Redemption (16 page)

Kit turned away with an uneasy shift in her seat. “I’ve told you everything. There’s nothing to hide.” Jane’s ear noted a slight upturn in Kit’s voice with the words:
There’s nothing to hide
. It was the same cadence that Jane always defined as a false statement. With Kit, the underlying tone was not malicious...just untrue. “Go ahead!” Kit continued with a flick of her wrist. “Have your little chat with Bartosh.”

“I need to see people and get a flavor for who they really are. Hell, if I could talk to the
dead
, I’d do it!”

“You
can
talk to the dead. I talk to Ashlee every day.”

Jane realized she stepped over the line. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you pain with that statement.”

“Oh, Jane. You can only cause me pain if I give you the power to do so,” Kit replied with a decisive tone as she reached into the backseat and pulled a book from her bulging traveling bag. “If you’re going to do this, let’s get it done!
But think this whole charade through before you call him!
How are you getting your foot in the door?”

Jane noticed a customer leaving the health food store, deeply involved in a magazine article. The light bulb went on in Jane’s head. “I’m a journalist...for a Christian magazine. And I’m writing a story on how to save today’s youth from the temptations that will certainly bring down our great nation.” Jane turned to Kit with a look of “What do you think?”

A serious, somewhat frightened look enveloped Kit’s face. “Okay. That may work. Just don’t get cavalier. Bartosh may grant you your interview, but he’s not stupid. If he senses an ounce of deceit on your part and then chooses to investigate you on the spot and
then
finds
me
attached to you—Kit Clark, one of his most potent critics, well,
do the math
! We could easily get put into a
very
embarrassing predicament that could stick us in Grand Junction for days sorting it all out when we should be driving at lightning speed to California!” Jane nodded in agreement. “You better wear a skirt and blouse to see Bartosh. He doesn’t think much of women who wear pants. I saw a secondhand store on the way into town. You can find a conservative outfit in there. Now, what magazine do you work for?”

Jane grabbed her laptop and did a quick search for leading Christian Magazines. “I’m a freelance writer for
Christian Parenting Today
.” Jane declared as she snapped the top of the laptop shut.

“Are you using your real name?”

“No, of course, not. My name is....” Jane looked around the parking lot and saw a posted sign that read: THIS SPOT RESERVED FOR JACKIE. Jane turned to Kit. “My name’s Jackie. And my last name is....” She casually turned over Kit’s book, a New Age tome titled
Finding Your Inner Light & Joy
. Pointing to the words “Light & Joy,” Jane revealed, “Lightjoy! Jackie Lightjoy!”

“That’s a name you’d give a cartoon character who lives on a spaceship and drives a phallic-shaped car!”

“Hey!” Jane said with a straight face as she dialed the number. “The Lightjoy family has dealt with that kind of derision for generations. And we
don’t
appreciate it!”

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line was soft, gentle, and female.

In an instant, Jane went into character. “Hello!” Jane replied in a quasi-reverential manner. “My name is Jackie Lightjoy and I’m a writer with
Christian Parenting Today.
Is this where I can reach Dr. John Bartosh?”

“Yes. I’m his wife, Ingrid. What can I do for you?”

Jane felt a hot rush of excitement. It always happened when she was knee-deep in a fresh ruse. “Mrs. Bartosh,” Jane continued in a respectful tone, “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you from my colleagues at the magazine.”

Ingrid Bartosh was taken aback. “Well...thank you. My husband is usually the one attracting the accolades....”

Jane thought quickly. “That’s understandable. But you make it possible for him to shine and carry The Word of God.”

“Oh, my,” Ingrid was touched by Jane’s words, “How can I help you, dear?”

Jane flashed Kit a pious smile of victory and launched her pitch. “I’m writing a story...a
cover
story, for
Christian Parenting Today
on the many secular obstacles that are negatively affecting today’s preteen children.
Especially
young girls.” Jane caught a peripheral glimpse of Kit’s reaction. It was a contemptuous roll of the eyes and then back to reading her New Age book.

“Well, that’s certainly an appropriate subject,” Ingrid replied in an ultra-contained tone. “What was your name again?”

“Jackie. Jackie Lightjoy.”

