by Laurel Dewey
“Michelle Mason? What?”
“You were arrested earlier this year for methamphetamine production. Your vehicle was impounded by the Denver Police Department but somehow you managed to get it back—”
Jane realized the sheriff did a license plate check on her Subaru and the data still showed the previous felon who owned the car. “Shit! PD didn’t change the plates!”
“How’s that?”
“The plates! They didn’t change the plates before they gave me the car!”
“Is that right?” Sheriff George rolled his eyes in contempt.
“My name is Jane Perry. Detective Jane Perry. I work homicide at the Denver Police Department.”
“Sure you do,” the sheriff replied in a dubious tone.
Jane was outraged. “That kid in there is Emily Lawrence. In case you were paying attention to Denver news, six weeks ago her mother and father were murdered in their Washington Park house. Certainly you heard about it! It was the top story for weeks! If you don’t believe me, get on the goddamn phone, call DH and ask for Sergeant Weyler!”
“Sure. I imagine he’ll be in his office on a Sunday, not to mention July fourth!”
“For God’s sake! I’m telling you the truth! I was hired to protect her!”
“Is assaulting her part of that protection?”
“Jesus!” Jane reached into her back pocket to pull out her badge but before she could touch it, the sheriff grabbed her arm and swung her over a nearby desk.
“That’ll do, Ms. Mason!” Sheriff George said as he forcefully held Jane’s left arm across her back and used his other hand to keep her chest flat against the desk. “You’re giving me no choice! You’re looking at kidnapping, false imprisonment, impersonation, assault—”
“I was reaching for my badge! It’s in my back pocket!”
The deputy exited the back room, closing the door behind him. “Hand me my cuffs, Travis!” Sheriff George yelled to the deputy.
The deputy walked over to the sheriff, cuffs in hand, and muttered loud enough so Jane could hear what he was saying. “Man, the guy from Social Services was dead on about how she was gonna react.”
“What guy from Social Services?” Jane demanded.
Sheriff George flipped open the cuffs. “The fellow who got here in the nick of time and alerted us about you! He’s in the back talking with the child.”
Jane’s heart began to race. “Oh my God! Chris! No!” The sheriff was just about to slam the cuff across Jane’s wrist when she quickly slipped her freed right hand into her jacket and pulled out her Glock. In a high-voltage adrenaline rush, she kicked the sheriff’s leg, throwing him off balance. He let go of her left wrist just long enough for Jane to peel herself off the desk, spin around, grab him around the neck in a chokehold and shove her pistol against his temple. Kathy shrieked, backing up against the wall. “Shut up!” Jane yelled at Kathy. “I am not fucking around!” Jane turned to the deputy. “You! Slide your gun across the floor!” The deputy complied. Jane turned to Kathy. “Don’t you try anything stupid or I’ll fucking shoot you!” Turning back to the deputy, Jane yelled, “Get over here! Reach into my right back pocket and pull out my badge.”
The deputy hesitated.
“Do what she says!” Sheriff George bellowed.
The deputy carefully approached Jane and pulled out her badge. He took a look at it and held it up to the sheriff. “It looks real, Sheriff.”
“You’re goddamn right it’s real!” Jane said. Keeping a tight chokehold on the sheriff, Jane spoke in a quieter, yet forceful manner. “That guy in the back room is not from Social Services. His name is Chris Crawley and he’s responsible for murdering six people. Emily is next on his list. Now, are you gonna help me or not? Because either way, I’m busting through that door!”
“Alright!” Sheriff George quickly agreed. “Let’s do it!” Jane let go of the sheriff and raced toward the back room and the closed door. Kathy ran outside, calling hysterically for Heather. The deputy retrieved his gun and followed behind the sheriff as they set up point with Jane. The sheriff signaled to Jane that he would go first and then she should follow. Jane nodded. Sheriff George backed up two steps and slammed his foot into the door, sending it open in a chaotic flurry.
The sheriff, gun pointed forward, moved quickly into the room. “Get down!”
Jane entered the room, gun drawn. The deputy followed.
There was no one in the room.
“Shit!” Jane yelled.
