by Laurel Dewey
Kit eyed Jane carefully. “I was right,” she said, more as an acknowledgment to herself than a statement to Jane. “I saw it in your eyes during that Larry King interview. I saw your pain. I just wasn’t aware where it came from.”
Jane was not used to anyone so readily peeling away her well-built, protective armor. Sergeant Weyler was the only other person who saw through Jane’s tough shell, and that pissed off Jane no end. She leaned forward, digging her elbows into the desk. “Cut to the chase, Kit. You said that Lou has a pattern?”
“Yes. First, I have to tell you what happened last year. Lou’s lawyers fought hard and were able to convince the court to reexamine the semen from the condom. The DNA proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was not Lou Peters’s semen. That opened up the door. There were four weeks of emotional court appearances, all of which I went to and witnessed in California. Barbara and Paul, her husband, didn’t attend. They live in Henderson, Nevada, now and can’t go through the pain all over again. There were the same attorneys and the same asinine ‘expert witness/ doctor’ who testified that Lou Peters was a good Christian who had been wrongly accused. I wanted to offer my two cents, but the prosecutor felt I was too much of a loose cannon. The judge ruled that reasonable doubt existed, and Lou was ordered out of prison on bond. He’s set to have a new trial in twelve months, and will probably get off, knowing his luck.”
Jane looked down at the newspaper and Charlotte Walker’s school photo. “So he’s out on bond and suddenly he’s responsible for Charlotte Walker’s kidnapping?”
“I took a good look at Lou Peters in that courtroom last year. I listened carefully to the personal testimony he gave to the judge. I was completely open to the idea that he was reformed and not a danger to society anymore. But every time I looked into his eyes, I saw darkness and a willfulness to repeat his past behavior. I knew he was going to do it again. I didn’t know when or where, but it was only a matter of time. That’s why I’ve kept my eyes wide open this past year. When I saw the bulletin about Charlotte Walker yesterday afternoon, my gut told me to act on what my heart felt. And believe me, my intuition is a lot sharper these days.”
“Well I’m not getting the hard and fast connections between Lou and Charlotte.”
“After his release from Chino Prison, he moved to Mariposa and then over to Oakhurst, California.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“His bondsman told me.”
“You know his—”
“I made a point to get to know the guy, and he liked me as much as he hated Lou. He was more than happy to share Lou’s relocation destination with me, off the record.”
Jane leaned back in her chair and observed Kit. Up to this point, Kit’s kooky, pot-smoking, New Age spouting attitude had lowered her credibility in Jane’s eyes. But now the word chutzpah was warranted as a description, and Jane respected people with chutzpah. She attempted to picture Kit, with her long hair in a braid and ‘Earth Mother’ aura, walking into the coarse environment of a bail bondsman and winning him over. That took guts and the kind of unflagging determination that Jane rarely saw anymore. But still, she had questions. Serious questions related to supposed patterns. “Charlotte Walker is twelve years old. And she’s blond. That kind of blows your ‘Power of Fourteen’ theory. Not to mention the pattern of choosing brunettes—”
“I’m aware of that. But I’ve also done a great deal of study on the criminal mind and those who choose patterns versus random hits. A criminal doesn’t start off with the same pattern he ends up using. The pattern builds upon itself as the criminal feels more confident in getting away with his crime.” Jane was well aware of this fact, but was interested to see exactly how much research Kit had done. “Lou started out raping two girls who were both fourteen. Unfortunately, I don’t know if there were differences in his approach between victim one and victim two. What I was able to gather from reliable sources years ago was that victim one was raped and let go immediately. Victim two was held for a period of several hours before he let her go. He realized he could get away with it, and so he decided to add to his pattern with Ashlee. This time, he held his victim in a remote location and for a longer period of time. He didn’t stay with Ashlee twenty-four hours a day during the two weeks he had her. He’d ride his motorcycle to the cabin where he had her tied up, spend a few hours there, and then motor back to town. He worked his maintenance job, went to the market, and ate at the coffee shop—all with the premeditated intention of creating alibis during those fourteen days. Finally, after fourteen days, for whatever reason, it was time to add to his criminal pattern. He raped her with his penis, not the hammer handle, and then he killed my Ashlee.” Kit eagerly dug into her satchel. “I’ve got reams of information on this kind of offender—”
“That’s okay. I know the beast,” Jane assured Kit. “So why would Lou now go for a twelve-year-old blonde?”
