Protector - Laurel Dewey [67]
“You need to let go of my hand so you can do your business.”
Emily reluctantly let go and pulled up her denim jumper. Jane turned to face the sink. Scanning the small space, she was reminded of a case she had worked years ago where a father hid his drug stash in the medicine cabinet of his child’s bathroom. The SOB figured that the cops would never look in his kid’s bathroom. He was right. The cops didn’t look in there. But Jane looked and found the father’s secret cache of cocaine, which blew the case wide open. If Emily’s father really did die because of a drug deal gone bad—a theory Jane wasn’t willing to accept—there had to be pockets in the house where he stored his coke. It was a pattern of drug users. But the longer she stayed in the Lawrence house, the more Jane felt that Emily’s father wouldn’t go to any great lengths to hide drugs—if, indeed, there were any drugs to be found. Sweet Jesus, Jane thought, the man played a game called “Think.” Was that the MO of an intrepid drug addict?
Nonchalantly, Jane uncovered the hamper lid and looked inside. Nothing. Not even a lonely sock. She popped open the medicine cabinet and found Emily’s toothbrush, toothpaste and a bottle of children’s aspirin. Emily flushed the toilet and crossed to the sink to wash her hands. “Brush your teeth,” Jane instructed, handing Emily the toothpaste and toothbrush. Emily brushed her teeth as Jane turned to look out the small diamond shaped window that overlooked the backyard and alleyway. She watched as the appointed patrol car crept slowly down the alley, its lights radiating fifty feet forward. “See you in another half an hour,” Jane said under her breath toward the patrol car. Emily turned to Jane, dribbling toothpaste down the front of her jumper.
Jane grabbed a hand towel. “Hey, watch what you’re doing. Rinse your mouth.” Emily complied. Jane knelt down so she was eye-to-eye with Emily and wiped the toothpaste off her jumper. Emily’s attention was instantly drawn to Jane’s scar on her right temple. She pulled Jane’s hair away from her forehead. “What are you doing?”
Emily examined the scar, brushing her finger across the surface. “That really hurt, didn’t it?” Emily said quietly.
Their eyes locked for only a second, but to Jane, it felt longer. It seemed that the stronger she built her comfortable wall, the more Emily was able to break it down. “Get your pajamas on.”
Emily took hold of Jane’s hand and walked back on to the narrow landing with her. Jane opened Emily’s bedroom door and started to turn on the light switch when she turned to the child. “There’s some carpet in there that’s missing. I just wanted you to know that before you walked in there.” Emily nodded apprehensively. Jane turned on the light. The ever-so-pink colors of the room felt startling to Jane. It also felt tainted. A cold-blooded killer stood in this room with a knife, dripping the blood of Emily’s parents all over the plush, pink carpeting.
Emily carefully moved into the room, still holding onto Jane’s hand. Her eyes followed the missing trail of pink carpeting that ran from the door to the closet. She stared at the closed white closet door and noted the residue left behind from where detectives dusted for prints. “Why’s it all dirty?” Emily asked.
“That’s not dirt. That’s just something the cops did.”
“People were in my room?” Emily said, her voice raising an octave. “Why?”
Jane promised herself she wouldn’t take Emily down that rocky emotional road. She had no intention of making the kid remember anything about the crime, no matter how much Chris or Weyler persuaded her. Screw ’em. Screw the media. For that matter, screw the city. She walked into this assignment completely against her will and she was not going to cooperate and drag Emily through hell. So when the kid asked why the cops were in her room, Jane did what she hardly ever did. She lied. “Just procedure,” Jane said, avoiding eye contact with