by Pamela Tracy
She needed to remember that and work harder toward her goal.
On Monday things went back to normal. Janie spent the day working on the bear mural. Crisco didn’t seem to mind being her subject and ignored her. The zoo’s visitors didn’t. They stopped, asked questions, and mostly complimented her work. At noon, the bear exhibit emptied as mothers took their children to the food area. Janie figured she’d have quiet for about thirty minutes—kids didn’t waste much time eating when they were at a zoo—but instead a lone man came to lean against the edge of the bear exhibit.
Used to be, Janie wasn’t spooked by lone men.
This one looked vaguely familiar, but Rafe wouldn’t assign a cop she didn’t know. She certainly didn’t recognize the man from school; he was just attractive enough that she’d remember him. After a moment, he rolled his shoulders and then made his way to her.
That’s when she recognized him.
“You’re Derek’s brother.”
“I am. I wanted to come by and thank you.”
“Thank me? For what?” She doubted he wanted to thank her for bringing the art book to light. After all, that art book was a journalist’s dream. Once it hit the evening news, the Chaneys would have the media camped in their yard, clogging their telephones and digging for any secrets the Chaneys had, whether they were related to Derek’s story or not.
“My mom said you told her Derek was talented. It really meant something to her. She’s pretty convinced that everyone will think she was a poor mother. She wasn’t. She was a great mother. Derek just...”
“Often the most talented are the most troubled,” Janie tried.
“That pretty much sums it up.”
Janie glanced around to see if either of her cop watchdogs were nearby. They weren’t. She wanted to text Rafe, tell him that Jimmy Chaney was here, but taking out her phone seemed rude.
“Derek loved your class,” Jimmy finally said.
“I’m just the lab assistant.”
“Yes, but you were someone close to his age who was doing something she loved.”
“Did he talk about the class, or about any of his friends and what they were doing?”
“He didn’t talk to me about his friends. He knew I didn’t care for any of them. He talked about your class and a girl he liked.”
“Brittney.” Janie nodded, not bothering to correct Jimmy about Brittney being in the class.
“I don’t remember the name. The cops asked me about her but I couldn’t say much. Neither Derek nor I are talkers.”
As if to prove his point, he took out his cell phone and checked the time. “I need to get home. Mom’s trying to find out when Derek’s body will be released to us so we can bury him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
He walked away, leaving Janie feeling unsettled.
That evening Janie went to school where an empty chair in her class accused her of not caring enough.
It wasn’t just the chair that was empty. All Derek’s belongings—his paints, his paintings, his trash—it was all gone.
“The police took it,” Patricia said when they had a chance to talk as the students worked. “They came in with a warrant.”
“Rafe?”
“No, the other one. Nathan Williamson. It was this morning. He asked if you were around, but I said you’d be here this evening.”
“He ask you questions?”
“For over an hour.” Patricia spoke softly, not wanting the students to overhear. Even if the students didn’t know all the details of what was going on, thanks to the news and campus grapevine, they knew enough to be scared. It made for a silent night, with lots of furtive glances toward the windows, and even the students who usually worked with bright colors were drawn to browns, blacks and grays.
When class finally ended, Janie helped clean up and then headed for the door. Rafe was leaning against the wall, exactly as he had last week. He appeared just as relaxed, just as cocky. She had to fight to keep from smiling. She was glad to see him, but he didn’t deserve it.
This time her students didn’t make small talk with him. Maybe because another officer, young-looking and clearly nervous, stood next to him.
“You waiting for me?” Janie asked, glancing from one to the other.
“Miss Vincent, we’d appreciate it if you’d come down to the Adobe Hills police station and answer a few questions.” The young officer spoke quickly, his words stumbling, as if he had a job to do and no one was going to usurp him, not even a sheriff.
“Finally!” Janie said. “Did you find the art book?”
The young officer didn’t look at Rafe and quickly said, “Do you need an escort or shall I—”
“I’ll escort her.” Rafe took her elbow, nodded to the young officer that he was done, and guided Janie into the dark blue night. There was a slight chill in the air, carrying a faint scent of a nearby creosote bush. But Rafe’s hand, still cupping her elbow, provided a warmth that spread through her until she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.
The campus was emptying, and Janie didn’t mind. Not with Rafe walking by her side. She felt safe again—finally—because Rafe was here. He wasn’t just doing his job; he was making the world, her world, a better place. So right now, in this situation, for a while, she could put away her distrust of cops.
Or at least of Rafe.
He kept coming back for her, he was constantly the one who took control and made her feel...well, special, as well as safe. She’d never felt special to a cop. Or anyone, actually, except for Katie.
Once they left the sidewalk and hit the parking lot, they had the added safety of the young officer already trailing them in his squad car.
In the distance came she heard easy laughter and the sound of someone being chased. And enjoying it. Rafe stilled, listening to the noises and gauging how he wanted to react. Suddenly, the laughter seemed to take on a sinister tone, but Rafe didn’t so much as twitch.
