Redemption

by Laurel Dewey

  Back inside the cabin, Jane turned on her computer and searched in vain again for a map of the rural roads around The Hummingbird Motor Lodge. She picked up the snakestone totem stone from where she’d set it on the table after emptying her pockets. Rubbing the vertical snake etching with her left hand, Jane selected the Ministry Forum Web site. There were a few new topics that lead the page. She focused on the most recent offering from Dr. John Bartosh titled “The Age of Un-Reason, Part II.” She’d noticed it the day before and pondered what boring drivel Bartosh was regurgitating now. Clicking on the thread, Jane read through a long-winded posting by Bartosh in which he relentlessly continued a discussion on the state of our children that he had apparently begun in “The Age of Un-Reason, Part I” back in mid-November. Bartosh’s posting read like a manifesto. The gist of the post was that our youth are now exposed to more hardcore, secular garbage and that, by doing this, “a world has been created where innocence no longer exists.” He continued, “The eleven-year-old of twenty years ago still had a chance to drink from a virtuous cup. An eleven-year-old in today’s society sips the slop from the cup they are given and is drunk on the swill by age twelve. They are lost by that age as they choose to degrade themselves and turn against God Almighty!”

  Jane exited the post, finding Bartosh’s strident words abrasive and disturbing. She scrolled down the Forum page and noted that there were two replies to Jane’s quick posting. Selecting “The Power of Sacrifice” thread, Jane scrolled down until she came to the last two. The first one was from Manul.Crst.123.

  I hear you, Mary.mog! I now hear the voice of my true Father in Heaven! You know what He says? He says that it’s time to forgive your mother, Mary.mog. Forgive your father. Only through forgiveness can we find God in our hearts! I forgave all those who hurt me. I found who I was born to be and my life changed forever! DO IT, Mary.mog!

  Manul. Crst. 123

  GOD WITH US

  Jane found it ironic that a faceless person on a Forum was advocating the same pat answer of forgiveness Kit espoused. Was there really that kind of freedom waiting for her? Was forgiveness, as Kit told her, truly a gift you give yourself when you release the person who hurt you? Jane ran her fingers around the edge of the snakestone. A welcome sense of tiredness drifted over her as she slipped back into bed.

  “I think we’re in the clear for a bit.”

  Jane stirred and quickly blocked the fierce ray of morning sunlight that streamed through the parted drapes. “Close the drapes,” she said, still half asleep.

  “I don’t see Clinton parked out there,” Kit continued, closing the drapery. “It’s almost seven thirty. Shouldn’t you be getting up?” Jane moaned, trying to wake up. Kit crossed around Jane’s bed. “What’s this on your computer?”

  Jane opened one eye. “It’s Bartosh’s Ministry Forum.... I was checking it out last night.” Even in Jane’s dog-tired state, she decided it was best to keep her postings a secret. Jane heard Kit clicking on the computer’s mouse, scrolling through the text.

  “My goodness,” Kit said as she read the postings, “people really let their hair down....” Kit continued to scroll. “What does this last post mean?”

  “Huh?” Jane yawned.

  “It just says, ‘Mary Rose? Is that you?’”

  It took several seconds for Jane to process Kit’s statement. She flung back the covers and stared at her computer screen. The words, “Mary Rose???? Is that you????” hung like a neon sign in the posting box. Jane scrolled down to the bottom of the box to identify the poster’s screen name. It read: “Ingrid/Forum Moderator.” Jane’s stunned expression concerned Kit, but it was too complicated to explain. “It’s a misunderstanding...an ironic misunderstanding. ...”

  Jane decided to forego her morning run. Instead, she showered and dressed in black jeans, a green pullover, and her trademark cowboy boots. Just in case she ran into Clinton, Jane donned the same cap and multicolored coat with the red scarf hanging out of the pocket. She set out in the Mustang to snag a take-out breakfast from The Circle 9 Diner. If the diner was any indication, the crowd of people spawned by Charlotte’s disappearance had thinned to a handful. Thankfully, Clinton wasn’t one of them. She returned to the cabin with a hearty breakfast.

