
“You don’t understand Emmanuel’s plight. He’s been—”
“You said your husband has a very good memory? I suppose his memory overcompensates for his blindness?”
Jane heard another voice in the background and Ingrid’s muffled voice saying, “It’s her....”
“Is that the King of the manor house, Ingrid? Tell him to pick up the other line!”
Ingrid whispered to her husband.
“Miss Perry?” Bartosh said with a booming, fearsome voice.
“Save the attitude for someone else! I want you to listen to me. And if you hang up, I will send the police down on you so hard, it’ll make Armageddon look like an insignificant event! I know you like to feel power. I also know you like that word. The Power of Fourteen? The Power of Sacrifice? You can be very persuasive, Doctor. You have the ability to make a lot of people follow your every word without question. Well, let me tell you exactly how persuasive you are. A guy named Lou Peters used your ‘Power of Fourteen’ theory to validate kidnapping a fourteen-year-old girl named Ashlee. You remember her? He held her for fourteen days before he crushed her head with a rock at Pico Blanco.”
“You are mistaken. He was wrongfully convicted by the secular—”
“Stop hiding behind the cross! It is true! He also raped three girls in your Congregation. One of them he raped after he killed Ashlee. She got pregnant. And she left town because she was scared she’d be his next victim. You know this girl. You like to think of her as dead. But she’s very much alive. You think she calls home and hangs up. You think she’s baring her soul on your Ministry Forum—”
“Dear God,” Ingrid gasped, bursting into tears. “Where is she?”
“It’s up to her to contact you.”
“Is she all right?” Bartosh asked, his voice suddenly weakening.
“She’s beautiful! But there’s not a day that goes by when she’s not haunted by what your ‘Golden Boy’ did to her.”
“There must be some mistake,” Bartosh stammered.
“You know, ‘There are none so blind as those who will not see.’ Didn’t it bother you when Lou Peters chose the name Emmanuel ? It’s one thing to choose the name of a disciple; it’s another thing when you pick the name of your Savior!”
“I never told him he was Jesus!”
“Yes, you did! When you were in court with him, after the judge let him out on bond, you said to Lou, ‘Jesus wants you as our Savior.’ Kit Clark witnessed it!”
“I certainly didn’t mean that literally!”
“Isn’t it all literal, Bartosh? Isn’t that what you preach?” Jane took a hard drag on her cigarette. “Walk with the phone to your computer. Log on to the Ministry Forum and look at the last entry in ‘The Power of Sacrifice’ thread.” Jane heard Bartosh’s footsteps walking across the room and the beep of the computer. “I want you to see with your own eyes what the guy you supported, loved, and helped get out on bond is planning to do with another little girl named Charlotte Walker.”
“Charlotte Walker?” Ingrid repeated. “Why is that name familiar?”
“She’s been plastered across the TV for the last eleven days!”
“We haven’t watched television in weeks. No, I’ve heard that girl’s name somewhere else,” Ingrid insisted with a nervous tone. “I remember! It was from Rachel. That was the child who requested to leave the youth camp early.”
“Did Lou meet Charlotte at the ministry camp?”
“He’s not allowed around children while he’s out on bond. All I know is that Rachel was upset by Charlotte’s strong-willed behavior and shared it with us—”
“And I bet she didn’t mind sharing her disapproval of Charlotte with Lou,” Jane added with a sting. Suddenly, another connection formed. There was an eerie parallel between Donald Kapp’s widow verbally disapproving of Kit and Rachel Hartly’s verbal disapproval of Charlotte—both in the presence of Lou Peters. “How you doing with that posting, Doctor?”
“Dear Lord....” Bartosh uttered as he finished reading. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s going to kill himself after he kills Charlotte! Your dream of the Golden Boy taking over the Congregation is never going to happen!”
“He loves God. We’ve discussed his passion for the Lord on so many occasions.”
“What you see as passion, Dr. Bartosh, is mania. Psychotic mania. And with every phone call you’ve shared with Lou, you have involuntarily helped him plan and strategize Charlotte’s abduction and torture—”
“I would never do that!” Bartosh replied with great fear.
“But you did! Read the posting! He credits you, ‘his father on earth,’ for changing his life. I’ll admit that as evidence in court and you and your church will be ruined. I will also pin you as an accessory to the kidnapping, rape, torture, and murder in Ashlee’s case. He raped Ashlee with a hammer—“The Hammer of God.” Sound familiar? He got the idea reading your article in the newsletter. After I prove your indirect involvement in Ashlee’s murder, I’ll do the same for Charlotte Walker when they find her dead body next to Lou’s—”
“Please, you must believe me. It was never intentional!”
