Читать книгу What Janie Saw - Pamela Tracy - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

TWO HOURS LATER, an hour later than he’d wanted it to be, Rafe pulled into a circular driveway just a mile down from BAA.

Belonging to Ruth Moore, who also owned the land BAA resided on, the minimansion was today a place where fund-raisers were held and where Ruth, along with Katie and her husband, Luke, lived.

Ruth was currently on her honeymoon. She and her new husband, Jasper, were overseas exploring the place where Jasper had lived before Hitler and the war made him an orphan.

Rafe exited the Jeep and walked around to the cottage out back where Janie lived. He had to knock twice before Janie opened the door. She’d changed into jeans and a button-down sky-blue shirt with ruffles.

“Do I really have to do this?” she questioned.

“Yes.”

She followed, and soon she sat beside him in his Jeep, no longer looking frightened. Fear had been replaced by exhaustion. They left the property and hit the main road.

“You did a good job with the CopLink photos today. I’ve given the names of the three students you picked out to the Adobe Hills police. Chief Summerside’s gonna go pick up the fourth, our local boy,” Rafe shared.

“I wish I could have done more. And I’m still not sure if the people I identified are just people I’ve seen at school or here at the zoo. Except for Tommy. You know him?”

Yes, Rafe knew Thomas Skinley. He’d been in and out of trouble for the last five years.

“How often does he come to the zoo, and are you sure you never saw him at school?” Rafe asked, trying not to show how disturbed he was by the name.

“No, not at school. He’s come to the zoo more than a few times with his sister. As I told your officer, Amanda Skinley is in my Monday/Wednesday class, Derek’s class.”

The dots were beginning to connect. Amanda was Tommy’s sister. Rafe could feel the case turning, gaining ground, starting to move forward. If he didn’t lose focus, if he asked the right questions, maybe they’d find Brittney.

“Was Amanda in class last night?”

“Yes, she never misses. She’s taking advantage of a dual-enrollment program that allows high-school seniors to take college courses for credit.”

Amanda Skinley was a bright girl, born deaf, who rarely made waves and basically avoided the criminal path her brother had taken. Still, she might know something.

“In class last night, did anyone ask about Derek? Did Amanda ask about him?”

“Amanda didn’t say anything, but she rarely contributes much. She depends on her interpreters. She did seem out of sorts yesterday, though.”

“Go on.”

“Truthfully, until after class, when I opened his art book, there wasn’t much to tell. We had our break, right at seven-thirty. Class dismissed at nine. I went to the student union to go over their art books and comment on their progress.”

“Something you did after every class?” he asked.

“No, Patricia and I usually do it together in her office. Last night was the first time I went through the books by myself.”

“And up to Wednesday night, Derek was turning in only what you expected.”

“Yes. I don’t know why I kept reading. His words made me feel like I wasn’t safe, like I needed to hide, like someone was watching me.”

Rafe knew what it was that had prompted her to continue: morbid curiosity. It was the same pull that urged civilians to slow down when they drove by an accident. Derek’s life had been a train wreck, and right now, unless Rafe missed his guess, Janie was more or less one more victim tied to the track.

They made it five miles before Rafe got a call from Nathan canceling their meeting and rescheduling it for tomorrow. Seemed Nathan was dealing with a multivehicle collision on Interstate Ten where a tractor-trailer had spilled enough cocaine to imitate a snowstorm.

After hanging up, Rafe hit the steering wheel. Not very professional, but a heck of a lot tamer than what he really wanted to do. “I need something concrete to tell Brittney’s parents,” he muttered as he pulled into a convenience-store parking lot and turned the car around.

Janie just stared out the window. Rafe couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but after Nathan’s cancellation, she had visibly relaxed. “The fact that we’re not meeting Nathan today,” Rafe reminded her, “doesn’t mean that Derek or his art book is going away. It’s a delay, not a cancellation.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Janie gave him a haughty look. “It’s just that everything’s happening so fast. I need some time to think.”