“I’ve given that great thought. Once criminals get away with a certain crime, they don’t so much change their patterns, they add to them. I have a very strong feeling that Lou is adding something different to this one. Something twisted. I can’t explain it. As I said, my intuition is stronger these days. Maybe Lou’s prison time convinced him to alter his ‘Power of Fourteen’ theory.”
“What does his bail bondsman say about his behavior since he got out?”
“The gentleman told me that Lou called him to let him know he moved from Mariposa to Oakhurst. Then he called him again a couple months later to let him know he was having phone problems but it would be resolved soon.”
“Why would Lou call his bail bondsman about a phone problem?”
“That’s what makes Lou’s mind so criminal. He understands what is expected of him and he goes out of his way to do things that he doesn’t have to do in order to earn points with those in authority. But it’s all done with a highly manipulative motive. He is an A-One class charmer, believe me! Lou once alerted one of the guards at Chino Prison that his cell door wasn’t locking correctly, knowing full well that alert would get back to the warden and make him look like an up-front fellow! It’s all about external impressions with Lou. He professes to be a strict, fundamentalist Christian who believes in the importance of family because he knows that sort of posturing will work in his favor.” Kit was obviously tiring quickly. “Look, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about Lou when you and I travel to California.”
“Whoa! Hold on! I didn’t agree to take this case!”
“I looked up on the Internet what private investigators get per day. Since you’re relatively well known, I factored that into the equation. I came up with five hundred dollars a day as a fair fee. Meals, hotels, fuel, and anything else you require is on me—”
“Kit—”
“I’m hoping you can figure this out in ten days or less for the sake of that child. Either way, I’m prepared to give you five thousand dollars up front for the job—in cash.” With that, Kit withdrew a thick envelope from her satchel and slapped it on Jane’s desk. “It’s in hundreds. I hope that’s all right.” Jane looked dumbstruck at the envelope. “Feel free to count the money. It won’t insult me.”
“Where did you get five thousand dollars?”
“From my savings account, of course. If that’s not enough, I can withdraw more. But you’ll have to let me know right away since I want us to get going tomorrow.”
Jane’s head was spinning. “I have another case—”
“You mean that debacle you were involved in last night at The Red Tail?”
Jane bristled at Kit’s “debacle” description. “Yes, that one—”
“Do you truly like dealing with those lowlife scumbags? That swarthy fellow last night would have put your lights out if that big bruiser hadn’t intervened! From what I witnessed, you’d do well to hightail it out of town for a bit!”
“It’s a little more complicated than that!”
“Jane P.! A twelve-year-old girl’s life hangs in the balance! What is
there to discuss?”
Jane quickly realized that Kit’s fervent tone was probably the same one she used when she debated any number of pet political causes. “Kit, there is not enough hardcore evidence for me to link Lou with Charlotte Walker’s disappearance. Your gut intuition isn’t enough to convince me to travel all over hell and back with you—”
“I’d do this alone. But I don’t have the energy, nor do I possess the credibility and knowledge that you have. And tell me, Jane P., how many times did your gut intuition lead you to a killer?”
“It’s not my gut talking here! It’s yours!”
“And you don’t trust my intuition. I see. Well, get to know me and you’ll see that my intuition is right!”
“That’s not good enough for me!”
“When I sat down in this chair, I asked you a simple question: Do you believe in fate? The reason I asked that has everything to do with my intuitive abilities. Call it fate or coincidence, but isn’t a coincidence simply a co-incident?”