“You want to save Charlotte Walker?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then throw out your narrow, predigested perspective and start figuring out where he’s holding her! The way I see it, she’ll be dead before tomorrow ends.”
“Good Lord,” Ingrid whispered. “John, think! Please!”
“What has he said to you over the last eleven days?” Jane demanded.
“We’ve talked about a lot of things—”
“Sacrifice?”
“Yes.”
“What about mountains?”
“Mountains? I don’t think so—”
“Think, dammit!” Jane shouted.
“I don’t know!” Bartosh’s voice cracked in distress.
“You still have my cell number?”
“Yes,” Ingrid acknowledged.
“You have three hours to figure it out. If I don’t receive a phone call from you with something substantial by then, I’ll make sure that everything you cherish—your freedom, your peace of mind, your beloved church—is taken from you. I’ll let every media outlet know your name. The public will despise you for your ignorance! Are you afraid of the wrath of God, Bartosh? Well I can meet Him in spades!”
Jane slammed down the phone. She checked the time. 5:30 P.M. A soft rain began to fall. By the time she got back to her car, the skies opened and sent a thundering downpour across Oakhurst. She pulled out of the parking lot, passing Clinton’s infamous black SUV parked in the lot. He’d obviously been watching her the entire time. She’d planned to drive past Rachel’s house to check for any sign of Lou but, thanks to Clinton, she’d have to abandon those plans now. Clinton continued to trail Jane back to the Cabins, parking in direct sight of their cabin.
“Make sure the curtain’s drawn tight!” Jane exclaimed when she walked in the cabin. “Clinton’s lying in wait.”
Kit was seated on the bed, balancing a book on her knee and writing on what looked like a journal. Jane repeated the entire conversation with Bartosh. “What if he can’t make any solid connections?”
Jane tossed the keys to the Buick on the table and sat down on her bed. Her body was bone-ti
red, but she knew if she fell asleep, she’d be out for hours. “I don’t know, Kit.” She plugged her cell phone into the charger. “It’s a crapshoot. But it’s all we’ve got right now.” Jane stretched her legs out on the bed. “What are you writing?”
“Oh, just thoughts and feelings.” Kit smiled, covering the page with a book.
The rain fell hard outside, pelting heavy drops against the lone window in the cabin. “I wonder if she can hear the rain right now?” Jane said to herself.
“She can,” Kit solemnly replied.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said with a sigh of resignation. “I’m sorry for not believing you. Not trusting you. Wasting your time—”
“You never wasted my time, Jane P.!”
Jane stared blankly. “I could have done more.”
“There are just so many hours in a day and you’ve used them well. Why don’t you get some rest—”
“No. I can’t sleep.”
“I’ll put on my whale music. It deeply relaxes the subconscious mind—”
“He may call. I gotta be sharp.”
The sound of rain outside mixed with the drone of truck engines pulling into the parking lot. Jane got up and peered through the drapes. Four large freight and delivery trucks parked at the far end of the lot. One of the drivers jumped out of his rig and ran toward the front office. Jane opened the cabin door.
“What’s going on?” she yelled to the driver.
“There’s been another mud slide on 41,” he said, sheltering his face from the rain with his jacket. “We’re stuck here ’til the road opens. Hopefully before dawn!”
Jane closed the door and retreated back to bed. “What else can happen?” There was a thick silence before Jane spoke. “You asked about good memories with my dad?”
“Yes?”
“Mary Bartosh has a black lab puppy. It triggered a memory. I was about ten or eleven. I know my mom was dead. One night, Dad brought home this black lab puppy. It belonged to his sergeant, who was on a two-week vacation, and Dad, for some reason, said he’d take care of the dog. My first impression was fear. Fear for the dog. But the strangest thing happened. Dad built him a pen outside where he could run during the day. Then at night, he let him come inside. The first night, after Mike and I went to bed, I came downstairs for a glass of water. Dad didn’t see me but I saw him. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking his whiskey, cradling the puppy in his arms and rocking him like a baby. I sat on the steps and watched him for over an hour. Finally, I got up because I knew the dog would be safe.” Kit reached out between the beds. Jane turned to her and took her hand. Jane’s cell rang. She sprung out of bed and answered.