Some of his annoyance lessened. He knew he was being unreasonable. Missing persons cases did that to him. And, truly, Rafe understood what she was feeling. It was like a horrible roller-coaster ride, one you’d not meant to get on and one that had no end in sight. The police world was like that. You had to solve a case in twenty-four hours or the odds of solving it decreased by more than half.

A good officer held on to that roller-coaster car and rode it until the tracks collapsed and the park closed.

A great officer knew that at some point you had to exit the roller coaster, step back, watch what others were doing on the ride and then, in just a matter of moments, get back on.

Janie seemed more like the Ferris-wheel kind of girl. The roller coaster? Not so much. She’d probably want to paint the cars.

And look beautiful doing it.

He shook his head, trying to clear the wayward thoughts that were taking his mind off the case. He couldn’t afford the distraction. And she was distracting. From the elegant way she held her chin, so stubborn, to the way she crossed her long legs. Again he wondered why he’d not called her for a second date. A date didn’t mean committing to eternity. Maybe they’d have found common ground and built, if not a relationship, then a friendship.

“Tell me,” Rafe said, bringing himself back to the case, “did Derek share his drawings or writing in class? Is it possible that he showed it to another student?”

She took a moment; her face scrunched in concentration.

“No, I don’t think he showed it to anyone. Amanda’s the only one who ever showed any interest in his drawings. I doubt any of the other students even glimpsed the one he turned in last Wednesday,” Janie said. “It was a new art book. It only had those six pages altogether.”

“What do you mean, it was new?”

“All semester he’s been handing in an art book. It was full of ideas, projects and such. This time he gave me a brand-new one. I thought maybe he’d misplaced the one he’d been working on previously...” Her words tapered off as Rafe pulled off the road and swung the vehicle around again. This time he didn’t wait for a spot on the side of the road, he just did a U-turn, scaring up dirt and revving the engine.

“Hey!” She slid slightly toward him, her left hand reaching out to gain balance. It brushed against his knee. Rafe barely noticed—he knew when a lead was handed to him.

It took only a moment to get Derek Chaney’s parents’ address from the system.

“We’re heading to Adobe Hills,” he told Janie. “You’d recognize the previous art book. Maybe he added something to it, something we need to see! If we can get Derek’s parents’ permission, maybe we’ll have some new information within the hour.”

He was of two minds about taking Janie along. He hated involving a civilian. On the other hand, she knew what the art book looked like and could save him a lot of time.

Next, Rafe phoned Nathan to get his go-ahead. After all, they’d be on the other man’s turf. No luck there; Williamson’s number went right to voice mail. The deputy who answered the main number took a message and promised Nathan would return the call. Rafe neglected to tell the deputy exactly what was going on or why the call was necessary. The second call he made was to Derek’s parents. More luck there. They were eager to talk to anyone who might shed light on why their son had died. After hanging up, Rafe quickly called his office and got someone to do a background check on the Chaneys.

Janie seemed confused. “Don’t we need a search warrant to go through Derek’s stuff?”

“Not if the person in control of the property gives us permission to search.”

She checked her watch. “It’s two o’clock. I usually don’t help on Thursday night, but an instructor asked if I’d come in. You should take me back to BAA so I can get my own car.”

After returning Janie to where she lived and seeing her safely to her vehicle, Rafe spent the whole drive, nearly an hour, checking to make sure she was still behind him, and getting the dirt on Derek’s parents—there was none, and none on Derek’s much older brother, either.

In the early afternoon, there wasn’t much traffic on Interstate Ten. There was a slight slowdown because of Nathan’s accident that put them in one lane for a while. Nathan didn’t even notice them drive by. He was pacing while looking at a clipboard, talking on the phone and giving orders to a patrol officer.

Multitasking, getting things done. Nathan was doing it. Rafe, too. It was an exhilarating feeling, chasing down a lead, especially one on a case that was personal. It was also bittersweet. His grandfather had been a cop. His father hadn’t wanted to become one but had, all because of a missing child.