“He was only talking to her for a little bit. She seemed in shock, but I chalked it up to your—”
“Where the fuck did they go?”
“Out the back door!” Sheriff George said nervously.
Jane bolted toward the door and flung it open. She walked outside, gun held out in a defensive stance, scanning the immediate area. Nothing. Jane noted two depressions of footprints in the wet grass that lead to the left and around the building. She followed the quickly disappearing wet footprints toward the front of the building. When she reached the sidewalk, Jane had to make a decision. Did Chris turn right or left? It was an accepted fact that when a perp is fleeing a crime scene, most of them turn right. It made even more sense for Chris to go right since all the major parade action was heading to the left down Main Street. If he was trying to take Emily somewhere discreet, chances are he would turn right and head for the park or the highway.
Jane holstered her Glock and took off up the street. But it was nearly impossible to make headway with the packed crowds of people standing on the sidewalk. The discordant sound of trumpets blended with tubas. Each time the drum majorette threw her baton into the air and caught it, the crowd applauded and let out whistles of appreciation. Chris had found the ideal diversion in this Independence Day celebration. Jane tried valiantly to push through the throngs of bodies, but she was losing ground fast. She spotted a graduated brick wall that surrounded one of the houses. At its highest point, Jane figured it stood about ten feet high. If she could crawl on top of the brick wall, she knew she would be able to see far more than from ground level. Taking quick steps up the narrow blocks, Jane reached the top of the narrow wall. She got her balance and canvassed the scene with her eyes. “Emily,” Jane whispered, terror gripping at her heart, “where are you?”
Just then, Jane looked about a half block up Main Street toward the park. A girl’s head turned around in Jane’s direction as if in response to Jane’s query. It was Emily. Chris was walking closely alongside her, his right arm tightly gripping her right shoulder. Directly under Chris’ jacket, Jane could faintly make out the barrel of a gun wedged into Emily’s side. As soon as Emily turned her head, Chris’ right hand immediately came up and slapped her face forward. “You son-of-a-bitch!” Jane shouted above the roaring parade noise. Jane scrambled down the side of the brick wall and jumped the rest of the way to the sidewalk. Her adrenaline kicked into high gear as she frantically pushed her way through the crowd. She factored that Chris was about seventy-five feet in front of her. “Emily!” Jane yelled in a futile attempt to get her attention. “Emily! I’m right here!!” Jane continued shoving people aside and plowing through the spectators. The band became louder and the crowd grew more exuberant, creating a tense background of chaos against the chase. “Emily!” Jane sprinted within fifty feet of Chris and the kid.
Jane’s frantic voice alerted Dan, who was standing on the hood of his parked Ford truck, watching the parade, directly in line with Emily. Dan spotted Jane in the crowd and knew something was very wrong. Noting Emily and Chris, he put two and two together, figuring Chris was Jane’s ex-husband. He jumped off the hood of his truck and made a beeline toward Emily.
As Jane closed in on the scene, she saw Dan moving toward Emily and Chris. “No! Dan! Get away from him! Get away!”
But the parade mayhem prevented Dan from hearing her warning. Dan shoved his way through the crowd and grabbed Emily by her left arm. She jumped, startled by Dan’s sudden appearance.
“Da
n!” Emily shouted in mortal fear. “Help me!”
“You fuckin’ get away from her!” Chris ordered Dan.
“You ain’t hurtin’ her no more!” Dan yelled back, trying to grab Emily.
“I said get away!” Chris shouted. With that, Chris pulled his pistol away from Emily’s side and slammed it hard against Dan’s forehead.
Dan fell to the ground, sending several parade watchers scattering. Blood poured from a deep gash on Dan’s forehead as he fought to stay conscious. “Run, Emily!” Dan yelled, almost incoherently. “Run!”
Emily bit down on Chris’ arm, causing him to release his grip. She slipped into the crowd and charged across Main Street, nearly knocking down several marchers.
Chris turned, realizing that Emily was gone. He stared at Dan, still struggling on the sidewalk and lowered his pistol, aiming at Dan’s head. “You fucking asshole!”
Jane moved within twenty feet of the scene. “Gun! He’s got a gun!” Jane screamed.
