by Pamela Tracy
“I received a text,” one girl said. “Classes are cancelled for the rest of the day. We’ve been asked to remain off campus.”
Janie reached out and took the girl’s hand. “That’s what you need to do. The police will do their job, but it’s easier without a crowd.”
As quickly as they arrived, the students left, shepherded by the dean of students. Rafe, Detective Williamson and Janie waited for the next elevator to take them down.
When the elevator opened onto the first floor, the dean was waiting for them. “We’ve never had a suspicious death happen on campus before. Or any deaths for that matter. I should see what our legal department advises.”
“Two people in the same class,” Janie said softly, heartsick.
“And we don’t want there to be a third.” Rafe looked at Janie when he said the words. Last night, she’d considered her students unwillingly involved in a criminal investigation. Now, it seemed as if they were more than involved; they could be considered in the line of fire, casualties of the war on drugs.
Or was she the last name on somebody’s hit list?
The reality of Patricia’s death, along with Derek’s confession and fears of reprisal, suddenly hit Janie full force. “What am I supposed to do? Hide? Will you put me in protective custody?”
Nathan’s expression turned guilty. “First we need to prove that Patricia’s death was actually a murder. And, harder still, that her murder has something to do with an art book that we no longer have.”
“You no longer have it because you lost it.”
“Janie,” Rafe cautioned.
Funny, she hadn’t noticed that his hand was still gently gripping her elbow. Somehow, being with him, being connected to him, was starting to seem natural.
“Sorry,” she managed to say. “I realize that you didn’t lose it. But, really, if it hadn’t gone missing, Patricia might still be alive.”
Both cops glanced at each other.
“I know, I know,” Janie said next. “You’re thinking of the butterfly effect, but this change isn’t small.”
Nathan appeared confused. “Butterfly effect? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the missing art book, and it being responsible for Patricia’s death. You know, one event leads to another and—”
Nathan just shook his head, stopping her explanation, clearly unconvinced that the two were related.
“We’ll find out who’s doing this, Janie,” Rafe said firmly. “You have my word.”
And how long will it take?” Janie felt the tentative grasp she had on her emotions start to slip. It had only been a little over a week since she read the art book. A week!
It felt like a year.
If she didn’t do something, she’d wind up in her bedroom, wearing pink fuzzy slippers and afraid to leave the house. “I’m scared spitless.”
“Good,” Detective Williamson said. “You should be scared. It will make you careful. It’s not necessary for you to be on campus.”
“I need to finish out the semester. It’s part of my college course load, and if I don’t complete my courses, there’s no chance I’ll win the art internship in Africa. Spending a semester in a teaching situation is one of the requirements.” Even as she said the words, part of her was screaming in fear. Another part, though, was focused on her future and how an incomplete could hurt her career.
Hurt, not kill.
Detective Williamson’s expression didn’t change. “What you do is up to the college. I can only recommend a course of action.”
“Not a chance I’m letting you out of my sight,” Rafe said.
She took a breath. Life was coming at her too fast, too out of control. She needed to find stability, make some decisions. “I don’t want to stop teaching.”
“There’s always next semester,” Rafe pointed out.
“That would put me a whole year behind.”
“There are worse things.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Rafe and Williamson exchanged looks again.
“From here on out, every move we make is for your safety,” Rafe said. “With all that’s happening, there’s not a chance I’m letting you be in the classroom without a police escort.”
Williamson agreed. “And if you’re in danger, your presence puts the students in danger.”
Rafe turned to the dean. “Janie’s just the teaching assistant. Who do you have that can take over for Patricia?”
There it was again. That word just.
“Georgia would know best, but I’m not willing to disturb her further by asking that question just yet. We’ll probably meet sometime tomorrow.”
“Cathy Michaelson subbed for Patricia when she went to a week-long conference,” Janie said. “It won’t be hard for her to take over with my help. I’m even familiar with how the students have been graded so far.”
No, the everyday routine wouldn’t be hard for Cathy to take over, but it wouldn’t be the same. Something sinister was going on, something evil simmered under the cover of a peaceful southwestern college campus, and inadvertently, Janie’d become part of it.
Rafe’s phone sounded. He checked the caller and said to Nathan, “We’ve got some things to discuss. Have someone escort Janie to my car and stay with her while we chat.”
Nathan motioned to an officer. Then, he walked down the path and pulled out his notebook before stopping to talk to two teachers. With a young cop on her heels—the same one who’d escorted her and Rafe to the police station earlier in the week—Janie made her way out the front door and headed for Rafe’s SUV.
“This is turning into quite a case,” Janie said.
He nodded.
“You like working for Detective Williamson?”
“He’s a good cop.”
She could tell the young officer believed those words, too. “What’s your name?”
“Brandon Long.”
“How long have you been an officer?”
“I graduated from the academy three months ago.”
