Redemption

by Laurel Dewey

  Kit’s expression turned to an excited, almost mischievous one. Finally, she was getting to take part in the investigation. Although she had no idea how it was all connected. After twenty minutes, Jane was only able to unearth and match five of the ten newspapers. She hoisted her aching body out of the bin and laid the four papers on the hood of her Mustang along with their matching counterparts. Jane located the first mystery cut-out page and then flipped through the matching intact paper. The missing section was an ad for Henderson Chevrolet, “Your Friendly, Neighborhood Dealership.” A portly man wearing a cowboy hat pointed his finger at the camera. Above him, the ad said: COME TO HENDERSON CHEVROLET AND YOU CAN SAVE YOURSELF $2,500 ON A BRAND, SPANKING NEW CAR!

  Jane analyzed the ad but couldn’t make any connection. She turned the page to see what was printed on the back of the page but just found a photo of a pumpkin. She tore out the ad and placed it inside the missing square from the stripped paper.

  Locating the next missing section, Jane found a smaller announcement that read: IT’S NOT TOO LATE TO SIGN UP FOR THE FALL TOUR OF YOSEMITE. Again, nothing of note was on the opposite side of the page.

  The next section was found in the “About Town” pullout. It read: SING! SING! SING! IT’S ALL YOU WANT TO DO AND THE CHORAL CHORALE NEEDS YOUR VOICE FOR OUR HOLIDAY PAGEANT!

  None of it made sense to Jane. It seemed like a random process, and yet each section had been meticulously cut out with scissors. She searched for a pattern that joined each section together, but nothing sprung to mind.

  The next one was an ad for wrinkle cream: WITH TRUE VANISH EYE CREAM, WHAT WILL YOU SEE WHEN YOU LOOK IN THE MIRROR THE NEXT TIME?

  Finally, there was a service ad that dealt with tax issues: YOU MAY REDEEM YOUR SELF-EMPLOYMENT TAX EXEMPTION BY FOLLOWING THESE STEPS.

  Jane shook her head, feeling more frustrated than when she started.

  “Maybe it’s a complicated code?” Kit offered.

  “We’re not in Paris and this ain’t The Da Vinci Code, Kit.”

  “Well, it has to have some meaning.”

  Jane agreed, but right now the jumbled sections were just a bleary mishmash. She stared up into the morning sky. The sun slipped between two passing clouds, delivering a warm bath of heat onto her face. “I look for patterns, Kit,” Jane said, leaning against the Mustang and digging out her pack of American Spirits. “If I’m going to tag this kidnapping on Lou, I need to start seeing the established patterns that he used when he kidnapped and killed Ashlee.”

  “There was no sign of him at Rachel’s house?”

  “No. There was the guesthouse, but so what?”

  “When he kidnapped my Ashlee, he didn’t stay with her the entire time. That was the way he covered for himself. He went to work, then he’d drive to Pico Blanco, check on her, wait until she woke up from the Valium, torture her, and then dose her up with another pill so she’d fall asleep. Then he’d get on his motorcycle and come back to the house. That’s his pattern.”

  Jane lit a cigarette and took a drag. “But what about the kind of kid he goes for? Fourteen, right? Doesn’t that fit in with his ‘Power of Fourteen’ idea? And if he’s doing all this because his mother raped him at age fourteen and he chooses girls who remind him of his mother—brunettes and hazel eyes—Charlotte’s just got the hazel eyes. If we’re going to look for patterns, the pattern has to follow through to be valid.” Kit nodded. “Something’s always bothered me. I can’t understand why Lou chose you when he was looking for a place to live. Why does a rabid, Fundamentalist Christian agree to have a landlord who is delightfully Bohemian and decidedly off-center?”

  Kit smiled as she propped her bottom on the Mustang’s hood. “I’ve wondered that myself. He said he was looking for some place quiet and my little retreat in Jade Cove fit the bill. He liked to hear God’s sounds—the rushing creek, the crickets—”

  “But before he lived with you, didn’t you say he lived with one family after another from the Lamb of God Congregation?”

  “Yes, but he was nineteen. I think he probably wanted to strike out on his own—”

  “And have a landlord who read the tarot, studied astrology, smoked pot, and painted zaftig models like your drugged out friend Genevieve?”