Had Janie imagined the threat? Or had her involvement in a missing coed case suddenly changed the way she viewed the world?
She certainly hoped that wasn’t it.
Once the laughter died, Rafe relaxed.
“Just kids having fun,” Janie suggested.
“Yes, something Brittney Travis will never do again.”
Was he reminding her of this so she’d do more? Or was he reminding himself so he’d do more?
“You’ll solve this case.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “I certainly hope so.”
“By the way, you scared that young officer,” Janie accused.
Rafe smiled. “Which is why I didn’t talk to him while we waited for your class to end. He’s been on the force for two weeks and it’s the first time he’s had to deal with a sheriff.”
“I thought the police were one big happy family, working together both on and off duty.”
“Who told you that?”
Janie couldn’t answer that. She remembered all the times she’d sat in the holding rooms of the police stations in Big Smith, Texas, and listened to the cops as they bantered back and forth.
She’d felt so inconsequential back then, almost invisible, and they’d been a huge, unified force against her. They certainly wouldn’t listen to her.
“Be nice to him,” she ordered gently.
Rafe looked surprised at her request, but said, “I’m always nice.”
Janie didn’t bother to respond.
“Okay, I’m not always nice, but sometimes it isn’t an option. I’ve been trying to meet with Nathan since last Wednesday. First he had the accident and the DEA and feds to deal with. But ever since we’ve been playing phone tag around my commitments and his. We should have been able to connect, somehow.”
“Is he a
voiding you?”
“No, we’re just busy, and the immediate takes precedence over the past. In this case, however, the past seems to be very much alive.”
The young cop pulled up beside them, rolled down the window, and said, “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
“He may be new,” Janie noted, “but he’s already good at telling people what to do.”
“It comes with the territory.” Rafe opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in.
“Typical cop,” Janie said.
“I take it,” Rafe responded, sounding oddly subdued, “that’s not a compliment.”
Before Janie could retract her statement, or even feel guilty about making it, the young officer stopped and called Rafe over.
Janie climbed into Rafe’s Jeep and pushed aside the folders left on the passenger seat. Pulling her phone from her purse, she texted Katie her whereabouts and settled in to wait.
When he returned, he was smiling. She waited until he’d started the SUV, exited the college parking lot and merged into traffic before asking, “What’s so funny?”
Pointing at the squad car that was already pulling onto the street, Rafe said. “Kid’s worried. He hasn’t yet told Nathan that I’m along for the ride, nor that you and I seem very comfortable with each other.”
“We’re not comfortable—”
“Oh, yes, we are. We’re on a first-name basis already. In cop-speak, that means you consider me the lead on the case, and Nathan very much considers himself the lead. Except I’m the one who had you look at CopLink for people who had connections to Derek, and I’m the one who found the second art book.”
“I’m the one who found it, technically.”
“Yes, and Nathan very much wants to be involved in whatever happens next, especially if it’s some sort of clue or lead provided by you. Nope, he’s not happy that I’m along for his very first face-to-face with you.”
“But you’re helping him.” Janie was amazed. “You’re trying to work together. You’re the sheriff.”
“I’m not his sheriff,” he reminded her. “So my involvement is starting to annoy him. Still, you gotta admire his backbone. I mean, we have a police escort. Wow.”
She’d never understand the male species. Rafe acted somewhat rejuvenated by the situation. All Janie wanted to do was find Nathan Williamson and give him what for. He should have met with her last Thursday, as he’d requested, and asked his questions then. He should have found time to work with Rafe, at a reasonable hour, instead of waiting until now, when she was tired and wanted to go to bed.
Rafe didn’t seem to mind the late hour at all.
While they drove, Janie filled him in on Jimmy’s visit to the zoo, paused, and then asked, “Do you think there’s more to Detective Williamson’s recent actions than just being busy?”
Rafe surprised her with how fast he answered.
“Brittney’s case is interfering with an ongoing investigation into a local drug ring. In the last year, someone’s been bringing an increasing amount of cocaine into the area from Mexico. We’ve had double the arrests, and the hospitals have reported more drug-related visits. You remember Justin? My undercover friend? He’s afraid that with the recent police pressure to bring down the drug ring, whoever’s behind the operation will relocate. Meaning all his work would be for nothing. Which is why the art book hasn’t been high on Nathan’s list of priorities.”
He continued to speculate for the rest of the drive, mostly about what was inside the art book.
“The kid would have made a good sketch artist,” was Rafe’s final summation after Janie exhausted every detail she’d put to memory.
“A decent writer, too, if he’d been given the time to straighten up. He had me on the edge of my chair even before I realized what I was reading might be true.”
“Too bad you didn’t read the last two pages,” Rafe said.
There it was, the one thing that had been eating at Janie. Derek had handed in the art book on Wednesday, he’d died three days later on Saturday, and she’d she read his work the following Wednesday.
Four days too late to change the course of fate.
