Protector - Laurel Dewey [59]
“Hey, the police presence is a request from the neighborhood. As far as Martha’s role, it’s what I had to do to get the ‘okay.’ You’ll also notice a black-and-white patrolling the alley behind the house every twenty minutes or so.”
“Isn’t this overkill?”
“It’s precautionary.” Weyler pulled a small cell phone out of his coat pocket and handed it to Jane. “Take this. Phone service was cut inside the house.”
Jane took the phone. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Weyler let out a sigh that was more irritated at others than at Jane. “The Court felt there was a certain degree of concern regarding the child’s welfare.”
“Psychological or physical?”
“Maybe a little bit of both.”
“Well, I got the psychological figured. What’s the physical?”
“Like I said, it’s precautionary.”
“Whoa! If you think for one second that someone is stalking this kid and might come after her, what the hell are you bringing her back here for? What is she? Bait?”
Weyler turned to Jane. “My God, of course not! You know this is a rare and delicate situation. We have a nine-year-old child who may have important information to share with us. Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. Of course, you tell anybody that, and I’ll deny it. But my hands are tied. The Department is coming off a case where a family of three who we were hired to protect is blown to bits in their own driveway. And when one of those victims is a child, well . . . I don’t have to tell you how that makes us look. We need a tally mark in the ‘win’ column. We need to show this city that we don’t have our heads up our collective asses. So, desperate times call for very desperate measures. And one of those measures is bringing a traumatized child quietly back to a crime scene and seeing if we can shake some of that memory loose. Bottom line, Detective, you have to make this work.”
Jane looked straight ahead. “So, is she or is she not being stalked?”
“I honestly don’t know. But I sure as hell am not going to take any more ‘ice cream’ chances,” Weyler stated, alluding to the Stovers’ side trip to the ice cream parlor that eventually cost them their lives. “Are you?”
“We wouldn’t need to ask that question if Chris kept his mouth shut about how Emily was in the house when all the shit came down. I want that on the record.”
“Duly noted.”
Weyler dipped underneath the yellow police tape and entered the front door of the house followed by Jane who set her leather satchel near the staircase. At the sound of the door closing, Chris called out from inside the kitchen.
“It’s us!” Weyler yelled back.
“What’s he doing here?” Jane said, muffling her voice.
“He’s the current shift detective positioned in the other vehicle.”
“Why’s he in here?”
“I asked him to go get you and Emily some food.”
“Wonderful.” Jane said, knowing how Chris must have reacted when he was sent to the store. Jane stood on the landing that overlooked the living room and surveyed the area. There was a smattering of knickknacks. The balance, along with the missing pieces of carpet, had been taken into evidence. The room looked cold and disturbed. “You should have had Chris pick up some stuff to fill in the place. And couldn’t you have had someone cover up the carpet cutouts? That’s going to freak out Emily.”
“It’s all I could do on short notice.” Weyler’s cell phone rang and he answered it.
Jane wandered across the room and into the kitchen where Chris was putting the final item into the refrigerator. “I thought you were going to Lake Dillon.”
Chris kept his back turned to Jane. “I did, too. But Weyler figured out a way to squeeze more blood out of the overtime fund.” He slammed the refrigerator door and turned to Jane. “But I shouldn’t complain. I get to shop for you and the kid and then I get to sit out in that car until my shift’s up at 10:30. I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”
“You want to go one-on-one with the kid, Chris? Be my guest!”
“No! She picked you! You’re the star of the fucking show. Just do me one favor. Cut to the chase and figure out this fucker! I don’t give a shit what you have to do to jar