  “She wasn’t drugged! A little pot. Maybe a few downers to take off the edge—”

  “You know what I mean. You would be the last person he’d want to be around.”

  “Maybe he looked on me as a Christian challenge! Someone he could convert. He was forever bugging Genevieve! Slipping little notes in her purse about how Jesus was watching her. Think about it. If he were able to convert a pagan like myself, he’d probably score big points with Bartosh. And trust me, he wanted to be seen as a good person in the eyes of Dr. John Bartosh. Actually, I think what Lou really wanted was for Bartosh to treat him like a son. Lou never knew his father. He told me that his mother conceived him on one of her many one-night stands. He never had any sense of identity, so he was always searching outside of himself for someone who could give him that.”

  “And Bartosh gave him an identity?”

  “Yes. It’s like you said about Charlotte and her AWOL father. It does make an impact on a child when there’s no dad around. Lou wanted a strong, male presence in his life and Bartosh fit that need perfectly. He was stern but loving in his own peculiar way to Lou. And while I can’t prove it, I know that Bartosh saw something in Lou.”

  “Saw what?” Jane asked, taking another two drags on her cigarette.

  “The son he never had? That’s an assumption, but they have a strong bond. Hell, Bartosh visited Lou in prison. He stood up for him in court. He was determined to defend Lou throughout everything. I’d look at Bartosh in court and there was this blind belief in Lou that overrode any measure of common sense. Lou conned everyone in the name of Jesus. At first, Lou was drawn to the Lamb of God Congregation because they took him in off the street and made him feel safe for the first time in his life. But he quickly used his good looks and charisma to endear himself to the Church members. And those naïve bastards fell for it. They treated him like a tiny God.” Kit shifted her body on the hood of the Mustang. “You know, part of me wonders if Bartosh wants to pass the torch to Lou.”

  “Head the Church?” Jane asked with a stunned tone.

  “Bartosh is getting up there. Even though he’s old-fashioned, he’s patently aware that he needs someone to carry on his work.”

  “Why not choose from the pool of the Brotherhood Council?”

  “Maybe he wants someone younger. Someone who is charismatic, who can draw in more young people. Lou’s proven to be a master at that.”

  “Excuse me, but how is having a convicted killer and rapist as the head of your church considered a good thing?”

  “Jane, I can’t stress it enough. Bartosh has never believed for one second that Lou is guilty of anything! Why do you think he posted bond for him? He trusts in his heart that Lou is being unjustly targeted and persecuted by the secular court system because he’s a Christian! Bartosh won’t give the evidence any examination! He’s blinded by Lou’s magnetism. I was blinded by Lou fourteen years ago! Between the story of his tortured childhood and his carefully constructed persona that ingratiates, I didn’t want to see him as anything but a guy who needed to get past the hell and make a happy future for himself.”

  “Bartosh is an educated theologian. Narrow-minded, yes. But, he’s no idiot.”

  “I didn’t say he was an idiot. But there’s that dichotomy again. That slice of two personas within one individual. He may be able to debate theology with the best of them. But there’s a weakness buried just under his psyche. He may be exalted by his followers, but he’s as human as the rest of us. He lacks discernment just as I did fourteen years ago. You’ve heard about being blinded by God? Dr. John Bartosh is blinded by God and by Lou Peters. Aren’t all religious people looking for a savior in the flesh?”

  “You think Bartosh believes Lou is the savior for his chu
rch?”

  “Yes, I do.” Kit turned away briefly, lost in thought. “You didn’t see what I saw in court last year during the bond hearing. There was a distinct way Bartosh interacted with Lou. It made me queasy. It was like a meeting of two very twisted minds, both believing that they’re working for the good of Jesus.” Kit leaned forward. “There was this moment during the hearing I’ll never forget. Bartosh was seated directly behind Lou. The judge ruled for a new trial and agreed that Lou could get out on bond. Bartosh immediately raised his fist in the air in a victory salute. Lou turned to him. They embraced and Bartosh said something to him. It was one sentence. If I read his lips correctly, Bartosh said, ‘I told you Jesus wants you as our savior.’”

  “What?” Jane replied, stunned.

