скачать книгу бесплатно
Her sister squeezed Janie’s hand. Janie, for her part, seemed more interested in fiddling with the edge of her shirt, tugging at some unimportant thread.
Janie might not have answered, but on the phone, Nathan didn’t hesitate. “I told you this whole thing’s become a mess. Kid might have been capable of murder, but not anymore. He died over the weekend in a meth explosion.”
Rafe almost dropped the phone. “Accidental?”
“We didn’t have reason to believe otherwise until we got the call about the art book this morning. Now there’s reason to look at the case again.”
“Does Janie know?”
“No.”
“Send me what you’ve got so far concerning Derek Chaney. I’d like a copy of last’s night police report, too. I’ll be by with Janie this afternoon,” Rafe said, ending the conversation and ignoring the raised eyebrow Janie shot him. No doubt she didn’t like him making promises for her.
Well, as a potential witness to murder, Janie was about to find out that certain obligations were not negotiable.
He studied Janie’s expression: fear battling compassion with a dash of shock at being in such a situation.
He understood that fear and shock, and was glad Janie had her big sister with her. The whole town knew Katie had pretty much raised Janie.
Small towns weren’t big on secrets.
“What don’t I know?” Janie asked.
He’d hoped she’d let that part of his conversation with Nathan slip by. But, as an artist, details were her life, whether she created them or observed them.
“Well?” she nudged.
As much as he wanted to protect her, he had to prepare her. “You don’t know how ugly this case might turn out to be.”
Janie and Katie looked at each other. He noted that Katie’s expression was starting to resemble Janie’s: it was one of fear.
He booted up the computer and retrieved the file on Derek Chaney that Nathan had already sent. Silently, he skimmed the words before turning to Janie, sliding over some blank sheets of white paper taken from the bin of his printer and giving the direction, “Recreate everything from the art book that you remember.”
“Everything? Can’t I just describe it to you?”
“I want it written and drawn. We can’t afford to miss something. And you should re-create it while it’s still fresh in your mind.”
“Can I do it at home?”
Not a chance. He wasn’t about to let her leave. She pretty much lived at a zoo. He couldn’t imagine a place with more distractions. Plus, she was constantly rushing back and forth between her own classes at the University of Arizona and her lab assistant duties at Adobe Hills Community College.
“No, I need you here. I want you to copy Chaney’s art book as closely as you can—presentation, margin, everything. If he wrote in pencil, I’ll get you one. If you need special artist supplies, give me a list.”
She looked a bit shell-shocked. “This might take a while.”
“Rafe,” Katie said, “I can see to it—”
“No, she has to be here.”
“But—”
“I’ll do it.”
Rafe wasn’t sure what had put a fire under Janie, but suddenly it was as if she had to get whatever she’d seen out of her.
He watched as she frantically arranged herself so his desk became a drawing table. She brushed aside bits of something he couldn’t see and, without asking, moved some of his belongings aside. She then placed two pieces of paper, one on top of the other, in front of her. She held the pencil as if she were afraid it would explode. The point merely broke and he handed her another one.
She made an attempt to draw something on the page. But it only took her a moment to wrinkle the paper and toss it in the trash. Two more pages quickly followed. Her hand was shaking badly—no wonder she couldn’t draw.
Katie watched, her lips pressed together. “What kind of danger is Janie in, Sheriff? Are you going to arrest the kid who wrote the art book?”
Of course that would be Katie’s first concern. She knew all about predators, though mostly the animal kind. Being a zookeeper did that. And she and Janie both understood what Rafe knew.
The human predator wasn’t all that different.
“Right now,” Rafe said, “we just have to focus on finding out what was in the art book so we can take the next steps. Derek’s not a threat to Janie.”
Janie’s fingers tightened around the pencil, but she didn’t look at the paper. Instead she stared at Rafe. “What do you mean he’s not a threat? How can he not be a threat if what I read is true?”
A case that already set his cop teeth on edge was going to get even uglier. She needed the truth. “Chaney’s dead. He died this weekend in a meth-lab explosion.”
* * *
GUILT PRICKLED UP the back of Janie’s neck even as she felt the floor tilt. She started to stand, wanting to run but unsure of where to go. Derek’s death wasn’t something she could escape from. Nor could she escape her guilt that she’d been relieved by Derek’s absence this past week.
She hadn’t realized it would be permanent.
She should have tried harder to reach the kid, to find out what made him so unhappy, so dark.
Katie opened her mouth to say something, but Janie settled back into her seat and stopped her. “I’m fine. Really fine. I know what I need to do.”
But crowded with three people, the walls of the office started to close in on her. The room was devoid of color.
It made her remember living with her aunt. They’d rented a barren apartment, with no real colors anywhere to brighten the mood of the place. Until she picked up her paintbrushes and created.
Rafe must have picked up on her assessment of his office. “We can do this somewhere else if you’d like? We have a nice conference room.”
No, the brown, black and beiges of his office were fitting colors for what she was about to do. If they walked through the police station again, she’d have to see the men in uniform. She’d have to think about how they shone their flashlights while they searched for people on the run. Rafe was dressed like one of those cops, even though he was the sheriff. His badge was bigger, too.
“Here’s fine,” she managed to say.
Katie excused herself and went to find the ladies’ restroom. Janie relaxed a little bit. She should have come by herself, should never have dragged a pregnant Katie along.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Rafe said.
She’d heard that line before, from cops even.