Kit couldn’t resist. “Beam me up, Jackie Lightjoy,” she whispered.

Jane responded with a swift finger to her mouth to mime, “Shh!”

“Jackie, yes,” Ingrid continued, “My husband isn’t here at the moment. This is the morning he heads The Brotherhood Council. He has some time available two weeks from Wednesday to speak on the phone—”

“I was actually hoping to do something sooner and in person if at all possible—”

“In person?”

“I’m traveling through Colorado on family business. When my editor called to give me the assignment, it was just pure luck that one of the best contacts for our story lived in this wonderful state. And frankly, I do enjoy meeting people face-to-face.”

“Yes, of course,” Ingrid said in a halting manner. “It’s just that my husband doesn’t usually speak to the media without fully researching the organization—”

Jane was quickly reminded of Bartosh’s paranoia. A dead end was imminent. Jane was forced to do the unthinkable. She began to cry crocodile tears. “I understand,” Jane said with an audible catch in her throat. Kit looked up from her book and stared at Jane in bewilderment. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t get emotional like this. It’s been a tough week for me. Well, for our whole family. I said I was in Colorado on family business and, well, that business was the death of my seventeen-year-old niece...Janie.”

“I’m so sorry. May God bless and keep her in his Divine home,” Ingrid said with sincere affection. “How did she pass into His arms?”

“Well,” Jane poured on the intense emotion, “I hate to say it, but the darkness got hold of her. She turned from Jesus and chose the Devil’s temptations. First it was drugs and then it was alcohol and then it was....” Jane drew in her breath. “Sexual deviancy.”

“Oh, dear,” Ingrid said with great empathy. “I am
so
sorry.”

“Thank you,” Jane said in a choked whisper. Kit continued to watch this dramatic performance with a questionable gawk. “Apparently, Janie went to some horrible....” Jane made sure she confidentially whispered the next two words, “
sex party
. Things got
out of hand and she was strangled to death by one of the boys at the party.”

Jane could easily determine that Ingrid was sympathetic to the alarming story. “Have mercy on her poor soul,” she said in a faraway voice. “You say she was...seventeen?”

“Yes. Seventeen.”

Jane heard Ingrid’s voice catch. Somehow, the false story had struck a nerve with her. “It’s difficult at times to understand God’s plan for us and those we love so dearly.”

“This wound to our family is still so fresh in our hearts.” Jane took a breath and went for the clincher. “To have your own flesh and blood die during an orgy forces one to step back and take comfort that the
wonder-working power of God
will heal our souls.” Kit’s mouth dropped open as she regarded Jane with a bemused gape.

There was a thick pause on the phone.

“Where did you say you are right now?”

“About three hours from Grand Junction,” Jane said, her heart pounding as she felt the tug of the fish on her deceptive line.

“I’ll make this interview happen for you, Jackie,” Ingrid said. “Perhaps this is Jesus’ way of getting the message out to other young girls at risk so that we can save a soul who is on the edge.”

“God bless you, Ingrid.
God bless you!
”

Jane hung up, dissolved out of character, and looked out into the distance with a self-satisfied grin.

“And the Academy Award for the most deceptive and absurd performance that used the words ‘wonder-working power’ and ‘orgy’ within the same breath goes to....”

“Kit,” Jane said, turning on the ignition, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

CHAPTER 11

With one hand on the steering wheel, Jane quickly checked her cell phone for messages and retrieved one from her brother.

“Hey, Janie!” Mike said in a singsong manner. “Just checkin’ in. Picked up your mail and watched some TV while I was here. Hey, that Sergeant of yours...ah,
Weyler
? He stopped by while I was there. Looked like he was goin’ to church the way he was dressed. Anyway, he
really
wants to talk to you. I told him you were drivin’ to California. Oakhurst, right? He seemed kinda pissed about that... I told him to give you a call on your cell. I went ahead and gave him your new number. That’s okay, right? See ya.”

Jane clicked her phone shut and let out a long sigh. Mike could never keep a secret. For Sergeant Weyler to show up at her house meant he was not going to accept her silence. Now he had her cell number. Great.