  “I’m a good lip reader. I have to make a leap and assume that Bartosh and Lou discussed his greater involvement in the Congregation during his prison visits. And since Bartosh believes that everything springs from what Jesus wants, it was a logical statement to make. If Jesus wants you to do this, and if I’m the middleman for Jesus, then it’s as good as gold. The look that overcame Lou at that moment was one of great Divine entitlement. But it was cloaked in darkness. It has taken me years to have the courage to acknowledge evil when I feel it in my heart and not be clouded by the fact that I’m unfairly judging someone. That moment in court last year, I stared at Lou and all I saw was evil and his absolute intent to carry out his twisted agenda again.”

  Kit’s revealing story gave Jane great pause. A prickly wave of electricity bolted up her spine. She might have considered the jolt a reaction to the cold weather, but the sun shone brightly overhead. Kit’s statement felt true. She thought back to the past summer and how her own blindness had prevented her from seeing the devious criminal intent that nearly killed her and the victim she was charged with protecting. We’re all blind at times, she thought, to things we simply do not want to see because it’s comfortable to turn away. Facing the bitter truth is like plunging a hot knife into your heart and exposing all the pretty little stories we tell ourselves that make us feel safe or justified or blissfully ignorant.

  They drove back into town. Jane skirted the main streets in town to avoid coming in contact with Clinton. She cut through the outdoor mall’s parking lot and found herself stuck behind heavy traffic. Apparently, the New Year’s Day sales at two of the mall’s stores were attracting a huge crowd. Jane waited impatiently behind a large minivan while the passengers got out and headed toward one of the department stores. She did a double take when she spied Rachel Hartly’s boxy frame ambling across the parking lot and into one of the crowded stores. Jane quickly pointed her out to Kit.

  “This is perfect!” Kit exclaimed. “She’s not at the house. We can check it out!”

  “Are you nuts?” Jane replied. “She could be inside five minutes, then leave and head back home. It’s fifteen minutes out there and fifteen minutes back. Consider thirty minutes minimum for finding something on her property. I’d need a solid hour at least!”

  “Look at the crowd in there. She could easily be there an hour or more—”

  “No, Kit! I’m not setting myself up to be discovered out there and ruin any chance I’ve got to work this case!”

  “What if I stay here and follow her? She doesn’t know who I am. When I see her leaving, I’ll engage her in stupid conversation. Ask for directions—anything to stall her. Then when she leaves, I call your cell and alert you. You’ll have plenty of time to get out before she arrives home.” Jane’s gut tensed up with the idea. She did promise Weyler that she’d go back to Hartly’s house and now was as good a time as any. “Jane,” Kit urged, “time’s ticking away! Come on! Let’s do it!” Jane pointed out a lone pay phone by the side of the store before jotting down her cell phone number. Kit jumped with purpose out of the Mustang. “Go! Go!” Kit said, waving Jane around the traffic.

  Jane had nervously finished three cigarettes in a row by the time she rolled her Mustang in front of Rachel’s fenced property. With an uneasy heart, she opened the front gate and started up the long, gravel driveway toward the guesthouse.

  CHAPTER 25

  Kit stood in the store’s entryway, overwhelmed by the crush of humanity. With a nervous eye, she scanned the crowd looking for Rachel. Not a sign of her. A moment of fear gripped Kit before she remembered the breathing technique she learned at the Boulder Yoga Festival. Drawing in a deep breath, she gently exhaled as she focused the energy around her solar plexus. She whispered an appropriate affirmation, “I am finding Rachel in this store,” and calmly went about her search.

  The first few aisles proved fruitless, but she hit pay dirt on aisle four. There was Rachel’s broad frame hunkered over a bin of assorted half-price hardware. Kit nonchalantly moseyed down the aisle, trying to appear interested in hardware. Rachel turned and Kit quickly picked up a wrench, examining it with the kind of attention usually reserved for intricate surgery. Rachel pulled a hammer, a box of nails, and a roll of twine from the bargain bin and continued down the aisle. Kit felt a rush of suspicion. She tailed Rachel, allowing a good enough distance between them. Following her into the center of the store, Kit hid behind a fishing tackle display while she watched Rachel spend ten minutes picking out several shirts off a rack and proceed to the line outside the dressing rooms. Kit judged the line to be long enough to buy her some time. With great purpose, she made her way through the crowd and out the door. Arriving at the pay phone, she nervously dialed Jane’s cell phone. Jane picked up on the first ring.

