Redemption (45 page)

“
Damn straight
! Charlotte told her mom she was going early Christmas shopping on Friday. I picked her up at the usual spot, but she just wanted to hang here. I moved my car off the road so nobody could see us. We talked, made out for awhile, drank beer.” His anxiety peaked. “Jesus, I got her drunk! I got a
twelve-year-old
drunk!”

“You didn’t force it down her throat—”

“Well, she got wasted and she didn’t want to go home and have her mom smell the booze. She asked if she could just stay with me the rest of the night. I was cool with it. We slept in my car—
just slept
. Next morning, we went for a walk and that’s when she lost her bracelet. The clasp came loose. We looked all over but we couldn’t find it.”

“So when Charlotte went missing for thirty-six hours, she was with you?”

“Yeah,” Shane said with a sense of shame.

Jane took a good drag. “You said you had blood on your hands. Why?”

Shane grimaced. “We arranged to meet here on Christmas Day, but....”

“But what?”

“I was goin’ through the newspaper that morning and I saw a photo of the kids from the grammar school Christmas pageant. There was Charlotte, dressed up in her costume, playing the Mother of Jesus in the play. The caption read, ‘Charlotte Walker, twelve years old,’” Shane said, slightly disgusted. He buried his head in his hands. “Shit! My world collapsed around me. That’s fucking illegal! I freaked!

“What would people think—” Jane asked rhetorically.

“Exactly!”
Shane began to pace again.

“But you didn’t have the guts to face her.”

Shane spun around. “I didn’t know what to say to her!”

“So you left her waiting on the side of the highway on Christmas Day.”

“Yeah,” Shane’s voice choked up. “Next day, it’s all over the place. Charlotte went missing. Then the TV’s got it and it was just too much.”

Jane took a moment of thoughtful contemplation. “I know how you can redeem yourself, Shane.”

The boy slightly perked up. “How?”

Jane stood up. “Tell your dad everything you know.”

“
Are you crazy
?”

“You could save Charlotte’s life!”

“Charlotte’s dead.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Statistics! I heard my dad talking about it on the phone. Most missing kids are killed by their captors within the first forty-eight hours.
She’s dead.
”

“You
want
her to be dead?” Jane ire was clearly sparked. “Would that make it easier for you in the end?”

“No, I—”

“You can drag your sorry ass down to USC, do what your daddy wants and hope that one day you can drink her memory away.” Shane looked like a trapped rabbit. “That’s how you’ve learned to live because you don’t have any guts, right?”

“Maybe—”

“You can’t bullshit another drunk!” Shane was taken aback by Jane’s pronouncement. “You’re trying to drown out your dad’s voice. But it doesn’t matter how much you drink. He
still
finds a way to needle his way into your head. And
trust me
, Shane, you can drink a fuckin’ keg and you’ll never get his voice out of your head.”

“How do I do it?”

Jane flicked her dying cigarette on the ground, snuffing the ember into the dirt. “You gather up your guts and you talk to him. It doesn’t matter what he says or what he thinks of you. You’re doing this for
you
. You’re doing this so you don’t waste twenty years drowning him out in booze.” Jane realized the irony of her own advice.

“I don’t know.” Shane paced back and forth. “He just wants the best for me. Maybe I should just go along with what he wants. I made a mistake. I should never have liked Charlotte—”

“You didn’t like her, Shane. You
loved
her.”

Shane stared at Jane and broke into tears. “I
did
,” he murmured though his sobs.

“Help me find her.”

“I don’t know where she is!”

“If you tell your dad everything, then he can stop focusing his investigation on a guy who innocently picked up a bracelet—”

“No!” Shane’s face clouded with panic. “I am not telling my dad anything! And if
you
tell him, I
will
kill myself and it’ll be on
your
head!” Shane stared down Jane with a fierce, impenetrable stance.

“So your reputation is more important than someone else’s life?”

“
All I got is my reputation!
My future is locked in if I keep my mouth shut.”

Jane looked at Shane. He was frighteningly ignorant of how guilt works its way into one’s marrow and corrupts one’s future happiness. Standing there in that clearing, Jane felt as if she were watching a human train wreck. She knew he would kill himself if she leaked his information to the sheriff, and she wasn’t willing to have another suicide victim to mourn. The one she loved so long ago still haunted her. “Okay, Shane. I won’t say a word. But you gotta help me. Does the name Lou Peters ring a bell?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re positive you never heard Charlotte talk about a guy named
Lou Peters
?”

