Redemption (53 page)

“You know what I figured out when I was drivin’ south?” Mary declared. “There’s three kinds of people in this world. There are those who want to control you because they can’t control themselves. What they don’t get is that the more control you go for, the less control you have. Then there are those who are looking for someone to love them because they feel empty by themselves. What they don’t get is that if you don’t love yourself, you’ll always feel as if you’re lacking. The third kind of person is looking for redemption. They see themselves as dirty sinners who can never get clean enough. What they don’t get is that they’ve been told a lie. God made them perfect. It’s life that made them forget that.”

Jane considered Mary’s observation. “Which one of the three are you?”

“I don’t want to control anyone, because I know what it feels like to be controlled. I’m not looking for love. I have it, right here in my arms. And I’m not looking for redemption anymore. I’m waiting for resurrection. So maybe there are four kinds of people. And the fourth one’s me.”

 

 

Before Jane left, she convinced the Fresno cops to scrutinize Mary’s boyfriend more closely. A quick search found that he had a long rap sheet that included numerous assault and battery charges, along with filing two false crime reports. They agreed to drop all charges against Mary.

Back in the Buick, Jane looked at the clock. 2:30. Jane checked her cell for messages. Nothing. She started to turn the ignition key when her cell rang. “Hello?”

“Hey...it’s me...Shane?” His voice was tentative. “You said to call if I ever thought of something?”

“What is it?”

“You mentioned about a baby blue motorcycle?”

“What about it?”

“You know how I told you Charlotte would wait for me and sometimes I was late? Well, a couple days before Christmas, I was late getting there. When I drove up, she was talking to this guy on a blue motorcycle. It had a dove decal on the fender.”

“That’s him, Shane!”

“You said he looked like Brad Pitt? This guy didn’t look anything like him. He had a beard and a mustache and long hair past his shoulders. If he was trying to look like anybody, I’d say he looked more like Jesus Christ.”

The hair on the back of Jane’s neck stood up. “Oh, my God....”

“Wait. His name wasn’t Lou Peters.

“How do you know?”

“When Charlotte got in the car, I asked her about the guy. She said he was just this nice guy who pulled over to talk to her. Said his name was Emmanuel, but that she could call him ‘Manuel’ for short. The only time I ever heard that name before is in that Christmas song we sing in church. You know? ‘Oh, Come, Oh, Come Emmanuel’?”

“Emmanuel is Jesus,” Jane whispered to herself. “Did Charlotte say why Emmanuel stopped to talk to her?”

“He said something about how she looked lost. But if you want my opinion, I think he was probably attracted to her red leather jacket and her long hair.”

“Her blond hair?”

“Ah, no. I forgot to tell you. She’d always disguise herself just in case someone she knew came by and saw her waiting there on the highway.”

Another piece clicked for Jane. “She’d wear a wig.”

“Yeah. The Christina Aguilera one from her mom’s beauty parlor. The look Christina had on the MTV Video Awards. You know? When she was a brunette?”

CHAPTER 33

The pieces of a very complicated mystery were coming together for Jane. Looking at the major players—Lou, Bartosh, Mary, Charlotte, and Ashlee—Jane recognized that there was a complex congealing of warped perspectives and ironic misunderstandings. Lou’s deeply traumatic childhood and mental disconnect bonded with the powerfully persuasive fear of God. Every encounter for Lou was Biblical. He attached signs and distorted perceptions to everything. Brunette, hazel-eyed girls became miniature versions of his mother; versions he could subdue and torture until the evil was crushed out of them. The only problem was that he could never pound the life out of enough girls.

Dr. John Bartosh blindly preached his narrow dogma at the expense of clearly seeing what took shape in his own home. When one has tunnel vision, Jane mused, you can’t see the enemies that are standing on either side of you. Without realizing it, Bartosh had continued to feed Lou the words he needed to commit monstrous acts. Detective Charles Sawyer had shrewdly intuited this behavior when he said that Lou was “intelligent by proxy.” Jane deduced that as far as Lou was concerned, Bartosh granted him Divine permission through his words and actions to continue his reign of terror. How else could Lou interpret it? Bartosh treated him like a son, defended him in court, visited him in prison, and made it possible, as a character witness, for Lou to now be out on bond. They were two souls with very different missions; each one believing that the other was working toward the same objective: redemption. Salvation of a soul for one was the acceptance of God as the greatest power; salvation for the other was the destruction of that body so that the soul could be saved.

The question still remained, Why Charlotte Walker? Was it enough that she looked “lost,” needed Lou’s brand of salvation,
and mirrored his mother’s image? What was the trigger for Lou? There always had to be a trigger. Jane’s mind flashed on the Ministry Forum. There was the odd thread started by Bartosh titled “The Age of Un-Reason.” Jane did her best to recall some of the more compelling messages in his long-winded discourse. She remembered a section where Bartosh wrote that an eleven-year-old today drinks the slop from the secular world and is drunk by age twelve. Was that enough, she wondered? To the best of her memory, part one of his discussion began in November. Jane mused that Lou may have been reading the thread since that time, building more fortitude and validation as it progressed. A collision of thoughts rocketed through her head. There was the interest in the girls who lived in his old house, but whose father was overly protective of his children. Jane knew all too well that child predators like Lou often stalk their victims, always searching for the “perfect” child that fits their necessary profile.

If it was important to find a child who was twelve, how could Lou determine this? Unless he outright asked the girl—which was possible—there was no way to judge age except by appearance. With Charlotte Walker, a visual judgment of her age would be difficult. Even Shane was shocked to uncover the truth. The question kept coming back, Why Charlotte? What was the defining trigger for Lou that meshed the age of twelve with the desire to engage her in his own one-on-one ministry intervention? The only way to solve any of this, Jane decided, was to get back to Oakhurst as fast as possible.

