Protector - Laurel Dewey [86]
Was this what it felt like to go mad? Was this what it felt like to be evil? What was the next step? How completely would the darkness embrace her and drive her deeper into the black hole? When would the voices start telling her to do things to herself and to others and at what point would she comply? Those questions ran through Jane’s mind as she sat on the couch waiting for Weyler. All she knew for sure at that moment was that the apple did not fall far from the tree. For better or worse, she was her father’s daughter.
The kitchen door that led to the backyard was still wide open. The wind and rain had subsided, replaced by a sinister stillness. Jane checked the living room clock and figured it would take Weyler about ten minutes to arrive. She looked down at the overturned coffee table and the scattering of Emily’s drawings and colored pencils strewn across the floor. A choice had to be made. She could turn the table upright, replace the drawings and pencils, close the kitchen door and make the place look presentable or she could leave everything as it was. What was the use? She was doomed anyway. She stood up and lit a cigarette and then for some reason, righted the coffee table. A few minutes later, she gathered the drawings and pencils. Another quick look at the clock. Weyler would be arriving in five minutes. It was like waiting for the judge to show up and declare your sentence.
Outside, Jane heard the patrol car roll down the back alley. She crossed into the kitchen and watched as the headlights bounced off the back fence before disappearing. Jane closed the kitchen door, locked it and started back into the living room when she turned back again. With an attitude of indifference, she secured the bolt on the door, took a look around the kitchen and flipped off the light.
Minutes later, Weyler knocked on the front door. Jane took a hard drag on her cigarette as she walked across the room and opened the door. Even though Jane was sure she had roused Weyler from a comfortable night in front of PBS, he looked as dapper as ever in his suit and silk tie. She regarded him briefly, saying nothing and walked back into the living room. Weyler entered, looked around the entry hall, closed the door and followed Jane.
“What happened?” Weyler said, concerned.
Jane couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she puffed on her cigarette and kept her head bent toward the floor. “It’s bad, boss,” she said, humiliated, in a half-whisper.
Weyler tensed. “What is it?”
“I . . . I fucked up.”
He closely observed Jane. “Did she reveal something to you?”
Jane let out a snort of contempt. “Oh, God. Are we back to that bullshit?”
“Jane,” Weyler replied, irritated. “What happened?”
“Why don’t you go upstairs and ask Emily that question.” She turned away from Weyler, taking nervous drags on her cigarette.
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
“No. You need to hear the whole mess from her.” Weyler weighed the situation before turning and walking up the stairs. Jane heard him knock on her bedroom door, announce himself, then open her door.
It was just about over for Jane. Thirteen years of hard work. Thirteen years of clawing her way into homicide and it was all going to be over in a matter of minutes. She heard the upstairs door open and close and the sound of Weyler’s feet descending the staircase. He stood on the landing, staring at Jane. She flicked her cigarette into the fireplace and turned to Weyler. “So, how does this play out?” she asked.
“How do you mean?” Weyler said stonefaced.
“What’s the protocol?”
Weyler casually crossed into the living room. “Protocol?”
Jane observed Weyler. He was far too calm. “What’s the Department protocol to determine my removal?”
“Removal?” Weyler said confused. “If I removed detectives for yelling at their witnesses,