Part 13 (1/2)
”But you understand that we're just friends, right?”
”Yeah, I know,” he said, pouting a little as though knowing what was coming around the bend.
”Maybe if things were different ... if I was a little younger or you were a little older, who knows ... but right now, Marty, I'll be honest. I could use all the friends that I can get. I have no room in my life for romantic attachments of any kind. I hope you understand.”
She went back to scrambling the eggs and waited to see how he was going to take the rejection.
”Maybe I should get going,” he said quietly, not looking at her.
Jane made as if to offer words of consolation or friends.h.i.+p when the phone rang insistently beside her. ”Wait a minute, Marty,” she said, picking up the phone. ”Please.”
Marty stood half in, half out the door in a sulky pose.
”h.e.l.lo?” Jane answered. ”Oh hi, Danny.”
”So that's him? That's your boyfriend? I suppose I'm not good enough for you,” Marty snapped, his voice rising higher in an adolescent screech.
”Marty, please,” Jane tried in vain as the teenager stormed out. Her attention, however, was soon taken by Danny on the other end of the line.
On the ride over to meet Danny, Jane started to wonder if she was going to need to trade in the 4x4 for a minivan, such was the company riding in the back now. The faces and figures often blurred in and out of her reality but she could sense them all there, watching, waiting.
Danny had been upset on the phone. It wasn't what he said or even how he said it, but she had been around him long enough now to tap into his spirit. He hadn't told her who was dead, but she instinctively knew that it was someone on the inside. The killer had struck at the heart of the detective tasked with finding him. Jane knew that she was going to have to be Danny's strength for now and she only hoped that her shoulders were strong enough. She had failed his father once and she couldn't fail another Meyers man.
She parked up around the corner from the address that Danny had given and switched the engine off. He'd told her that he would come and find her when the scene went quiet, so she waited. After a short while, she looked up in the rear-view mirror and saw two new pa.s.sengers squeezed into the back seat. The woman she had never seen before, but the man seemed familiar. It took her a while to remember and when she did, she found the reason for Danny's hurt. The man had been in the police station when she had been arrested by Danny what seemed like an age ago now. He was an older guy with the bearing of a copper, but a kind face to go with it. He was obviously a colleague of Danny's and a friend; she couldn't help but wonder just how much death and pain there could be left in the world. Surely it had to run out at some point.
At some point she dozed off as the summer sun baked the car. Her dreams were a jumble of slas.h.i.+ng blades and blood as the innocent fell, only to rise again and take a seat on the long bus that she was driving. The hiss of the air brakes punctuated another stop and another customer climbed aboard.
She saw her mother board the bus, her flesh shredded with the Crucifier's symbol carved into her chest. Her mother held such sorrow and disappointment in her eyes that Jane cringed under the glare.
Karl Meyers stepped onto the bus at the next stop; somehow he was mingled with the father that she had never known, and his shaking head brought tears to her eyes.
The bus was soon full and there was standing room only as the dead climbed aboard and Jane felt that she was paying the fare of every customer. Soon the bus was dangerously overcrowded and every square inch was packed with the dead squabbling for room. Elbows bucked and legs kicked as they squirmed like vermin fighting for air in a barrel. Jane tried to keep the bus driving straight but hands clawed at her from behind. These spirits stank of the grave and rotting fingers tore strips of flesh from her face. She gripped the huge wheel hard and desperately tried to keep the bus on the road but the dead were now spilling over the seats behind her, obscuring her view. She fought for breath as they piled on top of her and her foot slipped off the accelerator. The bus slowed to a crawl and outside, angry hands started to pound on the windows with furious clenched bony knuckles. The bus started to rock violently from side to side as the corpses refused to be denied entry. The gla.s.s shattered and still they poured in, burying her under foul, decayed flesh as she fought frantically for air, but the world went dark.
She was awoken by strong hands shaking her roughly. Slowly, Danny's face came into view and she suddenly hugged him fiercely.
”Have you forgotten that you're not exactly my type?” he said lightly.
”Sorry,” she mumbled in reply, letting go and wiping away the tears from her cheeks.
”Jane, we are going to need to have a talk about that night 8 years ago; something's come up that I don't understand and I'm hoping that you can make some sense of it.”
”That must have been some whopper of a dream, Miss,” a stranger suddenly said from over Danny's shoulder.
”Just give me a minute here, Bradshaw,” Danny barked protectively, wondering just where the h.e.l.l the guy had sprung from. He had sent the agent back to the station with Selleck after the scene had been processed but now he was back on his own terms.
”Sure, no problem,” the American said, stepping away.
”Hot date?” she asked with raised eyebrows once the man was out of earshot.
”FBI, sent to clean up our mess,” he answered, a little bitterly. ”I'm sorry. I sent him away and somehow he's b.l.o.o.d.y snuck back again.”
”Maybe it's your aftershave?” Jane joked. She could feel that they were dancing with clumsy attempts at humour, putting off whatever unpleasant conversation they were going to have. ”I didn't know his name, your friend inside,” she probed gently.
”Bryan Wilson,” he replied quietly. ”He was a good man, Jane, and he deserved a h.e.l.l of a lot better than this.”
”Did you know his wife?”
”Not as well as I should have; it's a long story.”
”What about your man there?” she said, nodding towards the agent who was busying himself with the scenery. ”How exactly does he feel about you talking to me?”
”Well I haven't exactly crossed that bridge yet,” Danny conceded.
”Maybe I should to talk to him? You think that he's got more of an open mind than your colleagues?”
”You know, I worked a case in Nevada once,” Bradshaw suddenly said, sidling up and joining the conversation. ”Way out in the desert, some old guy was digging a well and came across a grave with the remains of 11 bodies. The tech boys found nothing of any use on any of the corpses either to discover ident.i.ties or cause of death. We were there for two weeks and I don't mind telling you that we found jack s.h.i.+t..., sorry Ma'am, I mean we found nothing,” he apologised and Jane could picture him tipping a Stetson. ”The local Sherriff's Department had no leads or clues and we were about to be rea.s.signed. Thing is that some old woman came to the motel where I was staying late one night. She told me that she knew who'd done it and she wanted him stopped. Bad juju, she called it. Obviously I asked her what evidence she had, you know, getting all excited, but my jaw d.a.m.n near dropped when she told me that she'd dreamt it. I was about to write her off as a bag of crazy a.s.s cats when one of the local deputies walks in. Well, she takes one look at that boy and at the same time he goes about as pale as a ghost and bolts for the door. Long story short, we pick the guy up a few hours later and he confesses to the whole thing.”
”You know who I am?” Jane asked.
”Wouldn't be much of an agent if I didn't do my homework, now would I?”
”So you're a believer then?” Jane enquired with genuine interest.
”Well, now, I wouldn't exactly say that, but I have seen the storage room in Was.h.i.+ngton where the bureau keeps files on the..., unexplained cases shall we say.”
”Can I ask you something else, Agent... Bradshaw ... was it?”
”Ask away, Miss.”
”How much of that 'good old boy, aw shucks Ma'am can I tether my horse to your fence post', is really you?”
Bradshaw studied her carefully. ”More than a pinch but less than a handful,” he smiled in return.
”And are you going to object if Danny here lets me take a look at the crime scene?”
”Way I see it is that I'm every bit a civilian spectator as you are, Miss.”
”Call me Jane,” she said climbing out of the car and steeling herself for what lay ahead.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
REWRITING HISTORY.
Randall gave up the struggle of trying to unscrew the whisky bottle with his damaged hand. It was probably a blessing as he would have likely demolished the bottle and the rest of the day would have been spent in a foggy, useless haze.