Rafe’s brother.

Rafe had long ago given up the hunt for Ramon. It had been thirty-six years, after all, and Rafe knew how to shove the memories aside, not that there were many. And today, the memories would only distract him from what he had to do.

The Chaneys’ restored two-story home was just a mile into Adobe Hills and in an established neighborhood. A basketball hoop stood guard over the driveway, and a swing sat on the porch.

It looked a lot like the house he’d grown up in.

As soon as Janie pulled up behind him, parked and joined him, Rafe headed toward the porch and rang the bell. It was Mrs. Chaney who answered. Her hair was wild, as though it hadn’t been combed in a week. Her yellow-and-red-striped T-shirt was on inside out and didn’t go with her orange pants. Her green eyes were watery and bloodshot. She kept dabbing at them with a Kleenex. Judging by the lines on her face, she was about the same age as Rafe’s mother.

Rafe wondered what she’d looked like last week—before her youngest son’s death.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Rafe said. “This is Janie Vincent, she was—”

“Derek’s teacher.” She held out a trembling hand, and Rafe was glad he’d followed his instincts to bring her.

“He talked a lot about you. I’m Judy Chaney.”

“Derek was a talented artist,” Janie murmured, shaking Judy’s hand.

Mrs. Chaney held the door open so they could walk into the living room. “We’re so glad you called, Sheriff. We’re desperate to know what’s going on and how we can help. This shouldn’t have happened.”

She didn’t invite them to sit but seemed content to let them peruse their surroundings. The couch looked comfortable, inviting and well-used. A television dominated the room. There were two bookcases cluttered with books, knickknacks and photos. Above the fireplace were three portraits. The middle showed a family: mom, dad, two boys.

Derek’s father was another tall blond.

Flanking the family portrait were high-school graduation photos. The one on the left showed a craggy blond-haired young man with a crooked grin and kind eyes. The one on the left showed Derek, black-haired, no grin and guarded eyes. On the fireplace mantel was a basket full of sympathy cards.

“We received twenty-two in the mail today.” Mr. Chaney entered the room from the kitchen. “Twenty-two.” His voice caught, and he faltered for a moment. “My wife’s only been able to open six.”

Rafe cleared his throat. Five years ago, when his father had died, they’d been inundated with cards. Rafe’s mother cried over every one.

“They’re from my friends at work,” Mrs. Chaney said.

“Mine, too,” Mr. Chaney added.

Mrs. Chaney added, “Some are also from family.”

Rafe waited. He wasn’t getting the we-received-so-many-cards report because the family felt the need to talk. Both parents were looking at the card basket as if it were an enemy.

“We didn’t get a single card or phone call from any of Derek’s friends,” Mr. Chaney said. “Not one. Or even from the parent of a friend. My wife noticed that first.”

“Of course, it’s early. Kids tend to take a little prodding. They assume they have all the time...”

Her words faded, and Rafe quickly inserted, “It’s early yet.”

“We received a few from our neighbors, and even from Derek’s past teachers,” Mr. Chaney said, “but, they were so generic—‘Sorry for your loss. Please know you’re in our prayers.’ Nothing personal.”

Rafe almost said that it had only been a couple of days and that they’d be receiving cards for months yet. Instead, he asked, “Why does this surprise you?”

“Used to be, he was surrounded by friends, kids who laughed, kids who would talk to us. I’m so mad at myself. We could sense something was going on.”

“How well do you know the friends he has now?” Rafe continued examining the portraits.

“For the last two years, not well at all.” The Chaneys looked at each other. Two people, one emotion: regret.

Mr. Chaney went first. “We mentioned this to the officer who came to notify us about finding Der—” His voice cracked. “About finding Derek’s body.”

