Redemption (35 page)

“Okay.”

With that, the caller hung up. Jane sat in the Mustang, playing back the confusing phone call. The words, “Let me help you,” reverberated in her ears. The cadence was somehow vaguely familiar. Whoever was on the other end of the line was not a professional; a professional would have used an electronic disguiser to manipulate their voice and hide their identity. Anybody could buy the equipment on the Internet for a little over $100. But this particular person chose to simply whisper. The question that ran through Jane’s mind was, did she whisper to disguise her voice or because she wanted to keep her conversation with Jane private. But the truly nagging question was, how did the woman get Jane’s phone number? Checking the clock, Jane suddenly realized she had twenty minutes to speed back to Oakhurst in order to meet the mysterious woman.

As she gunned the Mustang south on Highway 41, she spotted Shane Golden’s Firebird partially hidden by a stand of pine trees about a mile down the road on the opposite side of the Highway. “Shit!” Jane exclaimed, slowing down to get a better look. There was no way she was going to be able to get across to the opposite side of the highway with the amount of traffic going both ways. Even if she could, she barely had enough time to make it back to Oakhurst to meet the woman. Jane quickly jotted down the milemarker—forty-four—and the location of the car, vowing to return later.

With only two minutes to spare, Jane screeched into the outside mall where the Stop ’n’ Save was located. She buttoned her jacket with one hand to conceal the Glock, while she parked the Mustang. The clouds merged overhead, instantly darkening the afternoon sky. A gradual pitter-patter of rain pelted the concrete as Jane walked quickly but cautiously to the front of the store. She lit a cigarette and stood alone in the rain. Even if she had not been alone out there, her pensive look and constant glancing around the
area would make her stand out to whomever wanted to meet her. A woman wearing dark glasses and a hooded jacket approached Jane. They made eye contact and Jane straightened up, ready for a confrontation. But the woman breezed past her and went into the market. Jane checked the time on her cell phone. It was two minutes past the designated meeting time. Maybe the mystery woman was late. Then again, Jane figured one would probably be on time for such a clandestine encounter. Jane took two more drags on her cigarette and let another three minutes pass. The rain slowed and then resumed its steady downpour. The wind sliced through the mall, forcing the rain sideways. But Jane stood firm, like a statue, impervious to the whims of the inclement weather. Fifteen minutes passed. The rainstorm dwindled to a steady mist, but the ire within Jane grew. What was the point of it? Was she being used? The realization that she could have checked out Shane’s actions on the side of Highway 41 in lieu of this cancelled meeting further riled Jane. What purpose was there was in arranging a meeting and then not showing up? Jane took a final drag on her cigarette before flicking it into a puddle of water. She was only three steps from her Mustang when a booming voice called out her name. Jane spun around. A combination of heat and ice ran through her blood as she faced the beast standing in front of her. It was Clinton Fredericks, and he had a caustic smile across his face that could make paint curl. His trademark camouflage pants seemed to repel the softly falling rain, while his unkempt hair looked suspiciously molded, thanks to the tube of gel Jane figured he slathered on his head.

“Well, as I live and breathe!” Clinton exclaimed, moving closer to Jane. “What in the hell are
you
doing out here?” Jane tried to quickly sort through the strange series of events that had just taken place. She half-wondered if Clinton had made the unsettling phone call to her. But how would he know her private number? Jane had never met Clinton, but he obviously knew who she was from her recent summer foray into the media spotlight. “You workin’ with the FBI?” Clinton asked, intensely interested.

Jane regained her tough girl vibe. “I’m just out here, Clinton.”

“Just out here?”
Clinton let out a guffaw that would’ve shaken the rafters if they’d been inside. “It’s fuckin’ hicksville! Don’t blow smoke up my ass, girl.”

Jane hated it when anyone called her “girl.” She particularly hated it when someone as parasitic as Clinton sidled up next to her in an attempt to imply a professional kinship. His vibe felt oily; like the guy with slicked-back hair who sells tickets to nudie peep shows. “It’s New Year’s Eve. I got to go somewhere to celebrate. Why not Oakhurst?” Jane turned around and unlocked her car door. It was open a few inches when Clinton pushed it shut.

“Why did Denver PD send out their star girl to investigate the big story of the week?” Clinton asked in a trenchant cadence. “Is there a Colorado connection we should know about?”