  “What?” Jane answered with a nervous edge.

  “She’s buying a hammer, a box of nails, and twine!” Kit said quietly but with great emphasis.

  “She’s at the checkout counter already?”

  “No. She’s in line waiting to try on some shirts. Not attractive ones, either.”

  “Jesus, Kit! You scared the shit out of me! Call me when she’s headed out to her car! I don’t need a blow-by-blow account!”

  “Isn’t the fact that she’s buying a hammer, nails, and twine important?”

  “She could be building a tree house! Only call me back when she’s leaving!”

  Jane hung up and scanned Rachel’s property for any sign of activity. She was alone, save for the cocking rooster and muted sound of the penned baby goats. The still soggy ground showed no signs of large footprints that might belong to a man. Jane rounded the rear of the guesthouse where she’d had her tense encounter with Rachel and noted a series of heavy-soled boot prints. She recalled the fact that Rachel wore a pair of L.L. Bean gum boots and realized the prints matched that type of boot. Jane sunk her hand into her pocket and nervously rubbed the snakestone against her lone sobriety chip. She looked up at the side of the house. The first two small windows were still covered with curtains. But the third side window, which had been exposed on her first visit to the property, was now obscured by a curtain. Someone had obviously gone inside and pulled the curtain after Jane’s initial excursion. Jane discovered a sliver of space where the curtain was slightly parted. It was just big enough to see into the cabin and the edge of a bed. She strained to focus on the red-colored item that lay across the bed. The best she could decipher was that it was a sleeve. The heavy shading of the conifers around the cabin played tricks with the lighting. There was a definite sheen to the clothing that reminded Jane of leather. “Red leather jacket,” Jane whispered to herself. She pulled back from the window, her heart and mind racing. The wind whipped up around her, causing the younger trees in the stand to bend almost to the point of breaking. A rush of pine needles swept toward her, wedging itself against the side of the cabin. Directly above Jane, a loose branch about three feet long shook loose and landed near the corner of the cabin. Jane formulated a plan.

  She turned to the conifer that stood directly opposite the side window. Factoring what a realistic, weather-related accident would look like, she chose a thick branch on the tree and yanked it toward her. When that didn’t release the branch
, she hung on it, forcing it to break from her weight. Gauging the approximate angle that this branch would take when the ferocious wind caused it to break loose and crash through the window, Jane lifted it above her head and, with one swift swing, plunged the resinous branch into the window. Her calculated aim was perfect. Glass shards scattered inside the tiny house. Grabbing a small branch, Jane used it to pull the curtain to the side. Cautiously, she moved closer to the window, factoring in the possibility that someone was on the other side waiting for her. Jane unsnapped her holster. The window was far too small and too high up for her to crawl into the house. But the new view was good enough.

  A twin bed sat across the room against the wall. Closer examination of the shiny red item on the bed proved to be a cherry red vinyl tablecloth. Around its edge was a defined, interlocking black-and-white pattern that Jane could not clearly identify. A modified kitchenette area filled the rest of that wall, including a white, apartment-size stove, a small refrigerator, and a sink. Across from the kitchen area, against the wall where Jane stood, sat a roughhewn wooden table. Jane strained her neck to see the contents on the tabletop. There were stacks of books, a large Bible, and a closed laptop computer. A brown, stuffed armchair sat directly under the window. Particulate glass matter frosted the headrest. There was no sign of clothing, either men’s or women’s, anywhere in eyesight. Jane turned her attention to the closed door near the kitchenette area; she assumed it was the bathroom. Three feet to the right of the bathroom door was a smaller, closed door. Based on the distance to the outside wall, Jane figured that door must lead to a closet. She gave her next impulse a bit of thought before acting on it.

  “Charlotte?” Jane yelled into the small house. The fact that she was even entertaining the idea that Charlotte was hidden in the house got Jane’s gut twisting. She thought about the Valium Lou had given Ashlee and considered that a kid in a stupor might not respond to the sound of her voice. Jane wound around the backside of the house and stood facing the wall where the closet was located. She heaved her boot into the wall and gave it a solid kick. “Charlotte? Are you in there?” Nothing.