Redemption (56 page)

She raced around the Mustang, eyeing the Buick, and then scanned the immediate area. A stone-cold stillness descended over the landscape. The only sound was Jane’s pounding heart and rapid breathing. She spotted a footpath that led down into a thick stand of pine trees. Jane pulled out her Glock and steadily made her way down the slippery trail. The silence was heavy and held a tortured tremor. Two hundred feet in front of her, Jane spotted a cabin. She sprinted off the footpath and into the woods in order to make a stealth approach to the cabin. Coming up on the side window, Jane peered into the place. She saw nothing. Racing around to the front door, she held the Glock forward and kicked in the weather-beaten door. Inside, Jane spun around the large room lined with bunk beds. Nobody.

She ran outside, searching the dark woods for the other two cabins. Her gut twisted as a pervading sense of death hung in the air. Suddenly, the trees swayed slightly in the wind, allowing a splinter of sunshine to touch the forest floor. It was just enough to shine a spark of light against a metal stovepipe that sat atop a cabin roof. Jane headed toward the cabin at full speed, sliding across wet, matted pine needles. As she neared the tiny bungalow, she could see the front door swung open. A cold chill darted down her spine. Jane moved to the edge of the front door and then rotated into the cabin, Glock extended. The stench quickly gripped her senses. It was the fetid smell of sweat, blood, vomit, shit, and piss merging together. The main room held three single beds, a wood stove, and small table. It was typical camp counselor lodging. Visually
inspecting the room, nothing seemed amiss. But the stench grew stronger the closer Jane crept to the far corner, where a door stood slightly ajar. With Glock outstretched and holding her breath, Jane inched open the door with the toe of her boot.

A narrow, cedar-walled closet stretched in front of Jane. Dangling from a chain, a dusty light bulb dimly illuminated the psychotic scene. Dried vomit crusted the corners of the closet while urine soaked the floorboards. Streaks of blood and feces spattered across a bedsheet bunched in the center of the closet. Next to it lay discarded pieces of duct tape and cut strands of twine. The infamous red leather jacket lay in a shredded clump, presumably for the child to use as a pillow. Taped across the main wall were the remains of the mysterious missing newspaper sections. Their significance quickly made sense to Jane. Lou had clipped the strings of words he wanted from each headline. YOU CAN SAVE YOURSELF and YOU MAY REDEEM YOUR SELF were taped low on the wall, eye level for someone prone on the floor. The word “sing” was shortened to “sin” in the banner that read, SIN! SIN! SIN! IT’S ALL YOU WANT TO DO. A slender mirror hung on the inside of the closet door. Taped along the side was the headline, WHAT WILL YOU SEE WHEN YOU LOOK IN THE MIRROR THE NEXT TIME? As expected, Jane spotted the newspaper photo of Charlotte from her Christmas pageant pinned to the opposite wall.

She spied the same black backpack she had found in Lou’s locker at the Motor Lodge and dumped the contents onto the cabin floor. Two hunting knives slammed against the wooden planks, along with a full roll of twine, duct tape, and an orange plastic prescription bottle. Jane picked up the bottle. The prescription was made out to Rachel Hartly and the drug was Ambien. Patterns, Jane thought to herself. He was recreating what he did to Ashlee.

“The lake,” she whispered. No sooner did Jane take a step around the cabin than she heard Kit’s screaming voice echo across the valley.

“Stop!”
Kit wailed.

Jane reeled toward the sound of Kit’s terrified scream. She tore through the slick woods, her heart pounding in fear. Breaking through the dense forest, Jane emerged into a shallow valley that gently sloped toward the glistening lake. The scene 200 feet in front of her momentarily halted her movement. Kit stood at the rim of the lake. Lou, naked except for a loincloth, hovered with a hunting knife over Charlotte’s nude, unconscious body, which he’d placed faceup over a large rock outcropping in the shallow end of the lake. The brunette wig sat askew on Charlotte’s head. Lou’s countenance was driven, and yet disconcerted by Kit’s appearance.

“Lou, don’t do it!” Kit screamed.

“I know not of whom you speak, woman!” he yelled back.

Jane aimed the Glock at Lou’s head. But given the distance, pulling the trigger was a dicey proposition. “Let her go!” Jane bellowed.

Kit spun around, stunned. Lou scooped Charlotte into his arms and, still clutching the knife in his right hand, moved backward toward the deeper water. “My Judas has appeared, Lord!”

“Lou, stop!” Kit demanded as she slogged into the chilling lake.

