Protector - Laurel Dewey [176]
Jane remembered the exact way Emily mimicked the perp’s irritation to his mask. It was as though he was clawing at his face. Clawing. Jane thought about that image. She’d seen it before many times. But the individuals had no mask on their face. They were clawing at their flesh thanks to the physical and mental effects of methamphetamine on their system. Meth addicts were prone to developing often agonizing rashes that were made more irritating by anything that touched their skin. And so, it came back to meth. Lately, it always seemed to come back to meth.
Okay, Jane considered, maybe the perp was a meth freak. It certainly was not outside the realm of possibility these days. The grisly way in which the perp murdered David and Patricia Lawrence could easily be attributed to a meth-induced rage—either coming up on the high or, more likely, tweaking and needing more of the drug to maintain their high. Jane pulled out the crime scene photos and referred to the close-up of Patricia Lawrence. Her left eye was partially popped out of its socket. It wasn’t the first time Jane saw a direct stab wound to an eye, but it wasn’t common. From a profiling angle, a perp who stabs someone in the eye is typically sending a message. It could be “Don’t look at me” or “I don’t want you to see.” It was primitive but some perps retained a certain base animal instinct, especially if they were jacked up on drugs.
For whatever reason, this particular perp was determined to send similar messages through his brutal slayings. Jane assumed that whoever killed the Lawrences also returned and killed Martha Durrett since she was found with a knife plunged into her face. And there was that note attached to the knife that said “PAYBACK.” So much about this case confused Jane and that note was no exception. Was it directed at Martha? If so, what had she done to deserve payback? Martha always played it by the book. Martha simply wasn’t capable of doing anything that warranted payback. But still, the perp felt a need to attach that note to the knife.
This time, Jane was certain that the perp had to know Emily was in the house that night because he no sooner thrust the knife into Martha’s face than he booked it upstairs to finish the grisly job. Jane surmised that he knew the cops were covering the house and that he had a slender window of time. It was a ballsy move fueled by desperation and a compulsion to kill the one person who could identify him as the perpetrator of the Lawrence double murder. But from what Jane gathered from Emily later that fateful night, the sight of the circling patrol car down the alley possibly deterred the killer from nailing his target.
The intense scrutiny of documentation provoked another headache. Jane looked at the clock. 10:00 p.m. She collected the paperwork, replaced it in the files and stashed it into her leather satchel. Feeling like a mouse trapped in a cage, she decided to venture into the kitchen to grab a soda and a fresh perspective. When she opened her door, she was greeted with near total darkness. She could hear the hushed tones and giggling voices coming from the living room. Jane found the girls in their pajamas, sitting cross-legged on top of their sleeping bags that were arranged in a circle. The only light in the room came from a single lamp in the corner and two flashlights that were positioned facing upward toward the ceiling in the center of the circle.
“Mom!” Emily said, slightly irritated. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”
Heather stiffened when she heard Emily calling Jane “Mom.”
“Just passing through,” Jane replied, heading toward the kitchen.
“Are you going to smoke a cigarette in there?” Heather asked in a catty tone.
Jane turned around. “Yes, Heather. That’s the plan.”
“Well, then if you don’t mind, I’ll open the front door to clear the smoke.” Heather jumped to her