by Pamela Tracy
Katie gasped. “What? Are you in shock or something? What do you mean ‘poor Derek’?”
Katie was right to be worried. Right now there was no poor Derek; there was, however, a poor Janie. Rafe didn’t believe for a moment that Derek’s death had been the result of a drug deal gone wrong. Not just a few days after he’d turned in a possible murder confession. And, if Derek was killed to prevent his art book from seeing the light of day, then whoever killed him wouldn’t hesitate to kill again, had indeed already killed twice.
Another thing that worried Rafe was how the murderer had tracked the art book to the school safe.
Had the killer been on campus last night, watching Janie, waiting to get her alone? Had the killer watched as Janie read the book, watched as she walked to her boss’s office and then watched what the campus police did with the book?
So many questions.
But what Rafe found most chilling was that the same someone had been able to get the art book from the safe, quickly and seemingly easily.
Janie must have been thinking the same thing because she asked, “Did they find anything at all in the safe? Are they already gathering DNA?”
Rafe grimaced. Television had given DNA abilities it didn’t really have, like the ability to be everywhere. “A safe isn’t likely to cough up much DNA. Campus police report that this particular safe is opened by a code that has to be punched in. The crime-scene specialists will fingerprint the push buttons, but, keep in mind, the guard opened the safe this morning, technically putting his prints over whoever had opened it last.”
Katie leaned forward, intent. “Did the Adobe Hills police officer say what was inside the safe this morning?”
Finally, something he could answer. “A pair of handcuffs, two wallets and plenty of drug paraphernalia.”
Which meant any of that DNA Janie’d been hoping for would be compromised.
It hadn’t escaped Rafe’s notice that the two women were asking more questions of him than he was asking of them. But before he could form a question, Katie asked, “How long will it take to get back the results?”
“The average is one hundred and twenty days.”
The two towns in his county were small, so they were a low priority after both Tucson and Phoenix for the crime lab, located in Phoenix.
A list of who knew the code to the safe could be helpful, yet he doubted an accurate list could be put together. Most likely the college had had the same safe for twenty years, and every officer, past and present, had been given the code. Add to that list the college president, the deans...
Janie started to stand, decided to sit, then stood again, before finally plopping into the chair and burying her forehead in her hands. “Oh, man! I wish I’d never opened that art book. It was the first time Patricia was trusting me to evaluate the students’ work and offer comments.”
“If it leads to Brittney’s murderer,” Rafe said, “then we’re glad you did read that art book. Her parents deserve closure.”
“And I deserve to live to thirty!”
“You will.” Rafe personally intended to keep that promise. His number one priority was finding Brittney’s killer while keeping Janie safe.
He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes until he needed to leave to testify in court, and while he didn’t want to leave the case or Janie, there was no reason for him to delay the court date. In an hour, the art book would still be missing; Derek would still be dead.
And, for right now, Janie was about as safe as one could be at the Scorpion Ridge police station.
But he did need to keep her busy. He didn’t want her to bolt or break down. “I’m going to turn you over to my chief of police,” Rafe said. “I’m going to have you look at some photos. See if you recognize any of Derek’s friends.”
“He didn’t have friends,” she reminded him. “And I’m supposed to be at the university. I have classes today.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to miss them today. And you’ll be surprised what you’ll remember, the details you’ll recall, people and places.”
“I should never have opened his art book,” Janie muttered again.
“But you did,” Rafe said, “So now we’ll deal with it.” He smiled, trying to communicate that she wasn’t alone, that he’d do his job, take care of her.
Then she gave him a glare that almost stopped him in his tracks. He was used to people being grateful, looking up to him, believing him, wanting to be taken care of, trusting him. Janie Vincent didn’t trust him.
Before he was quite ready, she stood, practically tapping her foot in impatience. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
“You want me to stay, Janie?” Katie asked.
“No, you go on back to work. I’ll find—”
“I’ll make sure she gets home,” Rafe asserted.
Janie’s eyes narrowed. For some reason, Little Miss Vincent didn’t appreciate his offer.
Rafe gathered up what he needed for court, and then followed Janie and Katie out his office door. Katie hurried toward the exit, checking her watch, too. Before Rafe could steer Janie toward the back room, she caught the attention of one of his auxiliary officers. The cop gave her an appreciative once-over before Rafe sent him packing. Then he gently guided Janie to the back room and set her up in front of a computer before summoning his chief of police, Jeff Summerside.
It took her a moment to realize what he planned and then her only question was, “I’m surprised, as small as Scorpion Ridge is, that you’re not still using mug-shot books?”
“I’m not even sure they still make Polaroid film,” he told her wryly. “As a border community, CopLink is a necessity. It saves time and manpower.”
He typed in some keywords and soon Janie was perusing faces. It was all Rafe could do to walk from the room, away from her and what she was doing, and hurry to court. He wanted to be sitting next to her, noting her reaction, and seeing if any of the faces meant something not only to her but also to him.
But he trusted his chief of police.
He wasn’t sure he trusted the officer who’d given her the once-over. At least, not when it came to Janie.
