Redemption (11 page)

Sorting through additional pages, Jane ran across a page titled, WITNESS STATEMENT. It seemed that there was a lone witness—a Mr. Bruce Zatkin—who reported in great detail to investigators what he saw. The sixty-three-year-old retired civil engineer was camping in Pico Blanco with his wife for the week of June 16 to June 23, 1990. Their campsite happened to be less than half a mile from where Ashlee was held in the abandoned cabin. Under oath, Zatkin swore he observed Lou Peters on six separate occasions during that eight day period walking alone on an unused trail, carrying what appeared to be small bags of food. Zatkin later testified that each time he saw Lou, his gait was “deliberate” and always in the direction of the cabin’s location or away from it. “I didn’t think much of it the first couple times I saw the guy,” Zatkin wrote in his declaration, “but then it just seemed strange. It looked like suspicious behavior....” As Jane read the detailed transcript, she wondered why Zatkin didn’t follow Lou if he thought there was reason to be concerned. Apparently, the investigator wondered the same thing and inquired about it. “Hey, I don’t want people bothering me,” Zatkin said, “and I don’t bother them. If I’d known what was going on with that little girl, I’d have contacted the authorities immediately....” Jane read between the lines of Zatkin’s statements. Here was a fellow who was obviously devastated that he could have possibly prevented Ashlee’s grisly murder. The transcript made it clear that Zatkin thoughtfully made many mental notes on Lou’s comings and goings and was more than
happy to share his information and impressions with investigators. So what happened at the trial with Zatkin? Jane dug through the files in search of anything that would answer that question. She came up empty-handed. Did he fold? Did he refuse to testify? Did he change his story? The prosecutors had a mature, respectable, highly observant lone witness who was obviously not a flake. That’s gold to a prosecuting attorney. What happened?

The more she read, the more questions she had and the more she wished she could talk one-on-one with Detective Sawyer. Jane leaned back in her chair to stretch her back. In doing so, she knocked her hand against another file. A white, legal-sized envelope fell out of the file and caught Jane’s eye. The word BARTOSH was written across the outside in an enraged cursive twist. Clearly, Kit was either irritated at something else when she labeled the envelope or she was taking out her ire on whoever Bartosh was. Jane opened the envelope and removed all the contents. After several minutes, it became clear that Bartosh was Dr. John Bartosh, the appointed defense expert that Kit had angrily alluded to during her initial office visit. The now sixty-five-year-old had, until recently, lived in the Big Sur area. He had been there since the early 1970’s with his wife, Ingrid. From what Jane could gather, this psychologist and doctor of theology had experienced a hardcore spiritual awakening in 1973 that lead him to practice a strict form of Christian Fundamentalism. At age thirty-three, he started a fundamentalist church in Big Sur called “The Lamb of God Congregation” which was determined to counter and destroy what Bartosh labeled the “free love and drug culture” of Big Sur during that time. He quickly emerged as an outspoken leader in what he referred to as his “personal crusade against secular society and the destructive power that society has on young people.”

Jane had to wince at some of Bartosh’s narrow beliefs: a woman’s place was in the home, a wife must do what her husband tells her as if “God himself was speaking through him,” sexuality between a husband and wife was for procreation only, God was a vengeful God bent on judgment and destruction of
sinners, pubescent boys and girls were easily tempted and had to be sheltered from anything “worldly,” girls and women needed to be modest in
all
forms of their behavior and dress.... Jane’s head was spinning as she read one archaic, narrow-minded idea after another. It was hard to fathom that this kind of man was described as “charismatic” by his followers and was happily accepted into the Northern California community as someone who could “kick the Devil out of town.”

