Protector - Laurel Dewey [38]
Jane was just about to fall under Chris’ spell. She wasn’t sure whether the booze was wearing off or if the stench of his toxic body odor combined with his metallic breath had awakened her. Either way, she pulled back, regarding him with renewed disdain. “That’s what this is about? A promotion!”
Chris looked at Jane, suddenly all business. “Sergeant Hank Weiting is retiring next month. I want his job.” Chris hesitated a moment, “No . . . I am his job. I’m not some fucking errand boy detective. I’m going to call the shots. I’m going to have the power that I deserve. All I need is the kind of case that makes the Brass sit up and take notice. That’s why I’ve got to nail this Lawrence murder.”
“Somewhere in there, ‘us’ turned into ‘I.’ You’d cut in line in front of starving Ethiopian children to get a second plate of food.”
“You do what you gotta do in this world. That’s my new motto. Hey, babe, you know how to play the game. Don’t you?” He winked at her in a knowing way.
Jane suddenly felt very dirty standing in Chris’ shadow. “Assholes and cream,” she said, heading toward her front door. “Eventually they all rise to the top.”
“Don’t you fuck up this case for me, Jane!” Chris bellowed as Jane kept walking. “We’ve all got our demons! You’re no exception to that rule!” Jane stopped in her tracks as Chris’ words cut to her core. Chris moved toward his car and swung open the driver’s door. “Take a good look in the mirror, Jane. You and I are two of a kind!”
Jane turned and stared into the piercing glare of Chris’ headlights. As he sped away from the curb, she wondered what it would feel like to kill him.
Inside her house, the answering machine light flashed two messages. The first voice was Mike.
“It’s me. I got home okay. I gotta get some sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”
The machine beeped and the second message started.
“Hello, this message is for Jane Perry. My name is Zoe. I’m the head nurse here at the hospital where your father is staying. I’m in his room right now and he asked me to call you to find out if you could come by tomorrow afternoon. He’d like to discuss some things—”
The nurse’s voice was interrupted in the background by Dale Perry’s voice, slightly slurred from the stroke. “Give me the phone!” Jane stared at the answering machine as the phone was passed to her father. “Jane! Where the fuck are you? I want you over here tomorrow! Bring your brother!”
Chapter 8
Sleepless nights were getting to be a habit for Jane. When she did sleep, it was fitful and splattered with the bloody, charred bodies of the Stover family. Tuesday night was no different. The combative message from her father on the answering machine didn’t abate the insomnia. It was closing in on 2 a.m. when Jane grabbed a pack of cigarettes and walked into the living room. After wearing a tired path around the dining room table while sucking the nicotine out of a cigarette and downing two shots of whiskey, she flicked on the radio.
“Welcome back to all you travelers between twilight and dawn . . .” Tony Mooney’s voice lay like black velvet across the shadows in the living room. Jane lit another cigarette and poured a third shot of whiskey. “Things are not always what they seem, my friends.” Mooney’s cadence felt comfortable to Jane; like an old friend she hadn’t yet met. “I’m exploring this fascinating idea tonight . . . the interconnectedness of souls. It is a foundation of so many esoteric philosophies and an integral concept explored in the Hindu texts known as the Upanishads . For those of you new to the mystical path, the Upanishads are considered the doctrine that espouses the interconnectedness of separate phenomena.