Pamela Tracy - What Janie Saw

Katie leaned forward, intent. “Did the Adobe Hills police officer say what was inside the safe this morning?”

Finally, something he could answer. “A pair of handcuffs, two wallets and plenty of drug paraphernalia.”

Which meant any of that DNA Janie’d been hoping for would be compromised.

It hadn’t escaped Rafe’s notice that the two women were asking more questions of him than he was asking of them. But before he could form a question, Katie asked, “How long will it take to get back the results?”

“The average is one hundred and twenty days.”

The two towns in his county were small, so they were a low priority after both Tucson and Phoenix for the crime lab, located in Phoenix.

A list of who knew the code to the safe could be helpful, yet he doubted an accurate list could be put together. Most likely the college had had the same safe for twenty years, and every officer, past and present, had been given the code. Add to that list the college president, the deans...

Janie started to stand, decided to sit, then stood again, before finally plopping into the chair and burying her forehead in her hands. “Oh, man! I wish I’d never opened that art book. It was the first time Patricia was trusting me to evaluate the students’ work and offer comments.”

“If it leads to Brittney’s murderer,” Rafe said, “then we’re glad you did read that art book. Her parents deserve closure.”

“And I deserve to live to thirty!”

“You will.” Rafe personally intended to keep that promise. His number one priority was finding Brittney’s killer while keeping Janie safe.

He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes until he needed to leave to testify in court, and while he didn’t want to leave the case or Janie, there was no reason for him to delay the court date. In an hour, the art book would still be missing; Derek would still be dead.

And, for right now, Janie was about as safe as one could be at the Scorpion Ridge police station.

But he did need to keep her busy. He didn’t want her to bolt or break down. “I’m going to turn you over to my chief of police,” Rafe said. “I’m going to have you look at some photos. See if you recognize any of Derek’s friends.”

“He didn’t have friends,” she reminded him. “And I’m supposed to be at the university. I have classes today.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to miss them today. And you’ll be surprised what you’ll remember, the details you’ll recall, people and places.”

“I should never have opened his art book,” Janie muttered again.

“But you did,” Rafe said, “So now we’ll deal with it.” He smiled, trying to communicate that she wasn’t alone, that he’d do his job, take care of her.

Then she gave him a glare that almost stopped him in his tracks. He was used to people being grateful, looking up to him, believing him, wanting to be taken care of, trusting him. Janie Vincent didn’t trust him.

Before he was quite ready, she stood, practically tapping her foot in impatience. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

“You want me to stay, Janie?” Katie asked.

“No, you go on back to work. I’ll find—”

“I’ll make sure she gets home,” Rafe asserted.

Janie’s eyes narrowed. For some reason, Little Miss Vincent didn’t appreciate his offer.

Rafe gathered up what he needed for court, and then followed Janie and Katie out his office door. Katie hurried toward the exit, checking her watch, too. Before Rafe could steer Janie toward the back room, she caught the attention of one of his auxiliary officers. The cop gave her an appreciative once-over before Rafe sent him packing. Then he gently guided Janie to the back room and set her up in front of a computer before summoning his chief of police, Jeff Summerside.

It took her a moment to realize what he planned and then her only question was, “I’m surprised, as small as Scorpion Ridge is, that you’re not still using mug-shot books?”

“I’m not even sure they still make Polaroid film,” he told her wryly. “As a border community, CopLink is a necessity. It saves time and manpower.”

He typed in some keywords and soon Janie was perusing faces. It was all Rafe could do to walk from the room, away from her and what she was doing, and hurry to court. He wanted to be sitting next to her, noting her reaction, and seeing if any of the faces meant something not only to her but also to him.

But he trusted his chief of police.

He wasn’t sure he trusted the officer who’d given her the once-over. At least, not when it came to Janie.

And that made no sense at all.

* * *

JANIE TOOK A deep breath and looked at yet another young, angry face. Chief Summerside had typed in various bits of information, bringing up the type of people who might be associated with Derek Chaney.

Just as Janie was wondering what type of keywords Summerside had used in his search—scary, mean, glowerer must surely have been among them—the officer left to take a private call. Leaving Janie to sit on a hard chair and feel alone. Vulnerable. It wasn’t Janie’s first time at a police station. It was, however, the first time she’d entered the doors without a police escort. And this time her sister, Katie, had been escorting her in instead of out.

Rafe’s words, I’ll make sure she gets home, had taken Janie back to a low point in her life. Janie had just turned thirteen, and her big sister Katie, now of legal age, had left Aunt Betsy’s.

Alone with her alcoholic aunt, Janie had been terrified, and for a solid year the system couldn’t be convinced that an eighteen-year-old guardian—one who had a job, was in college and with no police record—was better than a fifty-year-old aunt who couldn’t hold a job, keep an apartment, and had lost her driver’s license thanks to her best friend vodka.

“I’ll make sure she gets home.”

Janie closed her eyes. He couldn’t have picked a worse declaration. During the year Katie had fought the system, Janie had run away eight times.

Rafe wasn’t the first cop to see Janie safely home.

Only in those days, there’d been nothing safe about the home she’d been escorted back to. He also wasn’t the first cop to sympathize with her.

Empty words. It was easy to say “I’m sorry.” Janie knew from experience that a cop could only do so much, and that when the next call came in, she was just a report to be filed.

And forgotten.

Sighing, she refocused on the screen. After what felt like days, another officer, Candy Riorden, drove her home to her cottage behind the house where her sister and brother-in-law lived.

Since it was only a ten-minute drive, there’d been little conversation aside from the cackle of the radio and a few directions from Janie. Just before Janie closed the police cruiser’s back door, Officer Riorden said, “Sheriff Salazar says he’ll pick you up later and escort you to Adobe Hills.”

It was an order, not a suggestion.

Given by a cop who’d said he’d make sure she got home and then had turned her over to someone else.

Typical.

Yet today, as she took her second shower in under twelve hours, she wondered if she just might have to rethink her own policy. The one she had about not trusting cops. Years ago, when she’d run away, it had always been a cop who had escorted her back to a place she didn’t want to go, a place where she didn’t feel safe, instead of to her sister.

But in this instance, Katie wouldn’t be much help. Janie might actually be putting her in danger. For a protector, Sheriff Salazar might be the logical, and only, choice. And, he did look like someone who could keep her safe. He was tall, over six feet, and had the square jaw that boasted a five-o’clock shadow before noon. Were she the type of artist to paint people, she’d choose him. She’d make sure to emphasize his strong hands, knowing smile and piercing black eyes.