Protector - Laurel Dewey [141]
And Jane waited. Within the silence, there was something both profound and forbidding. She started to tap the accelerator when she felt her beeper vibrate. Jane pressed the play button and heard Weyler’s voice. It sounded different. There was a dour intonation.
“Jane. It’s me. When you can get to a phone, please give me a call at my house.” Weyler said before hanging up.
Jane looked over at Emily. The child had fallen asleep. An acrid odor blew from the east as she drove down Main Street and up onto the highway. Her heart raced. Turning left, she headed south to The Pit Stop and parked in front of the outside telephone. As Jane dialed Weyler’s private number, she debated what tone suited her best for the conversation. But before she could decide, he answered.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I got your page.” Jane suddenly felt sick. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Weyler said, his voice slightly breaking.
“Why are you sorry?” Jane asked, wincing. The coal train chugged closer.
“I don’t know any other way to say this. Jane . . . Your father died.”
The world hung in suspension for Jane. She gazed into the distance. A rush of heat raced down her spine, followed by an icy chill. The coal train approached on the tracks across the street. Jane stood still as the clamor of steel and metal ground against each other and screamed into the dark, summer sky. Within a couple minutes, the train passed and all fell silent again.
“It happened around three o’clock this afternoon,” Weyler continued. “Apparently he’d experienced minor discomfort in his chest and told the nurse about it. By the time she called the doctor and returned it was over. He didn’t struggle. No suffering.”
“No suffering?” Jane repeated, halfway outside of her body.
“None. Your brother called me. He’s already been over there and he saw your dad before they took him to the mortuary—”
Jane came back to life. “Oh, Jesus! Mike can’t handle that!”
“He sounded okay on the phone—”
“I should have been there for him,” Jane whispered.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know . . .” Jane said, her mind drifting far away.
“This is a mess. But I can’t have you come back here now. I’m sorry—”
“I have to talk to Mike,” Jane said urgently.
“I know you do. It goes against policy, but the Department will understand. Please keep the conversation short and do nothing to reveal your location. Has your brother got Caller ID on his phone?”
“No. And even if he did, who the hell is he gonna tell?”
“You never know. There can’t be any slips.”
Jane buried her head in her hand. “There won’t be any slips!”
“I’m not accusing you of being inept. Please don’t take it that way. We’ve just discovered some possible internal problems downstairs—”
“What internal problems? With this case?”
“No. Nothing to do with your case. Don’t worry about it. I’ve just got to try and keep a cap on it. I don’t need any slipups in your direction when you talk to your brother that could put the Lawrence case in jeopardy.”
“Are we done here?” Jane’s patience was wearing thin.
“Yes. You take care, Jane. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah. Bye.” Jane hung up the receiver just long enough to plop another series of quarters into the pay phone and dial Mike’s number. The phone rang several times before someone picked up.
“Hello?” It was Lisa’s voice on the other end of the line.
Jane was befuddled. “I’m looking for Mike—”
“Jane? It’s me. Lisa.”
Jane felt a prickle of anger. “Lisa?”
“I’m so sorry about your father, Jane. Mike’s sitting right here. Hold on.”
“Janie?” Mike said, taking the phone.
“Oh, God, Mike. I should have been there for you—”
“No, no. I understand. It’s okay.” His voice was choked with emotion.
“No, it’s not!” Jane buried her head against the cold metal of the pay phone.
“Janie, please. I’m tellin’ you. It’s really okay. You got a job to do—”
Jane caught an underlying tone in her brother’s voice; there was strength in his inflections that she’d never