Jane kept her back to Clinton. Somehow, with all his inside information, he didn’t know that she was no longer working for DH. Jane needed to quickly use his ignorance to her advantage. She turned to Clinton, full of attitude. “You seem to be under the impression that this missing kid...ah...what’s her name?”

“Come on, Jane. You’re too smart to act so stupid.”

Jane shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Clinton, this kid may be the reason
you
get up in the morning, but I’m here on different business.”

“What could be more important than little Miss Charlotte?”

Jane started to answer when she spotted a dark sedan slow to a stop across the mall. A woman got out of the car, then leaned over to talk to the driver through the open passenger window. She was animated, pointing at a specific spot and seemingly giving directions before giving the driver the thumbs-up sign. Jane couldn’t mistake the woman’s bright purple trousers and long, salt-and-pepper braid. It was Kit Clark.

“What is it?” Clinton said, intrigued, as he turned around to look in the direction that was capturing Jane’s attention.

Jane did her best to act nonchalant. “Nothing,” she replied, attempting to get Clinton’s attention drawn back to her.

Clinton turned to Jane. “You saw something...or someone.”

Jane kept her eyes focused on Clinton, although she wanted more than anything to follow Kit. “I wasn’t looking at anything. I get bored easily. My mind wanders.”

Clinton turned with a great flourish. “You distinctly looked over
there
! Don’t bullshit me!”

Jane allowed herself another glance, but Kit and the sedan had vanished. A growing anger welled up inside her gut. “Clinton, I don’t have time for this crap.” Jane opened her car door and got in, slamming the door shut.

Clinton leaned down, rapping his knuckles on Jane’s window. “I’ll see you around!” The statement sounded like a promise.

Jane made a determined exit from the parking spot.

 

 

Jane circled the mall’s parking lot in search of Kit. Her brown hair was soaked from the storm and plastered across her cheek and neck. Lighting a cigarette, Jane took a meaningful drag and surveyed the immediate area. Being that it was New Year’s Eve day, the lot was not very full. She pulled the Mustang to the side of the parking lot. The long line of stores included a video arcade, a beauty shop, a nail salon, and an electronics store. Jane considered going into every store in the mall to find Kit and tail her actions, but then her thoughts drifted to Shane Golden’s Firebird on the side of Highway 41. Checking her clock, she figured he had been there for more than forty-five minutes. He could have left the area, which meant Jane could possibly go back to the spot and track his muddy footprints before the rain erased them. The idea captured Jane’s imagination and she sped with conviction back onto Highway 41.

As she drove, an unresolved restlessness tugged at her gut. She sucked another drag of nicotine from the cigarette and flashed on Kit’s energetic thumbs-up to the unknown driver who dropped her off at the mall. The thought suddenly occurred to Jane that
Kit had aligned with someone in Oakhurst prior to their visit and was waiting for the perfect opportunity to meet them. But for what purpose? Jane was certain that Kit was not being forthright. She
was
hiding something; something that held great significance. Something that involved finding Lou Peters. Jane felt stabs of betrayal the longer she drove up Highway 41. With each hot jab, a growing sense of resentment overwhelmed her ability to think rationally. Paranoia had been a constant companion when she used to drink herself into oblivion. Now that specious shadow of mistrust hovered next to Jane, goading her to act on the distant whispers that filled her head.

Clenching the cigarette tightly between her teeth, she changed lanes as she approached mile-marker forty-four, where she had spotted Shane’s car. But as she checked traffic in her rearview mirror, Jane saw a black SUV behind her quickly follow suit. Jane purposely slowed, forcing the SUV to move closer to her. There was Clinton Fredericks in the driver’s seat, an overeager grin pasted across his parasitical face. “Shit!” Jane exclaimed as she rolled within 100 feet of her destination. Looking to her right, Jane saw that Shane’s Firebird was gone. It would have been a perfect opportunity to explore the woods and follow Shane’s footprints. But thanks to Clinton’s aggressive pursuit, Jane would have to pass up the opportunity and head back to town.