And that made no sense at all.
* * *
JANIE TOOK A deep breath and looked at yet another young, angry face. Chief Summerside had typed in various bits of information, bringing up the type of people who might be associated with Derek Chaney.
Just as Janie was wondering what type of keywords Summerside had used in his search—scary, mean, glowerer must surely have been among them—the officer left to take a private call. Leaving Janie to sit on a hard chair and feel alone. Vulnerable. It wasn’t Janie’s first time at a police station. It was, however, the first time she’d entered the doors without a police escort. And this time her sister, Katie, had been escorting her in instead of out.
Rafe’s words, I’ll make sure she gets home, had taken Janie back to a low point in her life. Janie had just turned thirteen, and her big sister Katie, now of legal age, had left Aunt Betsy’s.
Alone with her alcoholic aunt, Janie had been terrified, and for a solid year the system couldn’t be convinced that an eighteen-year-old guardian—one who had a job, was in college and with no police record—was better than a fifty-year-old aunt who couldn’t hold a job, keep an apartment, and had lost her driver’s license thanks to her best friend vodka.
“I’ll make sure she gets home.”
Janie closed her eyes. He couldn’t have picked a worse declaration. During the year Katie had fought the system, Janie had run away eight times.
Rafe wasn’t the first cop to see Janie safely home.
Only in those days, there’d been nothing safe about the home she’d been escorted back to. He also wasn’t the first cop to sympathize with her.
Empty words. It was easy to say “I’m sorry.�
� Janie knew from experience that a cop could only do so much, and that when the next call came in, she was just a report to be filed.
And forgotten.
Sighing, she refocused on the screen. After what felt like days, another officer, Candy Riorden, drove her home to her cottage behind the house where her sister and brother-in-law lived.
Since it was only a ten-minute drive, there’d been little conversation aside from the cackle of the radio and a few directions from Janie. Just before Janie closed the police cruiser’s back door, Officer Riorden said, “Sheriff Salazar says he’ll pick you up later and escort you to Adobe Hills.”
It was an order, not a suggestion.
Given by a cop who’d said he’d make sure she got home and then had turned her over to someone else.
Typical.
Yet today, as she took her second shower in under twelve hours, she wondered if she just might have to rethink her own policy. The one she had about not trusting cops. Years ago, when she’d run away, it had always been a cop who had escorted her back to a place she didn’t want to go, a place where she didn’t feel safe, instead of to her sister.
But in this instance, Katie wouldn’t be much help. Janie might actually be putting her in danger. For a protector, Sheriff Salazar might be the logical, and only, choice. And, he did look like someone who could keep her safe. He was tall, over six feet, and had the square jaw that boasted a five-o’clock shadow before noon. Were she the type of artist to paint people, she’d choose him. She’d make sure to emphasize his strong hands, knowing smile and piercing black eyes.
Janie couldn’t deny he was easy to look at, if one went for the dark, brooding type.
Appearances weren’t everything, though.
Twenty minutes later, she headed through the front gate of BAA, waved at the cashier, and immediately headed for the building that housed her sister and brother-in-law’s office.
It was empty; both were in the field.
Good. Janie didn’t think she could go over the story again. But because she knew her sister would expect it, Janie took out her cell phone and texted, Where U?
A moment later, Katie responded, Feeding Aquila. U? Aquila was the trained black panther that had brought the Vincent sisters to Scorpion Ridge, Arizona.
Going 2 c George, Janie replied.
Walking next to the employee lounge, Janie suddenly felt a knot forming in the back of her neck. Anxiety boiled through her, ready to send her into a full-blown panic attack.
She wasn’t about to let that happen; it had been more than a year. And she’d kept it together last night, as well as this morning and afternoon at the police station. The best thing to do was take her mind off the present situation. When she was younger, she’d always been able to push aside her troubles. All it took was pen and paper.
Today, it would take acrylics and cinder block.
A few minutes later she stood by the Ursus Americanus house. George, the bear that belonged to her father, was sleeping under a tree in the shade. Otherwise, he might have limped over and greeted her. He’d always been an extremely friendly bear, and her favorite.
Crisco, the bear they’d helped nurse back to health more than a year ago, was swimming in a tiny pool designed to resemble a natural pond.
George used to weigh six hundred pounds. Now, he was an old man and starting to shrink. He had arthritis. Crisco was still a youngster, about two years old, and not so friendly.
She didn’t blame him. Being mistreated, declawed and underfed was hard to overcome.
At least she’d not been declawed.
The mural for the bear habitat would be the first Janie would complete alone. Adam Snapp, who’d been painting murals around BAA for the last four years, was busy doing other projects outside the zoo. Projects that made him money. He was at BAA today, though, finishing up a few odds and ends, and now showing up just in time to help her.
She’d wanted to be alone, lick her wounds, and try to cleanse her mind.
Within minutes, Adam had already asked her a dozen times if she was all right. Maybe the fact that she’d been staring at the crowds of people—all going somewhere, smiling, acting normal—instead of getting ready to draw the bears gave him a clue something was amiss.