“You’re losing me, Kit—”
“Call it coincidence or synchronicity, it’s the same beautiful magic. Life serves them up to everyone; the trick is understanding the messages they seek to deliver.” Kit leaned toward Jane. “Forget about logically explaining them. They defy explanation! When you begin to recognize how these ‘coincidences’ weave in and out and of your life, only then will you understand the governing power of a higher plan.”
The conversation was becoming too spiritually deep for Jane. “Yeah, okay, I—”
“You want concrete examples of what I’m saying? Fine. How about this: Because of my interest in children, I collected everything I could find on the Lawrence murder case you were involved in this past summer. Then I see you on Larry King’s show and I’m drawn to you. I can feel that you’re a kindred spirit. And then yesterday afternoon, I’m watching CNN and they break the story of Charlotte Walker’s disappearance in Oakhurst, California! Within two hours of seeing that story, for no reason at all, I feel a calling to go for a drive. I get in my car and what do I see immediately? A red-tailed hawk circling above me! The Native Americans will tell you the red-tailed hawk is a messenger. It is telling one to pay attention to all signals and coincidences! And so I drive for miles, letting my intuition lead me the entire way, until I end up in Denver on Colfax Avenue. That’s not exactly the neighborhood I choose to frequent. But there I am. And I’ll be damned if I don’t look up and see The Red Tail Hawk Bar. Well, it couldn’t get any clearer than that now, could it? Coincidence? Not to the untrained eye! I walk into the establishment and who do I see at the pool table but Jane Perry. At that moment, it all came full circle: my odd kinship with you, Charlotte’s disappearance in Oakhurst where Lou resides, the circling hawk, the bar, and you. Now, I know to a skeptic, that line of reasoning wouldn’t hold water. But to the intuitive person, those connections are solid!” Kit sat back, seeming a bit worse for wear after her passionate plea. “Open your mind, Jane P. There are greater things in heaven and earth than we’ll ever know. Pay attention! The synchronicities in life boggle the mind!”
Jane recalled the subject of synchronicity at the AA meeting the night before. And yet, she still wasn’t convinced. No matter how much money Kit threw at her, she wasn’t about to embark on a wild-goose chase that would make her look more foolish than she did getting the crap beat out of her in a Colfax bar. And there was still that little issue of saving her current case and making things good with the FBI. Jane let out a deep sigh and rubbed the scar on her temple as she tried to engender a softer, less strident voice. “Kit, I’m sorry. I need more.”
“Money?”
“Proof.”
“We’ll find proof when we get there. Isn’t that how it works? Learn as you go?”
Jane looked at Kit with an empty stare. “I’m sorry.”
Kit’s face fell. In stunned silence, she gathered the files and envelope of money together and carefully tucked them into her satchel. Jane recognized a sudden frailty as Kit rose to her feet and walked to the door. After a good, well-thought minute, she turned to Jane. Her voice was choked with emotion. “When I said this was a matter of life and death, I was referring to Charlotte Walker’s life...and my death.” Jane stared at Kit in questioning silence. “I have inoperable, terminal lung cancer. Just hit stage four. I’ve got maybe another three months left. I don’t want your pity. I want your help. I couldn’t save my Ashlee from Lou. But I believe I can save that little girl in California with your assistance. I have to go there. My life must come full circle. I can’t die knowing I’ve lived an unfinished life, Jane.” Kit got control of herself. She reached into her satchel and brought out an eight-inch square, purple suede drawstring bag. “I know you’re cautious of anything that is ‘woo-woo’,” Kit said, gently moving toward Jane’s desk, “but humor me. This is a bag of animal stone totems I use for divination. Would you draw one out of the bag for me?”
If it had been anyone else, Jane would have replied with a string of obscenities. Kit opened the bag and Jane reached in, drawing out a flat stone the size of a silver dollar. Carved onto one side was a slithering snake.
Kit’s eyes widened, as if she were witnessing a pivotal moment in history. “The snake. My God! You’re on the verge of radical transformation. Your soul is ready to shed the skin of the past and move on to a more enlightened path.”
Jane did her best to hide a sarcastic smile and not utter an equally cynical retort. Instead, she handed the stone back to Kit. “I’m still not taking your case.”