Mrs. Chaney joined in. “We didn’t like any of Derek’s current friends. He’s been in and out of trouble lately, serious trouble, with them. They weren’t the kind to knock on the door and be respectful. They honked and Derek ran. The few times one of his friends came in, well, let’s just say his new friends didn’t bother to curb their language, hide their cigarettes, or even clean up after themselves.”

Rafe definitely wanted to show them photos of the four kids Janie had picked out. Tommy especially.

“We talked to him, gave him a curfew,” Mr. Chaney said. “We did what we could. We monitored his computer, found nothing. Whenever we could get our hands on his phone, we went through his text messages. There weren’t many. Two years ago, he kept everything. The last three months, it was obvious that he erased his messages as soon as he read them.”

Savvy kid, Rafe thought.

“But he’s almost nineteen, legal age. Outside of kicking him out, what could we do?” Mrs. Chaney sounded more like she was talking to herself than to them.

“Jimmy, our oldest boy,” Mr. Chaney said, taking over, “was worried too. He came home from his job in California at least once a month so we could do something as a family over the weekend. We’d hoped things were changing. Last year, for a while, it was like we had the old Derek back. Then, at the beginning of fall semester, it all went wrong again. He started staying out all night, missing school, taking money without permission.”

The Chaneys were doing what most parents did in this type of situation—not so much trying to convince Rafe that they were caring parents, but trying to assure themselves.

“Derek had so much potential,” Janie said. “His art was riveting, daring. I could see the artist he could be. If there’d only been more time.”

Mrs. Chaney nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

“Would Jimmy possibly know who Derek was hanging around with?” Rafe pressed.

“We asked him. He gave us two or three names, but they were kids Derek had hung around with before leaving high school.” Mrs. Chaney shot her husband a guarded look. Rafe waited.

“Jimmy and Derek didn’t spend much time together,” Mrs. Chaney admitted, “unless we were doing family things.”

“Why is that?” Rafe asked.

“There’s a ten-year difference in their ages,” Mr. Chaney said. “And we adopted Derek. He’s my brother’s son. By the time the boys got comfortable with each other, Jimmy was heading off to college.”

“Jimmy’s going to be a doctor,” Judy added. “He has little tolerance for anyone he suspects of dabbling in drugs.”

Rafe wanted to jump on that comment, but the kid had just died in a meth explosion. He could read about Derek and drugs in Nathan’s report without putting the Chaneys through more grief.

“What were the circumstances of the adoption?”

“Derek’s mom is in prison. She’s not in the picture and she won’t be getting out anytime soon. My brother passed away when Derek was six.”

Rafe noticed Janie walking over to the picture, staring at Derek, and looking incredibly sad. She’d been taken in by relatives, too, Rafe remembered.

It hadn’t gone well, either.

“So none of Derek’s issues can be directly related to his birth parents?” Rafe asked. “Maybe something to do with his mother?”

“No, we’ve had him since he was eight. For the two years after his dad’s death, he was pretty much neglected by his mother. Besides, if any of his mother’s friends came looking for him, they wouldn’t know to search for him under our last name. Once we got his anger issues under control, he fit right in. We were thrilled. We’d wanted five of our own.”

The Chaneys were good people. They were doing what innocent people did, sharing everything, trying to be helpful, wanting to understand how things could go so wrong.

“He didn’t realize how good he had it,” Janie whispered.

Rafe thought the same about many of the juvenile delinquent cases he handled.

Getting back on task, though, he said, “There’s a chance that Derek had information about another case we’re working on. On the phone, you said you’d let us go through Derek’s room?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Chaney said. “We will do all we can to help the police so some other kid doesn’t become a victim like Derek.”

Mr. Chaney ushered them up the stairs and opened the door into a room almost the size of the living room. “My wife can’t bear to see all this,” he said. “It’s exactly the way Derek left it.”

A mess, typical teenager. The bed was unmade, the floor littered with clothes and books and video games. A flat-screen television was against one wall. Shelves of books were on two others. A whole row was designated for textbooks. Rafe noticed math, sociology and lots of English. Well, that made sense. According to Janie, Derek also had a gift for writing. Posters, of bands Rafe didn’t recognize, graced the wall.

