Protector (14 page)
Authors: Laurel Dewey
Tags: #Police Procedural, #Denver (Colo.), #Mystery & Detective, #Psychic ability, #Women detectives, #Crime, #Suspense, #Women Sleuths, #Children of murder victims, #Fiction, #Occult & Supernatural, #Espionage
Morning came too quickly. Jane called Mike at 5:30 Wednesday morning so she could catch him before he headed to his job site. “Take a half day. He wants to see us,” she said to him, “and meet me at Duffy’s no later than 1:00.” Jane wasn’t going to go into the tone of the message or exactly what their father said. Mike would have a hard enough time knowing that in less than nine hours, he’d be face-to-face with his father.
Duffy’s was a bustling restaurant located in Cherry Creek North. It was where locals mixed with businessmen who mixed with the occasional tourist. The red-topped bar greeted one upon entering the establishment. Nine booths lined up against the pea green walls. Tables with the occasional wobbly fourth leg sat crammed together in the center of the place as the jukebox played eclectic selections that ranged from Adam Ant to Randy Travis. Duffy’s was nearly packed to the gills when she walked in at 12:55. She looked around for Mike, not expecting to see him. As usual, he would be late. If the get-together had anything to do with their father, Mike would always drag his heels. The hostess seated Jane at the far corner booth. She sat down, grabbed a menu and kept one eye on the door. Mike wandered in nearly 15 minutes later, looking about as lost as he did the night before at RooBar. He meandered over to Jane and sank into the booth with about as much energy as a slug.
“Glad you could make it,” Jane said eyeing him carefully.
“Sorry,” Mike said under his breath. “Traffic, you know.”
“Yeah, right. I ordered a beer. You want one?”
“No. I’ll just get a Coke.”
“A Coke?”
“Yeah,” Mike said slightly irritated. “A Coke.”
Jane regarded her brother with a raised brow. The waitress delivered Jane’s beer. “He’ll have a Coke,” Jane said in a slight mocking tone as she slid the menu to Mike and took a sip of her beer.
“So, how you doing?” she asked.
“The same, I guess.” Mike scanned the menu quickly and tossed it aside. “I’m not hungry.”
“I know your stomach is in knots, but you have to eat.”
“I’m not hungry, Janie.” Mike’s voice raised a few decibels.
“Fine. Go ahead and starve.”
There was an awkward silence until the waitress arrived. Jane ordered a French Dip. She took a sip of beer and studied her brother. Mike always had a difficult time whenever he had to see his dad but something seemed different about his melancholy mood. He sat staring at the tabletop, rolling the edge of the paper napkin back and forth with his thumb. Jane could sense a boiling tension below the surface. It took several more minutes of silence before he finally spoke up.
“You sleep much last night?”
“No,” Jane replied.
“Me neither. I did a lot of thinking.” Mike looked off to the side in a half daze. “Do you still believe in God?”
Jane was slightly taken aback by the question. “Yeah. Sure. Everything has its opposite and I know for sure there’s a devil so I’m sure there’s a God somewhere.”
“You ever pray to Him?”
“What’s all this about?”
“Do you pray to Him?” Mike repeated with emphasis.
Jane was getting weary of the odd exchange. “No, Mike. I don’t. I used to when we were kids but then I got tired of Him never answering my prayers.”
“Oh...Maybe He did answer and the answer was ‘no.’ ”
Jane leaned forward, speaking quietly but directly. “What’s all this God shit?”
“You shouldn’t say ‘God’ and ‘shit’ in the same sentence, Janie.”
“Mike, what the fuck is going on?” He let out a deep breath and kept his eyes pinned on the paper napkin. Jane was at a loss to understand his behavior. “Hey,” Jane said trying to sound empathetic, “I know you’re nervous about seeing the son-of-a-bitch. And I know it’s short notice—”
“Janie—”
“Look, you don’t have to go in. Just stay in the car. I’ll tell him you’re sick.”