“Kit!” Jane screamed, running to the edge of the lake. “Stay away from him!”

Lou lifted Charlotte over his head. Her limp arms dangled across his crazed face. “My lamb will be sacrificed and we will be resurrected in my Kingdom together!”

Jane lowered the Glock to Lou’s head, but Charlotte’s torso and arms prevented a clean shot. “Kit!” Jane screamed, “Get back!”

Kit continued to trudge through the frigid water toward Lou. “Lou! It’s me!
Kit!
” Lou’s maniacal eyes stared at Kit. A split second of clarity bled through the madness. “Don’t do to her what you did to my Ashlee! I forgive you, Lou! But the world won’t!” In that moment, he briefly came back into himself and lowered the child’s body from above his head. “Let this child go, Lou! Give her
to me!” Kit stood within five feet of Lou, her arms outstretched.
“Give her to me!”

Jane trained the Glock on Lou, taking measured steps into the lake. There was a tenuous pause between Kit and Lou. And then, the blink of clarity dissolved and the darkness descended once again.

“Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?” Lou bellowed into the wind. Suddenly, a cascade of small rocks tumbled down the slope behind Jane. She turned for only a second toward the sound.
“It is finished!”
Lou screamed.

Jane reeled back around just as Lou plunged Charlotte into the water and thrust the knife with deadly aim toward Kit’s heart. Kit staggered several feet, falling backward into the icy water.

“No!” Jane screamed and fired off a round into Lou. He let out a bloodcurdling cry as he grabbed his bleeding side and thrashed through the lake to the shore. Charlotte surfaced, floating slowly on her back toward the deeper end of the lake. Jane ran to Kit. Her grey face was just above the lapping water; her eyes heavy as they stared skyward. “Kit!” Jane screamed, holstering her Glock and dragging her onto a bed of pebbles.

“Save her,” Kit whispered, a gurgle of death rattling in her throat.

Jane threw her jacket onto the rocks and strode toward Charlotte’s floating body. Lou collapsed on the ground, writhing in agony as blood gushed from his bullet wound. Jane reached Charlotte just before her porcelain face sunk into the chest-high water. Lou’s painful wails echoed across the valley as Jane carried Charlotte to shore. She covered the child with her jacket and checked for vital signs. “Charlotte? Can you hear me?”

The child turned her head slightly and whispered, “Mommy?”

Lou let out another scream of agony as he staggered back onto his feet. “Forgive them Father!” Lou howled. “They know not what they do!”

Jane spun around, rage seeping from her pores. She made sure Charlotte was secure before she pulled out her Glock and headed
the few yards to where Lou teetered upright against the sand and rock. Pointing the gun at his head, she screamed, “You want to feel pain, motherfucker?”

He looked at Jane, his eyes half open. “Do it,” he whispered.

Jane slammed the butt of the gun against Lou’s forehead. “I’m not afraid to kill you!”

The insanity suddenly drained from Lou’s face. In its place, torment and anguish lay etched. “Please...
make it stop
,” he gasped, “
kill me
.”

Jane stared into Lou’s desperate eyes. “Dying is what you want,” Jane said, “so I’ll let you live.”

Lou’s eyes rolled back into his head as he grabbed his bleeding wound and, falling unconscious, collapsed backward onto the rocks.

Jane holstered the Glock and darted back to Kit, kneeling next to her soaked body. The hunting knife was lodged too deeply in her chest for Jane to remove it. She grabbed Kit’s hand, holding it tightly. “Kit, I—”

“Charlotte....” she whispered.

“She’s fine. She’s drugged but she’s alive.”

A victorious smile swept across Kit’s ashen face. “Good....”

Jane leaned closer to Kit. “Why did you take off?”

“You’ll understand....”

“I’ll understand?”

“Soon....” Kit’s voice drifted, “you’ll understand.” She turned her head, focusing on the knife handle.

Jane felt a wave of helplessness overcome her. “I can’t pull it out, Kit. It’s in your heart.”

“Aah,” Kit said, weakly arching an eyebrow. “That’s a supreme metaphor....”

Jane wasn’t giving up. “I dialed 911. Help should be here any second.”

Kit managed a feeble smile. “Suddenly you’re an optimist?”

Jane grabbed Kit’s hand. “Hold on, Kit.”