Kit read her New Age book until she nodded off. Jane took advantage of the respite from conversation to push her concerns about Weyler far back in her mind and go over the information she’d discovered in the last hour about Ashlee’s murder.

Jane pulled a pad of paper from the leather satchel that was tucked behind her seat. She placed it on her lap and withdrew a pen from the visor. Detective Charles Sawyer had turned out to be a gold mine of information. However, with each question, Sawyer had brought up even more questions and possibilities that were equally perplexing. Jane put the pedal to the metal and started jotting down some of the more puzzling points that Sawyer had revealed.

Foremost on her mind was the mysterious dark, green, shiny particle found in the condom. The fact that Sawyer had obsessed so much on that particle meant something to Jane. Cops have an odd gift—a built-in radar that lights up when they’re given
incongruous information. It could be a word, a piece of evidence, a person, or a situation that trips the radar. Once the radar is tripped, the gut starts to clench, acknowledging that something is askew. It had happened to Jane hundreds of times, and each time that radar had proven to be right on the money. However, determining the incongruity often required weeks or even months of hard investigation.

The two alleged rapes Lou Peters was accused of committing were a good example of nagging incongruity. After talking to Sawyer, the possible rapes took on a more sinister aspect, especially with the introduction of the anonymous caller who had spoken to Sawyer fourteen years ago. “High-strung.” That was the term he had used to describe the female caller. “Terrified.” That was another description of the woman. Terrified of death, Sawyer theorized. Jane mused that could be presumptuous. Then again, that old radar could have kicked in when Sawyer was talking to the female caller. So the next logical jump, if death was indeed a fear, was the usual conspiracy link: a cover-up. Jane wrote that word in capital letters on the yellow pad with a question mark. A cover for Lou, she wondered, or a cover for the real killer?

Thinking back on the conversation with Sawyer, Jane noted the suspicious purchases by Lou of lanterns and rope. Certainly noteworthy, Jane figured, and just a bit too coincidental, given the seemingly premeditated nature of the items. Then there was the Valium used to drug Ashlee. That seemed to be available out of nowhere. Jane figured the perp would need a significant number of pills to last fourteen days.

Fourteen days. Ashlee was fourteen. Was the time between the kidnapping and the murder significant or just coincidental on the killer’s part? If Lou was the killer, and if he was responsible for kidnapping twelve-year-old Charlotte Walker, did that mean Charlotte was destined to die on day twelve? She counted twelve days past Christmas Day, counting Christmas as the first day, and came up with January 5.

Jane’s mind bounced to the discussion of Pico Blanco and the limestone outcropping where Ashlee’s cooked body was found. Sawyer recalled the “sacrificial” pose of the body. “Like an offering to the Gods,” he told Jane. Strange terminology, she thought, and yet it gave Jane a crisp image of how Ashlee had been posed by her killer. An unexpected shudder jolted Jane as she flashed on the grisly impression. A feeling of raw vulnerability washed over her, and for a split second, the comforting contemplation that a shot of Jack Daniels would feel good at that moment. Even though the consideration lasted less than a heartbeat, Jane was somewhat stunned and enticed at the same time by the notion. “How many shots does it take now?” she recalled asking Sawyer, only to discover that he was a full-fledged member of the first-name-only club. Jane still felt daunted by Sawyer’s thirteen years of sobriety. “But it’s a life worth living....” Sawyer advised. To Jane, that statement was analogous to
faith
. At that critical moment, trusting in anything was proving to be difficult. She yearned to encounter the black-and-white answers that led to black-and-white conclusions. But amidst the odd occurrences that had taken place in her life over the last few days, Jane was left with a sense that she was freefalling into a gray abyss filled with strange coincidences and even stranger wraith-driven connections.

As if on cue, she felt the edge of the snakestone totem rubbing against her sobriety chips. Radical transformation, Jane thought.
Insane logic
, she assured herself. That snakestone was as insignificant as the odd connections to the sacred birds of Pico Blanco and their legend. The Eagle. The Crow. The Raven. The Hummingbird. The Hawk. It was all just a disjointed linking of coincidences, Jane told herself as she took the Horizon Drive exit off the highway into Grand Junction and headed toward Bartosh’s house on Eagle Road.