  “I want you to drive the Mustang when you go to meet Clinton,” Jane stated between bites of hash browns. “You gotta conserve your strength.”

  Kit nodded. She took a bite of eggs and glanced at Jane’s computer screen. “I read through the ‘Power of Sacrifice’ thread. That person named Mary.mog sounds a lot like you.” Kit gazed at Jane with a knowing look; Jane’s hesitation confirmed Kit’s suspicions. “You opened your heart for the first time. Good for you.” Kit took a sip of herb tea. “What did you mean that the voice has taken on a different tone?”

  Jane tried to formulate her thoughts. “I still hear him. But now I hear a little bit more pain when he speaks.”

  Kit considered Jane’s words. “Tell me a happy memory about your dad.”

  Jane gulped down her coffee. “They don’t exist,” she said with a shrug.

  “No one is pure evil, Jane. Think about it. You need to start holding good memories in your heart.”

  Nine-thirty came quickly. It was time for Kit to get in the Mustang and arrive in the woods before Clinton made his scheduled appearance. Jane holstered her Glock, donned her jacket, and snuck around the Cabins to get the Buick. No sooner had Jane cleared town than her cell rang. It was Sergeant Weyler. “Boss! I thought you’d forgotten about me!”

  “How does anyone forget you?”

  “We’re getting down to the wire here.” Jane lit a cigarette. “If this whole pattern plays out, I’ve got less than one day to find Charlotte—”

  “One thing at a time. I just got information back from the lab on the condom. There is a more than a high probability that the particulate matter matches—”

  “Matches jade,” Jane interrupted.

  Weyler was clearly taken aback. “Yes.”

  “If you check the semen, you probably won’t get a DNA match. Unless the poor SOB who used and discarded it in the Cove fourteen years ago ended up with a record.”

  “Cove?”

  “Jade Cove. I figured it out in theory based on a story Kit told me and then breaking a piece of jade.” Jane took a drag. “Just call it a coincidence.”

  “I like those.”

  “I’m gonna need a lot more of them in order to find this kid alive.” Jane gunned the Buick north on Highway 41. “I can prove that Lou took the condom out of the gulch and placed it next to Ashlee’s body in order to cast reasonable doubt. But I think he also did it to defile her reputation. He considered her a tramp, like his mother. He wanted to degrade her as much as he could to teach her a lesson.”

  “You got inside his head.”

  “I’m getting there, boss. I just wish I had more time.”

  “You’ll figure it out. You’re too smart and stubborn not to. You know, Jane, your dad would be proud of you....”

  Weyler’s statement caught her off guard. “You really think so?”

  “I know so. You’re not a failure, Jane.”

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Jane replied, holding back her emotions.

  “You keep moving. I’ll keep my ear to the ground on this end.”

  Jane hung up and took another hard draw of nicotine. She turned on the radio, but all she got was static as she wound the Buick between the hillsides. Jane pulled the Bartosh tape out of her satchel and popped it into the player.

  “I came to know Jesus as my devout Savior and Lord when I was thirty-three,” Bartosh said, “the same age that our Lord was crucified. Divine Irony, I always tell my Congregation. He died for me at thirty-three and I was reborn at that same age....”

  Kit parked the Mustang so Clinton could easily see it. Wearing the same getup from the day before, she waited at the assigned spot in the forest. The sky was clear, but standing in the shadows of the conifers, Kit’s leg
s felt heavy. It was just after ten A.M. and there was no sign of Clinton. She kicked a pile of leaves and pine needles into a neat cushion and then lowered her frame down onto the ground. Ten minutes later, she heard Clinton’s SUV park in the shelter of the trees behind her. The game was on. She checked her watch. 10:25. It felt longer to her. She gave a cursory glance both ways to give the impression she was looking for the fictitious Jasper.

  Another hour passed. The chill from the damp earth made Kit’s bones ache. Figuring there must be a blanket in Jane’s car, she tried to get up. But a wave of temporary numbness enveloped her legs as she struggled to get control. The sound of Clinton’s car door opening echoed behind her. “Jane?”