The crowd scattered. Chris holstered his pistol and followed Emily’s trail across Main Street, around the parade floats.
Jane reached Dan just as Chris bolted across the street. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Get help for her!”
“I am the help!” Jane yelled as she tore across Main Street.
Emily breathlessly darted over backyard fences until she reached the open meadowland that framed their Peachville house. Her youthful, agile build allowed her to stay far ahead of Chris as she tore through the tall grass and slopped through muddy inlets where the nearby lake overflowed. She was making excellent progress when she suddenly plunged waist high into a hidden pool of muck and algae. She struggled to break free, attempting to pull herself onto the slimy embankment. But each time she grabbed for a branch, it splintered and she felt backward. Emily could hear Chris fast approaching. Fighting through the deep sludge, she struggled ten feet to the left where the tall grass grew in dense clusters. She sunk into the muddy water, leaving only her face above water, camouflaged against the thick grass.
Chris rounded the corner, sloshing through the same muck that trapped Emily. He stopped dead in his tracks. His breathing was labored as sweat poured from his brow. Emily held her breath, taking care not to make a move that would send a ripple of water toward Chris. Chris started to move forward when his right foot plunged into the dark recess of the muddy inlet.
“Shit!” he yelled. Dislodging his foot, he grabbed on to a strong branch and pulled himself onto the bank. Looking around the grassy area, he decided to take off to the right, away from the mud pool.
Once he was out of sight, Emily pulled herself out of the muck and took off running in the opposite direction, toward the water tower.
Chris turned, hearing the slipslop of racing feet in the distance. He saw Emily making tracks across the meadow. “Goddamn you!” he yelled as he took off after her.
Jane came to the waterway just in time to see Chris heading toward Emily. To stay hidden from him, she opted to take a dense path that curved around the lake and then sneak around the back of the water tower.
Emily burned tracks into the soggy grass, cheating several glances back at Chris. When she reached the water tower, she stood for a second staring up at the foreboding, olive green metal ladder that led four stories up to the top of the tower. This was it, she thought to herself. This is where it all became real.
Breathlessly, she started up, becoming more terrified with each step. Turning, she saw that Chris was closing in on the tower. Panic propelled Emily up the ladder. Once she reached the top of the tower, she stole a look down. Chris was several steps up on the ladder. The hot sun beat against the metal tower, causing a profound glare. Emily pulled away from the edge and, shielding her eyes from the shimmering metal, frantically looked for anything she could throw at Chris. Spotting a small heap of gravel, Emily quickly gathered the pebbles and returned to the ladder.
Chris was halfway up the ladder. “Get away from me!” Emily shrieked, angrily pelting him with the rocks.
“Fuck you!” Chris yelled back to Emily, skillfully dodging the stony barrage and continuing his ascent.
Emily dumped every last pebble she had on his head. She started to turn to retrieve more rocks when Chris’ hand clamped down her ankle. Losing her balance, Emily fell forward onto the burning hot metal surface, her scream echoing into the distance. Chris heaved his narrow frame onto the top of the tower, almost doubled over from exhaustion. Emily flipped over on her back, but Chris grabbed hold of her shirt, preventing her from moving another inch. He worked his way back onto his feet, let go of her shirt and pressed the sole of his shoe into Emily’s solar plexus.
“You fucking little snitch!” Chris muttered as he drew his pistol from the holster. He lowered the gun toward Emily’s left eye. “Say ‘good-bye,’ Emily.”
With tears streaming down her face, she screamed, “No! I won’t!”
Chris was so deeply embedded in the moment that he didn’t hear the approaching sound of boots charging up the second ladder, directly across from where he stood. He was seconds from pulling the trigger when he caught a glimpse of motion. Chris turned, just in time to see the top of Jane’s head cresting the tower. Without missing a beat, he swung his foot off of Emily’s and aimed his gun toward Jane’s head. He fired a round, narrowly missing Jane’s left ear.
“You fucking bitch!” Chris angrily screamed as he jerked Emily up to a standing position, wrapped his arm tightly around her tiny neck in a chokehold and wedged the barrel of the gun against the kid’s temple.