“Janie, that’s not all of it.”
“Of course it is, Mike!” Jane said, sounding more like a tired parent.
“Oh, Janie . . .” Mike’s voice trailed off as he stared off to the side again. “Do you believe that everybody has a defining moment in their life? You know, something that alters the course of their existence? Something that turns them into a completely different person? And afterward, nothing is ever the same. Is that possible?”
Jane felt an uncomfortable tremor in her belly. “Yes! We all have defining moments.”
“You think it’s possible to have more than one defining moment in your life?” Mike seemed to struggle with the concept but pressed on. “Like, do you think that you could have a defining moment when you were young and then have another moment that defines you all over again? Does that make sense?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. You’re giving me a headache. What’s all this about?”
Mike stared down at the napkin. “I’m not sure I can talk about it just yet.”
Jane leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“I need to think about it some more.”
“Think about what? Come on, you always tell me everything.” Jane reached across the table and touched Mike’s hand. “Mike, talk to me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”
Mike looked at his sister with a guarded eye. “I don’t think you can, Janie.”
The one-hour drive out to their father’s rehabilitation nursing home in the Denver suburb of Wheatridge was completely silent. Jane finished off a half pack of cigarettes while Mike stared out the window, lost in his own world.
It had been over a week since Jane drove out to see Dale. When she’d arrived, her father was fast asleep so she quickly left, not even alerting the nurses to her aborted visit. Prior to that, the last time she had seen her father was weeks before his illness. He’d demanded that she come out to the house after a power outage and reprogram his VCR. That visit lasted less than twenty minutes before she lied about having to get back to work. She knew Dale was aware it was a lie. He could always read her and destroy that carefully constructed wall of protection. From what she had been told by the nurses, Dale’s stroke was enough to permanently place him in a 24-hour care facility for physical reasons, but not so disabling to destroy his mental faculties. Jane wasn’t sure if her father knew she was suspended from the Department but she figured the news would be plastered all over her psyche when she walked into his room.
Jane parked her Mustang across the street from the care facility. She turned to Mike who stared out the window. “You coming in?” she asked. Mike kept his eyes fixed outside and shook his head. “Okay. I won’t be long.” Jane took one long, penetrating drag after another on her cigarette as she neared the front door of the facility. Tossing the butt on the ground, she entered the building. The hallway reeked of ammonia, urine and overcooked broccoli.
“Miss Perry?” a voice called out. Jane turned just in time to encounter the head nurse, Zoe. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s difficult when it’s last minute.”
Jane looked down the hall toward Dale’s room. “What’s going on with him?”
“He has good days and bad days. Today seems to be a good day.”
“Really?” Jane said, not impressed. “What makes it a good day?”
“He’s lucid. He was able to walk to the bathroom with very little help this morning. I don’t want to give you the impression that he could ever return to his home. Even though things are improving, his health is still fragile. Another stroke or heart attack could put him in I.C.U.” Jane nodded. “I want you to know we’re doing everything possible to keep him happy and comfortable.”
Jane lost herself for a moment. “Well, that’s great,” she said with no emotion as she stared down the sterile hallway.
“I’ll let you visit with your dad.”
“Uh-huh,” Jane replied. Zoe walked back to her station but Jane didn’t move. She started to turn back toward the front door but stopped when she saw several nurses looking at her. Reluctantly, she walked down the hall to her father’s door and stood to the side, out of his view. Jane let out a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
Dale Perry was propped up in bed, eyes glued to the television screen that was tuned to Court TV. The sound was muted. Dozens of greeting cards were pinned to the wall on either side of his bed. Vases of long stemmed flowers graced both bedside tables. A banner stretched the length of the opposite wall. In red and black letters it read, “GET WELL, DALE!” which was followed by “Your pals at Denver PD!”