  A fit of panic hit Kit. This would ruin everything. “Jasper?” Kit called out, attempting to sound like Jane and failing miserably.

  Clinton stood on the side of the road looking into the wooded area. “Jane?”

  Kit tried to mimic Jane’s impatient tone. “Clinton? What are you doing here?”

  Clinton strode with angry resolve into the woods. Kit battled to stand up, finally using a large rock as leverage. If she could keep her back to Clinton and get to the Mustang, she might be able to save face. But she no sooner stood up than Clinton grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.

  “Who the fuck are you, lady?”

  Jane pulled into the Shell station that sat catty-corner from The Hummingbird Motor Lodge. After filling her tank, she walked inside to pay.

  The same sweet-faced teenage girl sat behind the counter watching MTV. She gave Jane a puzzled look. “Hi!” she said, getting up. “Weren’t you blond yesterday?”

  Jane realized she’d been caught. “Yeah,” she said, leaning forward and whispering, “I was working undercover.”

  “Really?” The kid was impressed. Jane nodded. “You must have such a cool life!”

  “I have my days.” Jane peered at the folded maps by the cash register. “Do these maps show the highway and the roads that go off to the side?”

  The girl leaned forward, talking to Jane in a highly confidential manner. “You need a map for your undercover work?”

  Jane had to hold back a smile. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  The girl pushed a map toward Jane. “No charge.” Jane folded the map into her jacket pocket. The girl rang up the pump sale as the blare of “The Best of MTV” played on the TV. She handed Jane her receipt with a preoccupied mind. Jane thanked her for the map and started out the door when the kid spoke up. “Hey....” Jane turned. “You still looking for this girl?” She pointed to the ragged flyer taped to the glass counter.

  Jane sensed a loaded question and returned to the counter. “Why?”

  “There’s this camera in the corner behind me and it’s recording everything we do. So walk over by the corn chips and act natural. I’ll follow you in a second.”

  Jane realized she was dealing with a kid who had watched too many thriller films. She nodded and sauntered toward the corn chips. The girl followed and tilted her head toward the office, encouraging Jane to follow her. Once inside the office, the girl quickly closed the door and crossed to the corner of the room.

  “You said you were looking for the tape from Christmas Day?”

  Jane’s interest immediately peaked. “Yes. You have it?”

  The girl uncovered a videotape from under a pile of folders. “I ran across it yesterday afternoon and hid it. I was hoping you’d show up again.” She slid the tape into a player on the desk. “My mom’ll be back in less than an hour.”

  Jane dashed out to the car to retrieve her satchel and the faxed copy of receipts that Lou gave the sheriff’s office as proof of his whereabouts. While the kid returned to the counter to watch MTV, Jane fast-forwarded the tape to the time code on the receipt. The TV screen split into four equal squares with each square focused on an individual pump station. When the time code neared that on the receipt, Jane pushed the PLAY button. Her attention centered on the bottom right quadrant that monitored pump number eight. A truck pulled away from the pump as the time code rotated within seven minutes of the one on the receipt. Jane waited for the appearance of Lou’s blue motorcycle. Another minute passed and a woman pulled up to pump number eight in a sedan. She slid her card into the reader and put a few gallons in her tank. Jane watched as the time code on the screen neared the exact number on the fax. The woman replaced the pump handle, which coded the sale. Jane paused the tape. The time code numbers matched at the moment the sale was complete. The woman returned to her car and drove away.

  Jane pressed the FAST FORWARD button and sat back, her attention still on pump number eight. Five minutes later, she pushed the PLAY button. The sweet-faced kid appeared on the screen with a broom and dustpan. Jane observed her walk around each pump, sweeping discarded trash into the dustpan. The kid checked each pump, performing a quick visual maintenance. When she reached pump number eight, she checked inside the receipt receptacle and collected a leftover receipt, dropping it into the large, nearby trashcan. Another piece of the puzzle began to fall into place for Jane and she hit the FAST FORWARD button, keeping a rabid eye on the bottom right quadrant. Her deduction was played out as the tape sped forward to nearly midnight. Lou’s motorcycle rolled into the frame by pump number eight. The helmeted figure got off his motorcycle and did a visual scan of the vacant area before reaching into the receipt receptacle on pump number eight. Coming up empty, he pulled out a small flashlight and aimed it into the trash can. He pulled out several soda cans before removing a curled, white piece of paper and placing it into his pocket.