Rafe didn’t look like any of the cops she’d met, though. His black hair was somewhat short, straight, and only mussed where he’d run his fingers through it in frustration. His piercing eyes were as black as his hair. He gazed at her as if he could see past the facade she presented the public. He was a big guy, solid. He was the kind of guy who would catch you when you fell and not grunt because you weighed more than one-thirty.
She got the feeling he really was sorry.
But many of the cops she’d dealt with had been sorry for what they’d put her through. Rafe was no different. She didn’t need his sympathy. After all, he would only be sorry until he didn’t need her anymore. Then he’d forget her as the next day, the next crime, dawned.
Typical cop, or sheriff, or person in authority, or whatever.
Janie’d learned at a young age to only trust herself and her sister, Katie. That was why Janie drew animals. They gave no false pretenses, had no ulterior motives.
“Yeah, I get it.” Janie’s goal right now was the same as it always was when it came to the local authorities. If she couldn’t avoid them, do what they wanted so they’d leave her alone.
This time, however, she needed the cops. She just wished she believed, like her sister did, that the men in uniform were the good guys, defenders of the innocent and destroyers of evil.
Because evil had definitely rocked her world.
“It was just a typical evening, a typical class,” she muttered, amazed by how quickly normalcy had changed into nightmare.
“I’m sure—” he started.
“And then it wasn’t.”
How could she explain to him that after reading a few pages of a kid’s art book, her world had turned upside down, and she was still clinging to the hope it would right itself, that what she’d read would prove to be just a graphic novel—fiction, and nothing more.
“So nothing happened in class?”
“Nothing. It was after class, in the student union, that everything happened.”
“Give me every detail. Brittney’s been missing too long.”
“You talk as if you knew her.”
“Her dad’s my insurance agent. Her family attends the same church I do. I’ve known her since she was born.”
Janie couldn’t imagine that kind of stability. Rafe had lived in Scorpion Ridge his whole life. She’d bounced from her father’s place to apartment after apartment, neighborhood after neighborhood with an alcoholic aunt. In some ways she was still bouncing. Maybe she always would be, as her goal was to paint exotic animals in their natural habitat, and this meant lots of travel. Right now, she was saving every dime and putting together her portfolio and résumé, hoping she would be chosen as a visiting artist in Johannesburg, South Africa.
She could hardly wait.
Rafe, on the other hand, was a third-generation law officer with roots so deeply grounded in Scorpion Ridge that even during his few vacations, he’d rather have been home.
Janie’s idea of home didn’t match his.
She’d figured that out during their one date.
He’d been all about Scorpion Ridge, its people, the way of life. She loved it here, too, but there were people to meet and places to go.
And pictures to paint of so many different things far away.
* * *
RAFE OPENED HIS top desk drawer and withdrew two flyers. These were just the newest. From the day his father entered the Scorpion Hills Police Station to serve and protect, missing persons had received special consideration.
But his father had never solved the one missing-persons case that was the most important to him—his own son, Rafe’s brother. Ramon could have been dead all these years...or he could be alive, waiting to be found.
Not knowing he had a family that loved him and that had never stopped searching for him.
Rafe stared at both flyers for a moment before casually placing one in front of Janie.
Three words could describe the photo: young, pretty, happy.
In comparison, Ramon’s missing-persons photo had been of a baby not even forty-eight hours old.
Compassion warred with fatigue across Janie’s face.
Brittney’s white-blond hair streamed past her shoulders. A gray, sleeveless blouse hugged curves that hadn’t had time to mature. In her right arm, she clutched a brown-and-white spotted dog, maybe just a puppy, that stared happily at the camera.
Janie leaned forward and began re-creating.
While she worked, Rafe logged onto CopLink and learned more about the late Derek Chaney.
The kid’s rap sheet was long enough to make Rafe grind his teeth. However, nothing but petty crimes were listed. And yet, judging by the names of those alongside Derek during his criminal activities, the boy was capable of finding himself in the middle of a murder.
Rafe would love to give Brittney’s parents some good news. But Derek’s involvement only pointed to bad news. For everyone.
He’d just noted the absence of sound, the lack of pencil scratching against paper, when Janie asked, “Do you think Derek died because of the art book?”
“Anything I say would be speculation, and this early in the case, I’d rather not speculate.”
She gave him an indignant glare that spoke louder than words. “But if—”
“If is a pretty powerful word,” Rafe returned.
She gripped the pencil tightly, scratching out words on the paper as if she had to get them out, away from her. Finally, she finished, but not before whispering, “I’m afraid.”
“I understand,” Rafe said. “I’ve not slept a full night since Brittney disappeared. Neither have her parents.”
She let out a deep breath and turned the last paper so he could see it. “I’ve re-created everything I remember.” She finished by tapping on the last paper. “When I got to her name and then the blood in the dirt, I stopped and headed for my division chair.”
Blood in the dirt...
He’d have to, in some form or another, repeat this information to Brittney’s parents, so they didn’t hear it on the news. Reporters were like cockroaches, they showed up where they didn’t belong and were hard to get rid of.
No matter how much Rafe wanted to handle Brittney’s case without sensationalism, the media would get involved, would push the envelope, wouldn’t care whose emotions got trampled as long as their ratings soared.
“And you’re sure you’re done?” He nodded toward the paper on his desk.
She glanced again at Brittney’s photograph on the flyer and then picked up the pages she’d created. Four in all. Slowly, carefully, she examined each one. After about fifteen minutes, only erasing a few things or adding a detail here and there, Janie scooted the paper across the desk and settled back in her chair. “I’m done.”
It took him just two minutes to scan the haunting sketches.
“This is it, all you remember?”