“It’s okay, Jane. It’s...what I....” Kit moaned. Her eyes glazed over briefly as she tried to focus on Jane’s face. “I....” She rolled her head to the other side and fixated on a face. Her eyes brightened as she held her hand outward. Jane knew the look. She stared into the void and saw nothing. But she could feel her presence. She was kneeling beside her grandmother and holding her hand, waiting to catch her spirit and take it home. “I’m ready,” she whispered before she took her final breath and passed between the shadows and into the light.

Jane rested her head on Kit’s chest and felt the life slip from her body. As much as she wanted to grieve her death, the grace of that last moment was too profound.

Charlotte let out a shallow cry. Jane crawled to the child, drawing her onto her lap and covering her tightly with the jacket. The sound of police sirens blared in the distance, converging on the lake. Jane shielded Charlotte’s face from the penetrating sun and stared into the distant sky. The sirens grew louder as a solitary red-tailed hawk circled above their heads.

 

 

For Jane, the next few days fell like lead around her heart. Sergeant Weyler offered to come out and assist, but Jane declined his offer, preferring to get the formalities over with and leave. She carried on professionally, debriefing the FBI and Sheriff Golden on her involvement with the case; she turned over all the evidence she had that linked Lou Peters to Ashlee’s murder.

However, a dull ache had gradually engulfed her senses. After the reward fund was awarded to Jane, she quietly gave the money to Mary Bartosh. The act did nothing to buoy her flagging spirit.

It didn’t feel like a conquest to her when she successfully barred Clinton from capitalizing on Charlotte’s story and exposed him as a corrupt opportunist.

When Trace Fagin walked free into the arms of his wife and children, the moment was short of victorious.

When she passed Shane Golden on the street with his father and realized that the boy had no intention of ever telling anyone of his relationship with Charlotte, she regarded him with an inert expression.

As the final pieces of the puzzle started to fit—the connection between Lou stealing the Valium from Genevieve’s purse fourteen years prior and repeating the same theft of Rachel’s sleeping pills—the realizations lacked profound impact for Jane. When it was firmly established that Rachel Hartly’s only crime was suffering the same blindness as her mentor, Jane didn’t feel a need to contact Rachel and strong-arm her into compunction.

As for Dr. John Bartosh, it didn’t take investigators long to link him with Lou Peters. The news media grabbed onto the story like a leech. Satellite trucks from every cable news station lined up in front of his house in Grand Junction, monitoring each move he made and turning his controlled life into a living hell. The story was just too good. “Respected head of Christian Congregation linked to murderer and child rapist.” It was guilt by association for Bartosh as news programs encouraged the public to call in their votes on whether Bartosh should be liable and face prison for his ignorance. As the months unraveled, Bartosh would eventually escape time behind bars. But his reputation would be burned forever.

As for Lou Peters, he would stand trial for the murder of Kit Clark and her granddaughter as well as the kidnapping, rape, torture, and imprisonment of Charlotte Walker. With her testimony and indisputable evidence, Jane would make sure that Lou would never see the outside of a prison wall again.

But that was all to come. As she wrapped up the loose ends before leaving Oakhurst, she couldn’t shake off the deadness she felt inside her heart. It was as if Jane’s entire soul had been stripped bare and all that remained was a raw, blank canvas. She made final arrangements to have Kit’s body cremated and the remains sent to her. On January 9, Jane packed Kit’s possessions into her
trunk and headed out of town. But there was one stop she had to make before she left.

 

 

Jane considered it an obligation that she’d rather forego. She’d received the handwritten message that Charlotte wanted to talk to her in person. From Jane’s observations of Charlotte in the infamous birthday video, she surmised that the girl usually got what she wanted.

Jenny Walker greeted Jane at the door with an effusive hug and teary welcome. The living room of the Walker house was filled with flowers and colorful foil balloons that sported WELCOME HOME, CHARLOTTE! messages. To Jane, it seemed odd. From what she knew the girl had gone through, the celebratory atmosphere felt irreverent.

“Charlotte’s in her bedroom,” Jenny offered in a breathy, nervous voice. It was clear that the woman was in awe of Jane and the vaunted reputation that followed her. For Jane, it made the whole visit that much more uncomfortable. After offering Jane an array of beverages and Jane settling on coffee, Jenny rapidly reported their plans. “Charlotte wants to be homeschooled, at least for this year.” Jane privately wondered why a social butterfly would opt for such an austere educational option. “But the doctors want to give her another month or so to decompress before we launch into any of that.” Jane nodded politely and took a sip of coffee, knowing full well the decompression would take a helluva lot longer than a couple months. “And we’ve made another decision,” Jenny declared with anxious enthusiasm. “We’re going to church every Sunday from now on!”