There was no point in trying to elude Clinton. Jane gave up any chance of keeping her local residence a secret as she turned into The Bonanza Cabins. Clinton hung back outside the property, closely eyeing Jane’s Mustang as she parked in front of the Hop Sing cabin. Checking her side mirror, Jane saw Clinton’s foreboding, black SUV semi-hidden in the line of trees on the main road. His red brake lights reflected against the wet pavement like a warning beacon. Jane knew that waiting him out was no use. He had her cornered. Her concern and calculated precautions regarding staying under Clinton’s radar were now painfully validated.

Jane grabbed her satchel, let out a frustrated sigh, and got out of the Mustang. She half expected to see Kit when she entered the cabin. But, instead, she was met with a semidarkened room soaked in the lingering, musty aroma of patchouli and piquant odors of Kit’s herbal cornucopia. Keeping the lights off, Jane charily peeked through the closed drapes. Clinton’s SUV was in the same spot, looking more like a baleful sentinel. Knowing the way Clinton liked to operate, Jane figured he was scrutinizing her every move with a trusted pair of high-powered binoculars. At this point, Jane realized how paranoid she had become. But then again, she recalled a saying her ex-partner at DH used to repeat: “Just because people call you paranoid does not mean other people aren’t out to get you.” Jane closed the drapes. Checking the bedside clock, she saw that it was a few minutes past three P.M. Given Kit’s tenuous health, Jane was surprised that she hadn’t returned from her mysterious journey. The weather became more inclement as the afternoon pressed into New Year’s Eve. Jane flopped onto her bed, splaying her arms to the sides. In doing so, she knocked a bag of herbs off the center table between the beds. She rolled over to recover the bag and her hand brushed the top of a paperback book. Turning on the bedside lamp, she found the local Oakhurst phone book face down on the floor and opened to a specific page. Jane turned the phone book upright. The page featured a variety of codes one could punch into the phone prior to or after making a call. Scanning the page, her eyes caught the word RESTRICTED.

“If you wish to block your name and number on a per call basis, dial *67 before you dial. The caller ID of the party you are calling will register ‘RESTRICTED’....”

Jane picked up the receiver of the cabin’s phone. She punched the REDIAL button to retrieve the last number dialed by Kit on their phone. A computer recorded voice replied, “I’m sorry, we were unable to determine the last number of the calling party....” While Jane was not certain, she seemed to recall that that specific recorded message was often triggered from calling a cell phone from a motel room. Her paranoia intensified.

Jane replayed the three instances where she received the Restricted message on her caller ID. Each time, she was alone and Kit had access to a phone. The woman’s voice on the other end whispered to hide her identity. Somewhere in the back of Jane’s mind, the voice felt familiar.
Very
familiar. A thicker layer of paranoia swept over Jane. She felt tangibly vulnerable. She also felt a surge of anger in her throat. Jane wanted to scream or beat the hell out of something or someone, but all she could do was wear a hard path across the carpet. She quickly turned off the bedside lamp, preferring the blanket of semi-darkness to hold her thoughts. The sun set quickly behind the far hills, cloaking the tiny cabin in a dusky shroud. Jane’s heart raced as her mind tripped over a cascade of possibilities to explain Kit’s behavior. At that moment, caught up in the daze of obsessed thoughts, all endpoints led to Kit using Jane for a nefarious purpose. Logic went out the window. The walls of the cabin closed in on her. This was what it felt like to be on the run and know that someone was out to get you. She was sure of it. Now her mind raced, one thought spiraling into another. Her thoughts turned to Clinton Fredericks—a known predator. The tension gained momentum. Jane crossed to the window, opened the drapes a half inch, and looked in the same spot where Clinton had parked. The fading light, accompanied by the streetlamps and the fact that Clinton drove a black SUV, complicated the search. From what she could see, Clinton was no longer parked in that spot. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hidden somewhere else in the recesses of the parking lot. After all, once the large media trucks returned for the night, it would be easy for Clinton to slip next to one of them and hide from view.

The surging suspicion reached levels that Jane had never experienced. Not in all her years of heavy drinking had she felt this exposed. She paced around the cabin, feeling like a trapped animal in a small, log cage. When she looked at the bedside clock, it was nearly five P.M. Paranoia makes time fly, she thought. Jane paced to the rear of the cabin by the bathroom. Suddenly, she heard the distinctive sound of Kit’s footsteps outside. The room was almost
completely dark. Jane considered it an advantage. Having the upper hand would give her the edge she needed.