Her father was hooked to an IV and heart monitor. An oxygen tank sat nearby. Jane stood inside the doorway, waiting. Dale turned his head on his pillow and looked at her. He appeared to have aged ten years compared to the day Jane went out to his house to fix the VCR. The only thing that remained sharp and stoic was his grey, regimented buzz haircut. It reminded Jane of the quills on a porcupine—sharp, rigid and ready to attack.
“You got the message,” Dale said, his speech slightly slurred. “I bet that nurse ten bucks you wouldn’t show. Make sure you pay her the money on the way out.” Jane didn’t move a muscle. “You gonna plant your ass in a chair or are you gonna just stand there like some retard?” Jane carefully moved to a bedside chair and sat down. “You look like hell,” Dale said, eyeing Jane like a perp. Jane looked off to the side, pursing her lips, as Dale glared at Jane. “Where’s your brother?” he said, his voice slightly raised.
“He couldn’t make it,” Jane said, looking at the television screen.
Dale stared even more intently at Jane. “He’s in the car, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“The weak little fuck is hiding out. Shit.”
Jane kept her eyes glued to the television. Her heart raced and her head pounded. She figured that if she avoided his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to drill into her head. “Why do you have the sound off?”
“I don’t need sound to hear a fuckin’ lie. It’s not what they say, it’s what they do. Didn’t you learn anything?”
“What’s the case?” Jane said, still focused on the television.
“The defendant is charged with murdering his wife and kids. But they can’t find the bodies. The fucker on the stand is a defense witness. He’s a friend of the fucker who killed his wife and kids. Look at him. There! Look how he touched his mouth and glanced over to the defendant. I bet that asshole helped him dump the bodies. It’s so obvious. He’s like one big open sore and nobody can see the pus. They’re blind!” Dale screamed at the television. “They miss what they don’t want to see.” Dale looked over at Jane and her bandaged hand. “Christ, you still have that goddamn hand bandaged? That was one of your less intelligent moments.”
Jane took her eyes off the screen and turned toward her father. “Trying to get a kid out of a burning car?”
Dale let out a slight snicker. “The fucking car’s engulfed in flames and you decide to suspend common sense and try to punch a fucking hole in the window with your fist. Jane, do the fucking math. That kid was gonna die either way. You should have saved your hand.” Dale turned to Jane, meeting her eye to eye. “But you actually believed you were going to be the hero, didn’t you? Didn’t I teach you that lesson a long time ago?”
Dale’s words cut to the bone. Once again, she’d let her guard down and he was worming his way back inside her head. She quickly turned back to the TV. A smile creased Dale’s face. “You’re so easy,” he said, the venom dripping from his mouth. “You don’t know who blew them up, do you?”
“No,” Jane whispered.
“That’s because you haven’t followed the right road. You take what you know and find the right road and it always leads to the killer. What you know is that it was a hit. That’s obvious. What you know is that Stover, ‘Mr. Fuckin’ Entrepreneur of the Year,’ was a coke and meth addict. What you know is that Stover and the Texas mob were in bed together. Stover let them launder drug money through his businesses in exchange for all the free meth and coke he could sniff up his nose. Over time, he got to hear all their important secrets. You also know that the Texas mob offers under the table protection for all the ‘Gooks’ and ‘Chinks’ in Denver. Every single one of those is an undeniable fact. So, then Stover gets his ass caught by the cops and he has to make a big decision. Do I lose everything I’ve worked for, my reputation, my family and get plastered across the front of every newspaper or do I tell the cops everything I know about the mob and their connections? Do I name the players and take away their mystery? Maybe Stover wasn’t the only one with a lot to lose. Maybe there were other people just like him with reputations to uphold that didn’t want the spotlight. Other people with businesses that are really just fronts. People who live two lives.” Dale leaned closer to Jane. “Who did Stover know and who knew him? Ask yourself that question! Follow the protection money and you’ll find your killer. Of course, that means you have to cut through all the bullshit and have the guts to see what’s smack in front of you. I’m not sure you know how to do that. You’ll always miss what you don’t want to see. Then you’ll be just like those assholes up on that TV.”
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