Almost simultaneously, Jane rolled onto the top of the tower, pulled out her pistol and aimed it directly at Chris. The searing heat reflected off the tower and onto her prone body, issuing a burnt smell of metal. For a moment, the bright light blinded Jane. Her head spun as she held the Glock outstretched with her right hand and supported herself with her left. The visions were becoming a ghastly reality.
“Well, fuck you, Jane! Fuck you!!” Chris roared.
“Chris! Don’t do this!” Jane shouted, frozen on the hot surface of the tower.
“You couldn’t just let it be, could you?”
There was a sense of disjointed reality for Jane as if she’d already gone through this hell. She carefully stood up, lifting her left palm from the tower’s surface. In shock, she saw a depressed, backward imprint across her flesh. Glancing down, Jane recognized a domed cap with the raised date of 10-24-99. Impossible, she thought, but true. “Put down the gun, Chris,” she said, her voice low and restrained.
“Why didn’t you just tell me what this little fucker knew from the get-go? I’m your partner! You owed it to me!”
“I didn’t know anything, Chris.”
“Don’t sell me that bullshit! She was talking to you all along! Whispering her little secrets back and forth! She was talking about me! Me!”
“She didn’t know it was you until this morning!”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Chris exploded, jamming the barrel of the gun harder against Emily’s temple. Emily winced, paralyzed with fear. “All your little whispers. Like that first day when you interviewed her and she whispered her little secrets in your ear. You wouldn’t tell me! All you had to do was tell me what she said. Then I could kill her and finish the whole fucking thing. But no! You wanted to slowly nail my fucking ass to the cross. Well, I don’t sit back and roll over that easy! I won’t be taken out because of some brat blabbing to the Department! I’ve worked too hard to get taken out! Nobody takes me out! Nobody!”
“Taken out?” Jane said. “Did the mob threaten to kill you if you didn’t do their bidding? Is that it?”
“Fuck you, Jane! Nobody threatens me!”
“But they did, didn’t they?” Jane replied solemnly.
“I’m nobody’s fucking errand boy! I do my own bidding! I have power over people! I live well!”
Jane found herself glancing down to Chris’ pant leg—it was stuck on the top of his custom cowboy boots
, exposing the shaft of the boot. Staring back at Jane on the shaft was the starkly stitched pattern of a wolf’s face. Jane steadied herself. Off to the left, she could see Sheriff George and his deputy plodding through the meadow and heading toward the water tower. Dan was not far behind them. Chris was so out of it, he didn’t hear them advancing. Jane looked at Chris’ bloodshot eyes. “What are you on right now, Chris?”
“I’m not on fucking anything!” Chris snarled, his voice full of rage.
“Then what are coming down off of?”
“Oh, this is rich! A fucking alcoholic telling me—”
“It’s meth, isn’t it?” Jane yelled.
“What does it matter? If it’s Sunday, it’s meth, if it’s Monday, it’s coke—”
“You’re not thinking clearly!”
“Well, I’m thinking more clearly than you! You call me on the phone and that coal train passes while we’re talking. The fucking coal train, Jane! There’s only a few towns that a coal train still goes through. You gave yourself up and you didn’t even know it! So, who’s not thinking clearly here?”
“That train covers twenty or thirty miles. Why’d you choose Peachville?”
“I’d already been doing some research with my private consultant who explained the Department’s criteria for a good safe town. So I just plugged his info into the equation. It took a couple weeks to figure out but here I am!”
“What private consultant?” Jane asked warily.
Chris smiled broadly and let out a guttural snicker. “Who do you think was keeping company with your ol’ man all those weeks when you were incommunicado?” Jane felt as if the wind was knocked out of her. “After you left, Dale and me got even tighter than we were before.”
Jane felt sick. “Before? I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t think your own dad would sell you down the river? Think again!”
“I never told him where I was going!”
“Procedure, Jane. The Department has always had the same criteria for a good, safe town. It was the same for him when he was on the job as it is now. He gave you up, Jane. It was like talking to the magic genie. That coal train just sealed the coordinates down to a smaller area. The rest was all me. Me knowing you. Me knowing how you act and what to tell the good sheriff. You’re so fucking easy, Jane. Don’t you know that?”