There was one reference after another to the way Bartosh decoded the Bible’s teachings and most of them were, in Jane’s opinion, too literal. Much of that literal translation had to do with raising children in a loving, yet strict, fear-centered existence that taught them to trust the church and detest the secular world. Jane read an example of Bartosh’s extremely literal teaching: “In Proverbs 22:15 we are told: ‘Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the
rod
of correction shall drive it far from him.’ When punishing your child, you must
only
use a rod. A rod is the Biblical form of chastisement that our Lord speaks of and freely encourages. Explain the use of the rod to your child and he/she will come to accept that God is speaking through the rod. Always pray with your child after chastisement and compel him/her to tell God that he/she is sorry for sinning against Him. Seeking God’s mercy will bring him/her closer to our Lord.” Jane took a long drag on her cigarette to digest that little gem. After being on the receiving end of a lot of rods, belts, and sundry implements as a child and teenager, Jane knew that if someone told her God was speaking through them, she would have quickly become an atheist. “Always pray with your child after chastisement and compel him/her to tell God that he/she is sorry for sinning against Him. Seeking God’s mercy will bring him/her closer to our Lord,” Jane reread. Was that mercy for the child or the parent, she wondered?

Jane resumed reading and discovered that, amazingly, one family after another joined Bartosh’s church, determined to protect their children from the evils of the Cultural Revolution. He became a trusted counselor whose advice was followed without
question. Jane gleaned from the pages of information that Bartosh’s main conviction was that the Devil had a tight grasp on every individual, and that led to Sin with a capital “S.” She had to smile at some of Bartosh’s ideas. One idea, in particular, professed that a young girl in her early teens must guard her thoughts every hour of the day. If she allowed herself to entertain the notion of what a boy’s lips would feel like on her cheek, there was no telling where that illicit thought could lead. As Jane continued to read, she noted a recurring theme:
Fear.
The Devil was to be feared. One’s thoughts were to be feared. The possible
results
of one’s thoughts should definitely be feared. Youths didn’t feel
enough
fear and needed to actively generate more fear to save their souls. And, of course, sex was dirty.

It was truly mind-boggling, Jane decided, that this self-appointed moral authority was respected enough to be repeatedly called upon to offer opinions in child development. At some point, Jane deduced that Bartosh’s polished Christian celebrity attracted the eye of law enforcement. In turn, they began utilizing his supposed knowledge and effectively marketed him as an expert witness in cases where the clinical judgment of a psychologist was needed. For all Jane knew, some of the officials may have been good Christians of other less rigid churches who assumed Bartosh was a trustworthy man whose unblemished reputation could provide valuable insight into the behavior of the criminal mind. “Sure. Why not?” Jane surmised. It was identical to the way the media sucked on to someone with a high-profile name or pertinent occupation during a child abduction case and allowed that individual to hold court on TV, even though that person was only offering general hypotheses that often generate no new ideas on how to find the missing kid. It was smoke and mirrors, but it worked every time. It looked as if Bartosh had perfected that magic act all the way to the Lou Peters trial.

Jane discovered that Dr. Bartosh had met Lou in the late 1980’s. Lou joined The Lamb of God Congregation after his mother abandoned him and he spent nearly all of his fifteenth
year on the street. Lou was welcomed with open arms by the church members, who Bartosh commented in court testimony, “adopted Lou as their own.” For over two years, Lou lived in the various homes of “Council” members on a rotating basis. Even Bartosh and Ingrid invited Lou to stay with them. From reading Bartosh’s account, Lou was “a strapping young man with a deep devotion to God and a keen sense of high morality.” Bartosh was clearly taken by Lou’s enigmatic quality and happily encouraged him to spread the word of the Lord to the church and beyond. Curiously, by Bartosh’s own admission, Lou’s engaging personality and handsome face proved to be a winning combination when it came to drawing young people to the church. In one document, a detective had underlined the following sentence, attributed to Dr. John Bartosh: “Lou Peters helped the church recruit more teenage girls than in all the years previous to his affiliation with the institution. He’s been sent from God.”

There was a minor notation buried in the sheets of court papers that made reference to Bartosh being aware of Lou’s abusive childhood. One line stood out to Jane: “Lou’s morally-destructive childhood is a clear example of how wantonness and sexuality destroys the fabric of one’s soul and how God can lead one back to His arms.” It became clearer to Jane that Dr. Bartosh believed he had found the ultimate Christian poster boy for his church in the form of Lou Peters. Here was a young, enthusiastic, pied piper for God who was a walking, breathing model of someone who had been exposed to the most corrupt sin imaginable but was saved by his faith in God.