The ending of Derek’s old art book, the one they’d found in his room, was the work of regret; he was facing the truth. The pages at the beginning of Derek’s new art book, the one he’d given to Janie, was the work of redemption; he was confessing.
She stared out the Jeep’s window as they passed through Adobe Hills. It was a typical college town, basically Scorpion Ridge times ten. Adobe Hills had two bowling alleys, two box stores and a water park.
All Scorpion Ridge had was BAA and a couple of resorts.
When they reached the station, Rafe parked his truck next to the car of their police escort. After the last few days, Janie knew he was an open-the-door-for-the-lady kind of guy. He did so now, but before he helped her from the truck, he reached under the seat and pulled out an evidence bag.
“What is that?” Janie asked.
“The art book we found in Derek’s room.”
This whole time she’d been sitting above the book that read: I have to tell somebody. I can’t live with this. But whomever I tell will be in as much danger as me.
Without a word, Rafe directed her through the front door. Their escort disappeared almost immediately. The Adobe Hills police station’s waiting room was decorated in wanted posters, dirty handprints and aged flooring that had probably seen too many incoming and not enough outgoing. It boasted a somewhat restrained atmosphere of rigid professionalism combined with harsh reality.
Near a desk, an irate woman demanded her son’s release. On a chair, head back against the wall, a man who looked drunk snored and drooled. Next to him, completely comfortable and making herself at home, was an overweight woman reading a book. Every once in a while the woman nudged the man upright. In one corner, a group of young men—all sporting tattoos—sulked while impressing each other with loud four-letter words. All except one eyed her in a way that made her wish she had on more clothes, carried pepper spray and was anywhere save here. The one who didn’t stare had a completely different emotion in his eyes, an emotion Janie couldn’t read, one she wasn’t sure how she’d paint.
Her steps slowed.
Rafe didn’t seem to notice. He continued on with impressive single-mindedness, opening a door and ushering Janie into a hallway. As the door slammed behind them, the irate woman’s voice muted somewhat and soon blended with the behind-the-scenes sounds of a busy police station.
This late on a Monday night, there were few officers present. One officer was on the phone. In a cubicle, another officer spoke to a young couple. The woman was softly crying.
Rafe guided Janie into somebody’s office. She’d just sat down when the door opened.
She expected Nathan Williamson; surely this was his office. At the very least, she expected another man in blue. Instead, Janie’s mouth went dry the moment an officer delivered one of the sulking kids.
But...why wasn’t he handcuffed?
She scooted closer to Rafe. He noticed, smiled and, of all things, gave the tattooed man a back slap.
Tattoo Guy grinned—surprisingly he had all his teeth—and said, “Looks like this case is blowing wide open,” he said. “And, you were right, most of it is going down here.”
“Glad you could make it. I notice you brought your entourage.”
“One of the perks of the job.” Mr. Tattoo turned to Janie and held out a hand. His nails were short and dirty. For that matter, so was the sleeve of his shirt.
“I always wear long sleeves,” he said. “It hides the needle marks.”
Rafe laughed. “Go ahead and shake his hand. He’s not contagious, and I know for a fact he faints when confronted with a needle. The tats are fake. This is Justin Robbins, one of the best cops I�
�ve ever met. I mentioned him to you earlier.”
“I feel like I’ve been punked,” Janie said.
“I feel punked every day,” Justin said, “when I look in the mirror.”
“Do I need to worry about you blowing his cover?” Rafe asked.
Before Janie had a chance to respond, someone cleared his throat. Loudly. Nathan had entered.
Justin moved aside to let Nathan in.
To Janie’s surprise, Rafe motioned her toward one of the chairs and took the other while Justin perched on the edge of a half-size file cabinet. Williamson was beefier, older and grouchier than Rafe, yet in many ways very similar to Rafe. He appeared very unhappy about the crowd in his ultraclean office. Outside of cop paraphernalia—awards, newspaper articles—and one small photo of him and a chubby young woman with a lot of hair, there was nothing in his office to prove the man had a life.
He held out his hand to Rafe. “I hear you have something for me.”
Rafe gave him the art book. Williamson walked around them to sit at his desk and then put on a pair of gloves before pulling the book from the evidence bag, flipping it open and skimming a few pages. He started to close it, but then stopped, one finger marking a page, every muscle in his body tensed. White-lipped, he said, “This should have been turned over to my department immediately.”
“Read the last page,” Rafe suggested, ignoring the other man’s assertion.
Nathan’s lips stayed pressed together in a thin white line as he read. He uttered a curse word. “Okay, this changes things. I’m glad I asked Justin to stop by in case there’s something the two of us...” He paused, looked at Janie, then included her by saying, “...the three of us, can piece together about Derek Chaney.”
He’d left Rafe out. How interesting.
Before Janie could decide if she wanted to stick her tongue out at him or nod, Nathan continued, and it was clear he wasn’t happy. “I understand Justin’s already spoken with you more than once.”
Rafe nodded. “Justin called me the morning the art book disappeared. Then, I called him yesterday with some more questions. He never believed Derek’s death was accidental.”