She sped out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The tape of Bartosh automatically resumed playing.

“One is only as strong as his faith,” Bartosh said. “It defines you. It motivates you. It narrows your perception....”

“You insulated son of a bitch,” Jane shouted at the tape.

Ingrid’s soft voice broke in. “It looks like you need a refill on your coffee, Jackie.”

Jane lit a cigarette. There was the muffled sound of Jane misjudging Ingrid’s aim with the coffee pot and the subsequent spill of java onto her skirt.

“Oh, my goodness, Jackie!” Ingrid exclaimed on the tape. “I’m so sorry! It’s my fault! Let me help you!”

Jane turned toward the tape. “Holy shit!” She rewound the tape.

“It’s my fault.
Let me help you
....”

“Jesus!” Jane exclaimed. It was the same cadence as the whispered voice who called Jane, barring her phone number from her caller ID. “What in the hell?” Jane yelled, changing lanes and speeding past two trucks. The tape continued turning as Jane’s mind spun with possible motives. There were the muted sounds of Ingrid’s voice directing Jane to the bathroom. Then, on the tape, a telephone rang in the background. The sound of footsteps trod into an adjacent room. Jane heard Bartosh’s booming voice answer. She turned up the volume as high as it would go.

“Well, hello!” Bartosh replied to the caller with a familiar tone. “No, no, it’s a fine time to talk. How are you doing, Manuel?”

Jane nearly lost control of the Buick. She leaned closer to the speakers, but all she could hear was the occasional “God” or “Jesus” interspersed in the conversation. Jane counted back the days in her head. She had met with Bartosh on December 29. Lou kidnapped Charlotte just days before. Their conversation suddenly took on an unsettling quality. Was Lou calling to fish for further justification from Bartosh? Lou had certainly figured out by that date that Charlotte was wearing a brunette wig. Had that discovery changed his plans and, if so, where was his twisted mind taking the scenario?

Jane put a call into Sergeant Weyler as she reached speeds over ninety miles per hour. She got his voice mail and left a brief, urgent message to return her call. Less than an hour later, Jane tore into Oakhurst. Checking her gas gauge, she made a quick stop at a local station. As she stood at the pump, her mind continued to race. Suddenly, the reason Lou used a hammer to rape Ashlee fourteen
years ago made sense. It was his interpretation of “The Hammer of God” Bartosh wrote about in the Congregation’s newsletter. Jane’s thoughts turned to Rachel. Her comment that she did not know anyone by the name of Lou Peters was correct; she only knew a man named Emmanuel. She thought of Rachel’s guesthouse. The red vinyl tablecloth from The Hummingbird Motor Lodge where Lou worked, the Bibles, the computer. He
was
living there.

She arrived at The Bonanza Cabins and parked the Buick next to the Mustang. Turning to the front office, Jane noticed the recycling bin of newspapers that Barry had brought out earlier that day. She collected the bin and brought it back to the cabin.

“I’m in here, Jane,” Kit answered brightly from inside the bathroom. Jane turned on her computer. “Were you successful today?”

“Yeah.” Hearing her computer signal, she went online and logged on to the Ministry Forum. Locating “The Age of Un-Reason” thread, Jane quickly scrolled through it to source any further clues. Jane reread the section that mentioned the age of twelve, but beyond that, all she could deduce was that the rest served to stir Lou’s emotional pot. Jane started to log off when she noted a single reply to “The Power of Sacrifice” thread. She selected it and scrolled down to read the last entry. It was from Manul. Crst.123.

Jane stared at the name, Manul.Crst.123. How could she not have seen it? She checked the time code of when the last entry was sent.
Eleven a.m.
She reread the posting several times, trying to read between the lines. Jane looked again at the handle, Manul. Crst.123. “Manual, Christ,” Jane whispered to herself. But the meaning of “123” evaded her. The “God With Us” salute always seemed strange. Jane entered those three words into an Internet search engine. She scrolled through an endless list of matches until she came on one that mentioned “Emmanuel.” Jane selected the Web site. Seconds later, a banner of block words in black peeled across her computer screen:

The “123” finally clicked.

Kit emerged from the bathroom. “So what did you find out?”

Jane turned to her. As much as Kit tried to hide it, Jane easily saw the scratches on the side of her face. “What in the hell happened to you?”

“I lost my balance and fell against a thicket in the woods.” Kit settled onto her bed, obviously in some physical discomfort.

Jane easily sensed deception in Kit’s voice. “You’re lying.
What happened?
” Jane asked, her voice shaking.

Kit finally admitted that Clinton had discovered the deception. “When he grabbed my arm—”

“He grabbed you?”
Jane’s blood boiled. “That fucking asshole!”

“
I’m fine
. Now, please, tell me what happened!” Jane calmed down and delivered the day’s events, interjecting the connections as she told the story. She finished by showing Kit the postings on the Ministry Forum. “He thinks he’s
Jesus
?” Kit yelled.

“He’s thirty-three. Bartosh made reference on many occasions to being reborn at the age of thirty-three, the same age when Jesus died. Lou obviously attached great significance to that.”

“Wait a second. If Lou’s energy is poured into literally
being
Jesus, then he can’t live past the age of thirty-three!”

Jane realized Kit was correct. Criminals add to their patterns each time, and their plans often become more intricate. She quickly reread his last posting on the Forum.
“I am of the age in which it has been prophesized. There will be a great sacrifice on my part, but it is a sacrifice I will joyfully make! I KNOW my Judas will appear shortly”
stood out to Jane. “He’s going to take himself out with her,” Jane said.