“He used to be a reader,” Mr. Chaney said. “Up until about eighth grade.”

“What happened?” Janie asked softly.

“First sports, then girls,” Mr. Chaney said. “They wouldn’t leave him alone. Once he got to high school, it was a strange herd of friends.”

There were no photographs in the room, but lots and lots of drawings. Derek seemed to be enthralled by dark castles, fire-breathing dragons and fierce warriors.

“I’d better go check on my wife,” Mr. Chaney said.

Janie walked into the room, not a bit put off by the mess. She rubbed her shoulders as if cold, but it wasn’t a chill in the air that made her uncomfortable. It was more likely a chill in her heart. He felt it, too.

“I should have tried harder with that boy,” she murmured.

“You did make an effort,” Rafe reminded her.

“Not enough of one. Sometimes a teacher is the only one who can make a difference, see beneath the grime.”

Rafe wondered if a teacher had been there for her, back in her muddled childhood. She’d made it clear that cops hadn’t been. Somehow knowing that made him want to change her mind. Not only about cops in general, but about him specifically.

But they were losing precious time, so he asked, “Do you see the art book?”

“Not yet.” Janie walked to the middle of the room, sidestepping a pair of jeans and a skateboard. She turned in a circle, first with her eyes open and then with them closed. After a moment, she headed for a desk.

“The desk is too neat,” she explained. “Nothing else in this room is neat.” She briefly touched the computer’s mouse and lifted the pad. Then, she opened the only drawer.

Nothing.

Watching her, Rafe was again struck by her attention to detail. She was doing what he usually did, had been trained to do, and she was doing it by instinct.

Janie next checked under the bed. He’d already done that and found nothing unusual.

But she pulled out one tennis shoe. “This isn’t his.”

Rafe looked at it: dull brown and somewhat new. “How can you be sure?”

“Derek would never wear this color.”

“What color is it, exactly?”

Janie gaped at him in disbelief. “It’s green.”

Rafe wasn’t one for sharing what he didn’t consider a disability. But, in this case, it might make a difference in what she could see and what he couldn’t.

“I’m color-blind, which means I have poor discrimination with certain colors. Green being one of them.”

Her expression went from disbelief to pity. Well, an artist would feel sorry for someone who couldn’t appreciate every color’s beauty.

“That must make your job harder.”

“There was some concern that I wouldn’t pass the vision test. I did, and luckily, my condition is considered mild. The fact that I work for a small rural county makes a difference. I also wear corrective lenses.”

“Derek wore black, gray and white. It’s almost as if he was making a statement about his personality. Green is the color of safety.”

Rafe dumped the shoe in a baggie he pulled from his pocket and ran out the door to ask the Chaneys what size shoe Derek had worn—Mrs. Chaney said her son was an eleven.

Rafe reentered the room as Janie was bending to check an unzipped backpack that was stuffed to the side, books and papers spilling out. Janie riffled through it for a moment, then she pulled an art book from a side pocket and flipped it open. Derek’s inked name was on the cover. She thumbed through the pages.

He touched her arm and angled her so he could read over her shoulder.

“This is his, this is the right one. He’s done most of these thumbnails or scrapped them. No writing yet, but maybe there’s something at the end, some reason he didn’t want to turn this one in to me.”

He noticed how carefully Janie held the book—for a witness, she was getting too involved.

It only took her a moment to make it to the final pages, but it felt much longer to Rafe. Then her face turned white. He took a step toward her. She didn’t notice; she was focused on the art book, not on him.

Derek’s final drawing told Rafe exactly how much danger Janie was in.

Two dark trees, lots of dirt, and an open grave with a body in it. Derek had penned a few words underneath:

I have to tell somebody. I can’t live with this. But if I confess, whomever I tell will be in as much danger as me.