Kit dropped the bag into her satchel, sans the snakestone. “You keep it. It’ll remind you of where your soul wants you to go.” She headed toward the door. “Oh, keep an eye out for proof that the animal you chose is legitimate. Very often, the universe delivers the animal to you in some form, as cosmic proof of its validity. Just another synchronistic event.” Kit exited the office and disappeared down the hall.
CHAPTER 6
The sooner Jane could suck nicotine into her lungs, the sooner she could think clearly and possibly save face with the FBI. Nervously pacing outside her office building, Jane dug one hand into the pocket of her jeans and anxiously rubbed the three sobriety chips. Drawing her hand out of her pocket, Jane dropped the flat snakestone totem she’d pulled out of Kit’s purple drawstring bag. Jane knelt down to retrieve the stone. Boojey-Woojey. That’s what it was, Jane insisted. Just another crackpot, New Age gimmick. And yet...she was beginning to experience too many strange things that couldn’t be easily forgotten. Like the past summer. Jane had experienced strange dreams—mystical, precognitive dreams that eerily alerted her to key signs to look out for. At first she had chalked them up to a bender or the result of quitting booze cold turkey. She tried to detach from the dreams, believing that by not acknowledging them, she could pretend them away. But she could never deny the disturbing realization that the images in those ambiguous dreams definitively led her to a cold-blooded killer. It was in these quiet moments alone that the memory of those staccato images haunted her. Jane looked down at the snakestone. “Radical transformation.” Those were the words Kit had used to describe the auspicious totem. “Ridiculous,” Jane muttered under her breath. She had half a mind to fling the stone into a nearby mound of fast-melting snow. But for some reason, she slid it back into her pocket to keep her sobriety chips company.
Four more attempts to reach her FBI contacts were unsuccessful. The feeling of being out of the loop allowed Jane’s thoughts to turn paranoid. Was Jerry calling Channel 7 News and spilling her story to the investigative journalist at the station? She mused how fragile one’s moment in the spotlight could be. Six months ago, the media had called her an “adroit heroine” after solving a chain of brutal slayings while working for Denver Homicide. She was fending off phone calls from Larry King Live, 60 Minutes, 20/20, Dateline, and Diane Sawyer, all begging to nab the exclusive interview with the hottest commodity in town. She wouldn’t have agreed to any interview if it hadn’t been for S
ergeant Weyler and his suggestion that granting one solid tête-à-tête would concurrently satisfy the masses and help out Denver PD. While Weyler personally favored the more intellectual offerings on PBS, it was he who encouraged Jane to grant Larry King the exclusive. “He’s smart,” Jane remembered Weyler telling her. “He doesn’t go for the jugular. He won’t piss you off like Diane Sawyer will. You’d deck Diane Sawyer inside of five minutes.” Jane smiled at the recollection. And that’s how she’d ended up on Larry King’s program five months ago. And now? Now she was twenty-four hours away from falling off that precarious ladder and having her name and reputation dragged through the muck. “Radical transformation, indeed!” Jane mused.
After three more hours of shuffling papers on her desk and not a single phone call, Jane scooped a disorganized mass of files into her arms and headed home. Halfway there, her cell phone beeped, alerting Jane that she had a voice mail message. Jane grabbed the phone and eagerly retrieved the lone message.
“Hey, Janie, it’s me!” The voice was Jane’s younger brother, Mike. The perpetual adolescent cadence to his voice suggested that he was fifteen years old rather than thirty-one. “I just turned on the TV and saw all the hotshots making their big announcement. I looked for you, but the only guy I recognized was that Weyler dude. You’re probably out celebrating. Hey, I’m confuzzled. Didn’t you say you were working this alone?”
Jane sped home. Tearing into her house, she quickly grabbed the remote and angrily turned on the TV. Scanning quickly, she landed on a Denver news station.
“...Weather should be warmer than usual over the next few days, Kent.”
“Thanks, Brock. Recapping the headlines this afternoon in Denver. An hour ago, Denver Police announced a successful close to an eight-month cocaine drug sting....”