He’d assumed her mood had to do with the mural she was about to start.
He’d never been more wrong.
“You’ll do fine,” he said, standing back, arms crossed and waiting for her to do something, anything. “You have a whole month to finish.”
Until yesterday, finishing this mural and adding it to her portfolio was the most important item on her to-do list. Today, taking the lead on a zoo mural that tens of thousands would see almost seemed frivolous. But Adam couldn’t understand her lack of enthusiasm because she hadn’t told him about last night, or this morning, or any of what had taken over her life. What she couldn’t stop thinking about.
He was her brother-in-law’s best friend, and for a short while, she’d thought about making him a bit more. But there’d been no chemistry beyond what they had in common.
They were artists.
Adam was making a name for himself, even as far as California and New Mexico. And now she was aiming to secure a spot as an artist in residence in South Africa.
Just last Friday she’d mailed in the last of her application. For the next month, she’d need to inform the judging panel about her ongoing projects, both in the community and at school. She felt confident about her application.
This was what she wanted to do: paint real animals in their natural habitat. She’d wanted it since the day Tyre, the black panther, had attacked her, since hearing someone say, “You can take the cat out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the cat.”
“Show me your ideas,” Adam ordered.
Today must be her day for getting ordered around. First from Katie, who’d dictated, “We are going to see Sheriff Salazar.” Then from Salazar: “I will pick you up at two and escort you to Adobe Hills.” And now from Adam. “Show me...”
Didn’t anyone say please anymore?
Nevertheless, because he was a reference and a friend, she dutifully complied. That had been her assignment from him: come up with thumbnail sketches for the mural. She opened her art book and studied her drawings—done with colored pencils—that were her final choices for the design.
“Crisco’s story still makes people cry. It seemed a logical choice.” She turned the tablet so he could see that she’d created a time line, starting with Crisco being found with his head caught between the slats of fence, segueing to his rehabilitation and ending with now. Crisco, named because of how they’d managed to free him, now lived in luxury with a pool, plenty of food and a town full of fans who’d read his story in the paper.
“Maybe,” Adam said slowly, “you should add something, such as a pelt of real fur. Something for the kiddos to touch.”
Janie shrugged. Not what she’d pictured. For the last couple of years, Janie had called BAA home. The place was named after her brother-in-law’s little sister, who’d died years ago from complications of Down Syndrome. The real Bridget had loved animals, but Luke had taken the appreciation and healing she’d gleaned from animals to another level. BAA had struggled at first, but Luke had made it into a success story. Next month, BAA would start taking the first Monday of every month’s proceeds and donate them to the Down Syndrome research group.
Luke had made goals and kept them.
It was something Janie was trying to learn to do, with her art. She’d always been dedicated to the world her paints created and the projects she committed to. She had to get the bear mural finished by the end of March, plus help Adam finish the orangutan wall. It was his pride and joy, as he’d managed to add 3-D moveable parts to the vague likeness of Ollie, the actual orangutan.
; In his heart of hearts, Adam was part caricaturist, part toy maker.
Janie looked at her thumbnails again. She—as always—had been going for realism with just a hint of Norman Rockwell plus a shot of Van Gogh on the side. “Everyone expects cute and fluffy,” she argued. “Anyone can draw it.”
“We’re a kids’ zoo. It’s what they don’t expect but need to know that makes the mural. If you don’t want something they can touch, add something interesting like a Seek and Find amidst your time line.”
Janie was aghast. “So I’d have a list of words written on the wall, and the children have to find the hidden pictures?”
He brightened. “Absolutely, give the kiddos something to do.”
Yup, there was no changing him from his trademark ventures. He did “engaged” murals. Janie hated to think of what he might do if BAA had any skunks.
She changed the subject. “Have you ever heard of Derek Chaney?”
Adam didn’t even blink. “No, why?”
“How about Brittney Travis? Do you know her?”
Adam stepped back, no longer looking at the thumbnails. “Yes, I’ve met Brittney in town. Why? What brings her up? She’s been missing more than two months, since Christmas.”
“Would Brittney ever run away, do you think?”
“No one who knows Brittney believes she ran away,” Adam said. “She’s a lot younger than me, so I only met her because she took tae kwon do at my father’s studio.”
Janie had gone to the studio once with Adam. Even though he’d started her in a beginners’ class, one he’d been teaching, she’d stumbled with the most basic of moves. Luckily, she’d been able to laugh at herself.
“That doesn’t mean she would never run away.”
“No, it doesn’t, but she’s just not that kind of girl. She was nice to my brother.”
Janie couldn’t come up with the words to respond. Having siblings with special needs was what had cemented Adam and Luke’s friendship all those years ago. Luke had had Bridget; Adam had his twin, whom he fiercely protected.
Being nice to his brother was akin to sainthood, at least to Adam. Right now, Aaron lived with Adam’s parents and worked at their tae kwon do studio. He was a helpful ten-year-old trapped in a twentysomething body and was always cheerful.