“I’m positive. Who is he?”

“He’s this good-looking guy who lives around here. People say he looks like Brad Pitt. Drives a baby blue motorcycle. He has a history of picking up girls who are...
magnetic
.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “You think he took Charlotte?”

“I don’t know.” Jane pulled a pen from her pocket and crossed to Shane. “If you think of anything, here’s my cell number.” She wrote the number on the palm of his hand and looked at him. He stared behind her with a gaze of abject horror. Jane turned. Crouched fifty feet away in the stand of scrub oaks was Clinton. Next to him was his cameraman recording the entire scene. Jane turned to Shane and whispered. “Go hide in the bushes!” Shane immediately did as he was told.

Clinton emerged from the stand of oaks. The cameraman followed, never moving the camera off Jane. It was all she could do to not rip him a new one as she rapidly walked toward him. “Give me the fucking tape, asshole!”

The cameraman continued filming, smiling at Jane’s feverish reaction. Clinton leisurely pulled a plastic water bottle from the deep pockets of his camouflage pants and swallowed a refreshing
slug. “Hey, cool your jets, Jane!” Clinton said in a singsong manner. “We didn’t see anything. Just you talking to the kid for two minutes. And writing on his hand. He’s kind of young for you, isn’t he?”

Jane slapped her hand against the lens, forcing the cameraman to stop filming.
“Give me the fucking tape!”

Clinton rested his water bottle on the ground. “Jane, let’s talk about this—”

Jane withdrew her Glock and pressed the butt dead center against the cameraman’s forehead. “Shut up, Clinton! Give me the fucking tape!”

“Jesus Christ!” The cameraman’s smirk dissolved into fright. “Here!” He fumbled with the camera until he ejected the tape.

Jane snapped it from his hands and threw it on the ground. Keeping the Glock pressed to his skull, she smashed the tape with her boot heel. “Give me your press pass.”

Clinton kept a cool eye on Jane as the cameraman nervously searched through his pockets before locating the plastic card and handing it to Jane. He was a freelancer for the
Fresno Bee.
She glanced at his name. “
Buddy
, is it? Let me tell you, Buddy,” Jane said, tightening her body against him while keeping the Glock hard on his flesh, “if you tell anybody what you saw out here, I’ll make sure you never work again.”

“You can’t do that,” Buddy said in a weak show of bravado.

“Isn’t it hard to be a cameraman if you’re missing a foot?” Jane countered.

“I’m not missing a foot.”

“You will be when I track you down and shoot the fucker off!”

The color drained out of Buddy’s face. His eyes turned to Clinton. “Is she serious?”

Jane kept her eyes on Buddy but casually aimed the gun on the dirt next to Clinton. She fired one shot and blew his water bottle into the air, spraying a stream of water over Clinton’s pants. Jane pressed the Glock back against Buddy’s forehead. “I’ve got a perfect aim, Buddy.” Jane let her action sink in before standing back,
still training her Glock on both the men. “That goes for you, too, Clinton. Now, walk back to your car and get the fuck outta here.”

Buddy took off but Clinton remained in place. “Man, Jane, that was raw!” He exclaimed with an oblivious sense of the moment. “You are
so
fuckin’ real!” Clinton spun around and followed Buddy.

Jane waited until she heard their vehicle drive away before holstering her gun and collecting the shattered videotape. “All clear, Shane!”

Shane cautiously crept from behind the stand of oaks. “They got me on
tape
,” he said, hyperventilating.

“And I’ve got what’s left of it,” she said, holding up the pieces of plastic.

“But they can put two and two together, who my dad is—”

“Stop it! They don’t know the connection. Besides, I think I sufficiently scared the shit out of Buddy.” She stuffed Buddy’s press pass into her jacket pocket. “He’s not gonna talk. At least not now.”

Shane gave a thoughtful pause. “Would you
really
shoot off his foot?” he said in a confidential tone, intrigued.

