What Janie Saw(27)

                There were no photographs in the room, but lots and lots of drawings. Derek seemed to be enthralled by dark castles, fire-breathing dragons and fierce warriors.

                “I’d better go check on my wife,” Mr. Chaney said.

                Janie walked into the room, not a bit put off by the mess. She rubbed her shoulders as if cold, but it wasn’t a chill in the air that made her uncomfortable. It was more likely a chill in her heart. He felt it, too.

                “I should have tried harder with that boy,” she murmured.

                “You did make an effort,” Rafe reminded her.

                “Not enough of one. Sometimes a teacher is the only one who can make a difference, see beneath the grime.”

                Rafe wondered if a teacher had been there for her, back in her muddled childhood. She’d made it clear that cops hadn’t been. Somehow knowing that made him want to change her mind. Not only about cops in general, but about him specifically.

                But they were losing precious time, so he asked, “Do you see the art book?”

                “Not yet.” Janie walked to the middle of the room, sidestepping a pair of jeans and a skateboard. She turned in a circle, first with her eyes open and then with them closed. After a moment, she headed for a desk.

                “The desk is too neat,” she explained. “Nothing else in this room is neat.” She briefly touched the computer’s mouse and lifted the pad. Then, she opened the only drawer.

                Nothing.

                Watching her, Rafe was again struck by her attention to detail. She was doing what he usually did, had been trained to do, and she was doing it by instinct.

                Janie next checked under the bed. He’d already done that and found nothing unusual.

                But she pulled out one tennis shoe. “This isn’t his.”

                Rafe looked at it: dull brown and somewhat new. “How can you be sure?”

                “Derek would never wear this color.”

                “What color is it, exactly?”

                Janie gaped at him in disbelief. “It’s green.”

                Rafe wasn’t one for sharing what he didn’t consider a disability. But, in this case, it might make a difference in what she could see and what he couldn’t.

                “I’m color-blind, which means I have poor discrimination with certain colors. Green being one of them.”

                Her expression went from disbelief to pity. Well, an artist would feel sorry for someone who couldn’t appreciate every color’s beauty.

                “That must make your job harder.”

                “There was some concern that I wouldn’t pass the vision test. I did, and luckily, my condition is considered mild. The fact that I work for a small rural county makes a difference. I also wear corrective lenses.”

                “Derek wore black, gray and white. It’s almost as if he was making a statement about his personality. Green is the color of safety.”

                Rafe dumped the shoe in a baggie he pulled from his pocket and ran out the door to ask the Chaneys what size shoe Derek had worn—Mrs. Chaney said her son was an eleven.