Brand-new, and not that much younger than Rafe.
“So far, you enjoy it?”
“It’s what I always wanted to do. When I was little, I used to watch Adam Twelve reruns with my mom. I liked that Reed and Malloy helped people.”
As if to prove his words, he opened Rafe’s passenger-side door with a key Janie had not seen Rafe pass to him.
She climbed in as he said, “It’s a job that makes a difference.”
Funny, Janie’d heard of the show but never watched it. Based on her experience, cops only did what they had to do: stop fights, give tickets, take runaways home without caring why the twelve-year-old had run away.
At least, that’s what she’d always believed. But Janie was starting to change her mind about cops. She didn’t believe for a minute that Brandon Long would hesitate before protecting her. He might come across as a bit too serious, scanning the area as if he expected a Rambo wannabe to drop from the sky, but he had heart.
Just as Rafe did.
Around her, the campus looked lost and lonely. It was supposed to ring with the sound of young voices of kids who were vibrant with life and ready to take on the world. Instead, it was as if someone had, with one giant sweep, robbed the glorious place of all color.
For the second time today, Janie felt the urge to draw something other than an animal. And again, she wanted to draw a place, this place. Using black, white and gray.
“I’ll bet your mom is proud of you.”
He leaned against the SUV, glancing left and right, his hand staying near his gun holster. “She would be, ma’am, if she were still alive. She died last year of cancer.”
Janie’s mom had died of cancer, too, but Janie had been very young. Her only mem
ories of her mother were of a laughing woman who used to sweep Janie into the air and laugh while they twirled together.
“Sorry to hear that.”
He simply nodded, watching as two figures approached them—Rafe and Nathan.
Rafe stopped speaking before he reached the SUV, so Janie didn’t get to hear what he and Detective Williamson had been discussing. Maybe discussing was the wrong word. It was more like Rafe was ordering and Williamson was agreeing.
“I’ll have everything ready first thing in the morning,” was Williamson’s parting line.
“See to it.” Rafe nodded to Brandon Long as the officer stepped away, and then turned on the ignition. With no other cars to maneuver around, it only took a moment before they were on their way back to Scorpion Ridge.
Rafe gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles were white. And he was speaking to himself under his breath. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“Solving the case?” she asked.
He jerked, started to deny it, and then said, “Lots of rabbit holes on this one.” He paused, and for a moment, she feared he wasn’t going to share. But finally he said, “There’s got to be a college connection. The campus police are investigating every angle, trying to figure out how they lost the art book.”
“They were lax.”
They left the city limits of Adobe Hills and entered a nearly empty Interstate Ten.
“Most of them are retired cops. Two of Adobe Hills’ campus police worked with my dad. They’re savvy. Plus, we have someone who not only knew that Patricia had a nut allergy but knew exactly what to do to make her think the brownies came from Georgia.”
“Lots of people were aware of her nut allergy.”
“Students included?”
Janie nodded. “Art’s a relaxed class. Students would often bring in food, so everyone was told that she couldn’t have nuts.”
“But they wouldn’t know about the plate from the teacher’s workroom, or about putting a note that said ENJOY.”
“Most wouldn’t,” Janie said slowly.
“If we add students to the list of suspects, we’ll be investigating for a year.”
“Do you think Chris and Chad are students?”
“Chris, possibly. Chad, no. Chad’s name is unusual enough that we could eliminate him from the first day. Chris is a little different. It could refer to a male or a female, be a nickname, or his full name. It could also be spelled with a K.”
“Derek wouldn’t misspell it.”
“Why not? Maybe he didn’t know.”
“Artists pay attention to details. Derek didn’t have a single misspelled word in his art book.”
Rafe didn’t seem convinced, but he did seem to be considering her words.
“His attention to detail,” Janie pressed out, “is why I was able to create the crime scene.”
“Which would never stand up in court, as you created it from a perception that cannot be documented.”
“That’s because you—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Aw, you’re no fun.” She threw out the words in jest, but to her surprise, he didn’t respond in jest.
Instead, he stared at her, and she stared back, taking in his black hair spilling down his forehead and his piercing dark eyes which now held weariness, purpose and something else. Something that made her shiver. His next words, though, made her shiver more.
“I can be fun.”
* * *
IF HE HAD to do it over again, he’d not toss back an innuendo with an even more loaded innuendo. At his words, Janie started fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, something he noticed she only did when she was nervous.
Rafe got another phone call. Then, three more in quick succession. The final call was from Justin.
“You got your radio on?” he asked.
“No, Janie’s in the car with me. We just left the college. I haven’t had time to think.”
“Well, somebody’s had plenty of time to think. Seems a reporter covering the murder for KLBG heard about the missing art book and the confession it held. He sniffed around and reported the possibility that two students, along with Derek, kidnapped and murdered Brittney. He insinuated that the students were known to Brittney, maybe she even considered them friends. According to the news, you’re not responding to attempts to reach you.”