Jane eyed Shane with the best cop look she could muster. “If I find out he leaked a word about you and me out here, I’ll shoot off his foot and deliver it to your doorstep in a gift-wrapped box.” Shane’s eyebrows arched. Jane pulled Shane’s revolver from her jacket pocket. “I’m giving this back to you because I gave you my word that I won’t tell anyone about what happened here. You gotta give me your word that you’re not gonna use this on yourself. Agreed?” Shane nodded and took the .38. “Are you okay to drive?”

“I think the conversation sobered me up.”

“Go home. Take a deep breath and a hot shower. And call me any time, day or night, if you think of something else that you forgot to tell me.

Shane nodded and started to head out of the woods. He stopped and turned to Jane, tears welling in his eyes. “You really think Charlotte’s still alive?”

“She’s alive, Shane. And I’m gonna bring her home.” Shane let out a relieved sigh and walked back to his Firebird. Jane stared into the overcast sky.

“Please God, don’t make me a liar.”

CHAPTER 29

It took Jane thirty minutes to speed back to Oakhurst, but it took her less than five minutes to devise a plan of attack. The scheme didn’t exactly have what she’d call
flow
since each step depended upon a lot of “what-ifs?” But with four days looming until her self-imposed deadline of January 5, Jane knew she had to crank up the intensity of her investigation. However, with the likes of Clinton Fredericks hanging around, Jane also knew that she needed help if she was going to pull off her complicated plan. With that in mind, Jane ducked into The Circle 9 Diner and placed an order. While she waited, she looked up the address of the Shell station where Lou had purchased fuel and furnished the receipt to the Sheriff. The location was fifty miles north on Highway 41.

Jane returned to the cabin to find Kit propped up in bed, the piece of jade resting on her forehead.
The Congregation Chronicle
newsletters were spread out across her bedspread, as were the sundry clippings from
The Sierra Star
newspaper. A steaming brew of foul-smelling herbal tea sat on the bedside table while a tape of discordant sounds played on Kit’s recorder.

“What the hell is that?” Jane asked, setting down one large plastic bag after another on her bed.

“Whales. Their voices are thought to be soothing.” Kit stared in puzzlement at the large number of plastic bags.

“Soothing?” The cacophonous timbre suddenly rose with a jarring underwater scream. “Jesus! What are they doing? Fucking?” Kit regarded Jane’s comment with a look of admonishment. “Spare me the schoolteacher look. Turn off the tape. We’ve got to talk.” Kit clicked off the tape as Jane sat on her bed. “I saw Lou.”

Kit’s mouth dropped open. “At Hartly’s house?”

“No. On the main drag.” Jane proceeded to give Kit a blow-by-blow account of the morning’s pursuit and how Clinton trailed her.

When Jane finished, Kit sat up straighter in bed, allowing the jade to drop off her forehead. “You have to go back!”

“I know. I’m not sure where he went. Maybe he works up there. You said he did maintenance jobs?”

“Yes.”

“We have to assume he’s still doing that. Perps usually don’t change the kind of work they do when they get out.”

“You can’t stop at every lodge between here and Yosemite.”

“No. But I can ask around at places where I know he’s been.” Jane revealed the copy of Lou’s receipts that Weyler had faxed her. Kit appeared genuinely impressed by Weyler’s adroit ability to gather information. “But I need your help to do it.” Kit’s eyes danced with eagerness as Jane explained her plan in detail. “Think you can handle it?”

“Of course. I’ll do whatever I have to do. But I don’t have the strength today—”

“I’m five steps ahead of you,” Jane said, standing up and unloading the plastic bags. “I’ve got two different kinds of chicken, four cartons of beef stew, a half pound of hash browns.... Fish. You like fish, right? I got you salmon with mustard sauce.... Salad. And
no iceberg lettuce
. I made a point of that. All romaine, with little radishes and tomatoes.
And
I made them put tons of orange slices in there to jack up your vitamin C. You like noodles?” Jane turned to find Kit staring at her with a sweet smile.

“Thank you,” Kit quietly said. “We’re okay again, you and I, huh?”

“We’re okay,” Jane replied, feeling an unexpected catch of emotion. “You can live a lot longer than the doctors told you. You just got to take care of yourself—”

“You’re afraid I’m going to die on your watch.”