  “I got you, you sly son of a bitch,” Jane said under her breath. She ejected the tape, dropped it into her satchel, and walked out to the counter. The sound of Madonna singing “Hollywood. Hollywood. How could it hurt you when it looks so good?” played on the TV. “I need to take the tape with me as evidence,” Jane told the girl.

  “You found something?” she said, turning away from the TV momentarily.

  “Yeah. Thanks for your help.” Jane looked at the TV screen. Three women sang and strutted across the stage. “What’s that?”

  The girl turned back to the TV. “It’s the best of the MTV Music Video Awards. This is the one from 2003 where Madonna kisses Britney! It’s coming up right here!”

  Jane watched Madonna lean over and share a passionate kiss with Britney Spears. “Lovely,” Jane said derisively. “The other girl looks pissed she’s not getting a wet one.”

  The girl smiled at Jane’s comment. “That’s Christina Aguilera.”

  Jane started out the door when the name “Christina Aguilera” rang a bell. She turned back to the TV and watched as the camera flashed on Christina’s ass-high, skintight white shorts, pouting lips, and long, brunette locks. It was an image Jane placed in the back of her mind before leaving the store.

  She flattened the road map across the hood of the Buick, tracing her fingers across the northbound stretch of Highway 41 where she had seen Lou turn the day before. The series of side roads, many unnamed, appeared to end abruptly and were less than two miles in distance. Some looked to be forest service roads that extended far into the mountainous topography. The only differentiating marker between the unidentified roads was a small body of water that curved gracefully within a valley that sat approximately three miles off of Highway 41. Jane folded the map so that the section of nameless roads was prominent. She patted the hood of the Buick like a worried mother. “Let’s hope you’re strong enough to pull me up there,” Jane said, returning to the driver’s seat. She lit a cigarette and was heading out of the parking lot when her cell rang. It was Sergeant Weyler. “Boss!” Jane said, her voice rising in inflection, “I found out how the bastard accounted for his time! The Hummingbird receipts are a no-brainer’cause he works there. I’m headed north on Highway 41—”

  “Jane, hold on! You told me to keep an eye out for a Mary Bartosh?”

  Jane’s gut clenched. “Yeah. What about her?”

  “I’ve been doin
g sporadic searches in the system on Mary Bartosh. I just got a hit on a Mary Rose Bartosh, age thirty-one, who was arrested last night traveling in a stolen car with $5,000 cash, heading south on Highway 5.” Jane recalled Ingrid’s posting on the Ministry Forum and her reference to “Mary Rose.” How many thirty-one-year-old Mary Rose Bartoshs could there be out there? “They’re holding her in at the Fresno PD.”

  Jane’s head spun. “That’s a good two hours from where I am right now.”

  “I can’t say how much longer she’s gonna be held there.”

  Jane looked down at the map. She wished somebody could split her in half and send part of her up the highway and the other half down to Fresno. It didn’t make logical sense to drive all the way to Fresno with the clock ticking. And yet, there was something about Mary Bartosh that pried on Jane’s intuitive gut. “Call them and let them know Sergeant Perry will be down to talk to Mary by 1:30.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Jane peeled into the Fresno PD parking lot just shy of 1:30. Inside, an officer led her down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. She walked through a large, teal-green room that housed detectives. Jane noticed a black Labrador puppy tethered to a desk.

  “You let detectives bring their dogs to work?” Jane asked the officer.

  “No. He belongs to the gal you’re here to talk to.”

  The puppy eagerly jumped in the air as Jane approached. She leaned down and scratched his chin as a long-ago memory suddenly flashed back.

  “She’s in room two,” the officer stated. He escorted Jane into an adjacent observation room with a two-way mirror. A bluntshaped, dark-haired detective walked across the small room to shake Jane’s hand. “Sergeant Perry?” he asked.