Redemption (39 page)

“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 church?”

“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.

Jane stood back, feeling foolish. She turned, staring into the dense cluster of pine trees that cradled the back of the house. Her eyes dropped to the soggy soil and traced the outline of blurred footprints that led into the stand of trees. Jane followed the footprints, maneuvering her way around the low-hanging branches, laden with heavy droplets of moisture and threads of sap. Moving another twenty feet, Jane detected a distinct stench. Her heart pounded as she followed the footprints deeper into the stand of trees. The nauseating odor was familiar. It was the smell of a dead body. Instinctively, Jane moved her right hand to her Glock. The fetid aroma grew more intense. She turned to her right and saw nothing. Turning to her left, her eyes caught the glint of a metal shovel handle. As Jane moved closer, the stench turned from putrid to downright nauseating. Directly in front of the shovel, Jane noted a freshly dug grave, approximately four feet long. A heap of pine needles lay over the grave in what looked like an attempt to hide the burial place. The wind sent a hard, gushing current through the conifers. An uneasy chill raced up Jane’s spine as she grabbed the shovel and started digging. But the muddy ground made the dig more difficult. Each scoop of water-soaked dirt felt as though it weighed 100 pounds. Jane punched the ground with the shovel and persevered. Five minutes passed and she’d only managed to remove less than four inches of ground. But the stench grew more intense, signaling that she wasn’t far from hitting the body.

Suddenly, her cell phone rang, startling Jane. She stabbed the shovel in the ground and checked the number. It was local. “Hello?” Jane said, breathlessly.

“Jane!” Kit replied in an equally breathless and nervous manner. “I went back in and she was gone. I looked everywhere! Finally, I went outside and she was getting in her car and leaving. She turned right, heading toward the house. But I couldn’t use the damn pay phone until now. Some kid was talking to his girlfriend—”