Protector - Laurel Dewey [28]
“That’s asking for a lot, don’t you think?”
“It’s all dependent upon what the child is willing to share. Martha is of the opinion that Emily has something to say.”
“So, now Martha’s psychic?”
“In the few words that Emily has said to her, she has made it crystal clear that she has some kind of information to offer us.”
“Why don’t you just leave the poor kid alone?”
“Because two innocent people who had no criminal history were savagely stabbed to death in their comfortable Washington Park living room. Because I am drowning in a case that is quickly becoming as high-profile as the JonBenet murder. And because I don’t give up or give in when I have a viable witness to the crime. In short, I am in the business of solving homicides. And so are you.”
Jane started to shove her files back into her satchel. “Well, good luck.”
“Remember last night when I told you that you made quite an impression on somebody? I was referring to Miss Emily Lawrence.” Jane looked at Weyler in confusion. “For whatever reason, you appear to have captured the child’s attention. First in the stairwell and more importantly, in the hallway when you talked the Mexican woman out of killing her husband. I’m not sure what Emily sees in you, but it makes no matter to me. You’ve been personally chosen by this child as the only individual she will talk to.”
Jane could not believe what she was hearing. “You have got to be kidding! She’s nine and a half. When did we start giving nine-and-a-half-year-olds the power to tell us who they will only speak to?”
Weyler leaned forward. “When that nine-and-a-half-year-old can solve a crime!”
Jane folded her arms tightly across her chest and met Weyler’s piercing glare. “I won’t do it.”
“Then your suspension becomes a termination. Effective immediately.” Weyler’s tone was firm and etched with anger.
Jane bristled. Her whole body tightened. “You can’t do that.”
“Watch me!”
“You can’t fire someone for refusing to interrogate a witness!”
“Someone with a hangover shouldn’t question my administrative power. Now, what’s it going to be?”
She looked away from Weyler as her heart began to race.
Jane stopped by the coffee maker on her way to the interrogation room and poured herself a cup. She wasn’t sure whether her head was pounding from the hangover or from the anger she felt at being blackmailed into talking to Emily. The interrogation room was just down the hall from homicide. It was a tiny room, about eight by ten feet square, designed to make suspects feel pinned in and anxious. The walls were painted lime green, or as some called it, “D.O.C. green” for Department of Corrections. The floor was covered in tough, “industrial-strength” carpeting. The walls were empty save for a corkboard where evidence was placed, a writing board for the suspect, a nondescript clock, a calendar and a “No Smoking” sign in bright red lettering. Fluorescent lighting beamed down on the suspect, who sat across from the interrogator at a small table. Hidden in the corner of the small room was a camera and microphones that videotaped the entire scene. A computer monitor sat nearby, connected to a keyboard in the narrow observation room on the opposite side of a two-way mirror. During questioning, an observer who was monitoring the interrogation, could type a question into the computer for the interrogator to ask.
Sergeant Weyler stopped first at the observation room and poked his head in. “Here she is.”
Chris popped his head outside the door. He looked weary with bloodshot eyes and tousled hair. It was obvious to Jane that the Lawrence case was occupying his nights and days, leaving little time for sleep. Chris acknowledged Jane with a tinge of attitude in his voice. “Glad you could make it to my case!”
“I’m not grandstanding, Chris,” Jane said, irritated as she leaned her leather satchel against the wall. “I’m only here because Weyler strongly suggested I help out.”
Chris moved closer to Jane, catching a whiff