“Did he name names?”
“No, but it’s going to be an interesting Monday when classes resume. Every male who shared a class with Brittney is going to feel under the spotlight.”
“I’ll start damage control when I get to my office.”
Rafe couldn’t hide the conversations from Janie. Usually, having a civilian overhear police business disturbed him. But she’d been such an integral part of this investigation since reading the art book that he valued her opinions. In a way that surprised him. Had his own mother been in the car, he’d have stopped, gotten out and carried on his conversations on the side of the road. Oh, he valued his mother, too, but she’d be little to no help.
Because a missing child, no matter the age, could put his mother in bed for a week.
Halfway to Scorpion Ridge the phone calls stopped. He glanced at Janie. She’d stopped fidgeting and was staring out the window.
“I take it,” she said softly, “that Derek Chaney’s involvement in Brittney’s disappearance is no longer a secret.”
“No, and that means your involvement is no longer a secret. You can expect the reporters to start calling.”
She took out her phone and said, “I have five missed calls from the same number. I think it’s safe to assume they’ve found me. Great, just great.”
“It was bound to happen.”
She didn’t answer and her eyes stayed glued out the window.
“You okay?” he asked after a few miles.
“I’m trying to imagine whether they brought her this way. Every once in a while we pass an exit, and I wonder if she’s out there, within our grasp, just waiting for us to find her.”
“I wonder that, too.”
She turned from the window and looked him full in the face. Even after such a draining day, she was beautiful. Her blond hair still had a bit of curl. Her eyes stared at him as if they could see inside of him, as if they could change—or at least limit—his pain.
A pain that stemmed from not being able to prevent a second death.
“I don’t think Nathan’s heard of the butterfly effect,” he said conversationally.
“He doesn’t have that kind of imagination.”
“He’s a good cop.”
Janie went back to gazing out the window. “That’s what Officer Long said. Williamson might be a good cop, but he sees everything in black and white. He’d be a great cop if he used a little imagination.”
“A cop isn’t supposed to read more into a crime scene than what’s there. It clouds the picture.” Now he had her attention. Then, he added, “You’ve only met the man twice. Neither of which I’d call the best situation. Cut him a little slack.”
“I’d paint him in black, gray and white. No bright colors. He’s an unhappy man.”
Rafe couldn’t disagree with that. Right before Rafe took over the job of Laramie County sheriff, Nathan had gone through an ugly divorce. It had changed him. Before that, he’d been the slap-on-the-back kind of cop you went to with your troubles. After his divorce, he became a by-the-book, let’s-get-this-done and quickly, kind of cop.
“You and Long seemed to be getting along quite well,” Rafe observed.
“He’s a nice kid.”
“He’s older than you.”
“It’s because he’s always so nervous. Makes me think he’s just a kid.”
“And here I’d hoped you were relaxed around hi
m because you’d gotten over your mistrust of cops. Instead it was because you see him as a nervous kid.”
To his surprise, she didn’t answer. Just went back to staring out the window.
“What happened? What made you so distrustful of cops?”
“Katie didn’t tell you?”
He knew she was thinking back to how her sister had set up their one date. “No, not really. She just said you’d had a bad experience. I figured it had something to do with what happened when you lived with your aunt. She was an alcoholic, right?”
“There are all kinds of alcoholics. Some can function, go to work, take care of a kid. Others...”
“Such as your aunt,” he commented.
“Others, such as my aunt, are neglectful and...” She paused before finally saying, “Hurtful.”
A sign reading Scorpion Ridge, twenty-five miles, flashed by. They were almost home, and this might be his only opportunity to find out what made her so hesitant when she was with him.
“Did a cop somehow make things worse for you?”
“Yes, more than one.”
Rafe whistled. “More than one. No wonder I had my work cut out for me to convince you I’m a nice guy.”
She didn’t laugh, or smile, or anything. Rafe got the idea she still wasn’t sure what to think. Her mistrust of people had kept her safe. Changing her perceptions meant taking a risk. And with all that was going on, what a time for Janie to take a risk.
When Janie did begin to speak, it was in the direction of the window, toward the dark cobalt-blue that made for an intimate Arizona night. He could see her reflection, though. It made her words ethereal, somewhat ominous.
“Katie moved out the day she turned eighteen. I was twelve, and she took me with her. We honestly didn’t think Aunt Betsy would care. Boy, were we naive. We moved into a tiny apartment above a garage. There wasn’t even a wall to hide the toilet, but I loved it. I started painting the walls the very first day. Katie didn’t mind. On the third day, the cops arrived. Aunt Betsy had called them, and they had come to get me. Both Katie and I tried to describe what living with her was like, but Katie—according to the cops—didn’t have custody, or means to take care of me.”