Fast forward to one year ago, when Lou’s attorneys brought his case back in front of a judge to appeal his conviction and request a new trial. When the DNA on the condom found next to Ashlee’s body—the one piece of evidence that swayed the jury to convict—was clearly proven to
not
belong to Lou Peters, the thirty-three-year-old’s luck changed. Dr. Bartosh’s stanch belief in Lou became a defining factor in a case weak on other concrete scientific connections and blood evidence. The last few papers in the pile
illustrated Bartosh’s unwavering belief of Lou’s innocence, which may have given the judge the crucial validation he needed to release Lou on bond while he awaited a new trial. Kit’s handwritten notes on yellow legal pads alluded to the fact that Bartosh—now living in Grand Junction, Colorado, where he was building an extension of The Lamb of God Congregation—had monthly visits with Lou in prison, where he acted as an “advisor, pastor, and motivator for Jesus.” Motivator for Jesus? Jane thought that was an odd choice of words for Bartosh to use in court.

By the time Jane finished reading and gathered together everything she needed for the trip, it was nearly four in the morning. She was just about to light her tenth cigarette of the night when Jane heard the familiar
thump
of the
Denver Post
knocking against the front door. Clenching the cigarette in the corner of her mouth, she opened the front door to retrieve the paper. Staring back at her from the top of the fold was none other than
Sergeant
Kenny Stephens. There he was with his cocky grin and his muscular build standing in front of the cocaine-laden table at the press conference. Jane felt an angry edge creep up on her. Her eye then caught the name of one of her FBI contacts who was quoted in the second above-the-fold headlining story. “We’ve been asked to be part of the Charlotte Walker team and we will use every tool at our disposal to bring this little girl back to her family,” Jane read.

She looked back at Kenny Stephens’s self-important moniker and slammed the paper onto the nearest chair. Suddenly, all those fears about being part of the Walker case and how it might ruin her reputation dissolved into the background. Within minutes, that familiar fire began to burn in Jane Perry’s belly.

CHAPTER 8

DECEMBER 29

It was only a fifteen-minute morning run, but Jane was at least able to get her heart racing and knock the cobwebs out of her head before picking up Kit. After a quick shower, she slipped into a form-fitting pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved crimson shirt. A scuffed pair of black western boots and her black leather jacket completed the look. Patting her left jeans pocket and finding it empty, Jane picked up her pants from the night before and withdrew her three sobriety chips and the snakestone. Rolling her eyes sarcastically at the stone, she buried it along with the chips in her pocket. Catching her reflection in the bedroom mirror, Jane stopped to examine her injured face. She found it amazing that only two days ago she had sported visible signs of getting smacked in The Red Tail Hawk Bar. And now, save for the slight line of a cut lip and some insignificant surface bruising around her eye, the effects of the fight had almost vanished.

Jane eyed her bedroom for the bottle of Arnica, locating it on the nightstand. She collected it and stuffed it into her jacket pocket, brushing her hand against the short-cropped blond wig she had shoved into the same pocket when she returned from the bar. Jane flung the wig on her unmade bed and started to walk away when she reconsidered. One never knew when a wig could come in handy during an investigation.

As was customary when she left on a trip, Jane phoned her brother, Mike, to let him know she’d be gone for ten days and to ask him to bring in her mail and newspapers. His tired, obviously half-asleep voice assured her that he’d follow through. Jane noticed the blinking red light on her answering machine. Hitting the PLAY button, she heard Sergeant Weyler’s voice. This time, however, it
wasn’t punctuated with urgency or irritation. If anything, Weyler sounded fed up.

“Hello, Jane. Sergeant Weyler calling.
Again
. I can appreciate that you don’t want to talk to me based upon the headlining story in today’s
Post
and on last night’s evening news. Fine. Understood. I know perfectly well that your inside work played a major role in the drug bust. If anyone should have been paraded in front of those cameras, it should have been you and not that damned snake.” Jane’s ears perked up at the word, “snake.” She’d never heard Weyler use that terminology before now. “Be that as it may, here’s my question: Would you please reconsider my offer and return with the upgrade of
sergeant
to DH? You’d be doing me—” With that, the machine cut off Weyler with a piercing beep.