A Grave Prediction (Psychic Eye Mystery) (6 page)

With that, Rivera got up and left us alone together. Joy.

I leaned back in my chair and laced my fingers together, while
looking expectantly at the men. Robinson was his usual stone-faced self, while Perez was sweating nervously. I wondered if he thought I was a witch who might put a spell on him. After a long moment where no one spoke, I tapped my wrist and said, “Time’s a-wasting, gentlemen.”

Perez looked at Robinson, but that man didn’t seem to mind disobeying a direct order. He continued to sit there and gaze at me with dull, flat eyes. Finally, Perez said, “We’ve been investigating a series of bank robberies.”

“Okay,” I said, glad that at least someone was moving the train forward.

“Five banks in five weeks around Pasadena and La Cañada Flintridge.”

“Five in five weeks?” I repeated. “That’s a pretty aggressive schedule.”

“It is.”

My radar was buzzing. The energy around their case was electric, and that was good. It usually meant I wouldn’t have to work too hard to draw out a clue. Neither Robinson nor Perez had brought in a file for me to look at, so I took it upon myself to peer into the ether and see what I could tease out. “This isn’t just one robber,” I began. “There’re multiple people involved. They’re organized, like a gang of thieves.” Across the table Perez was nodding slightly. “I feel like they’re very systematic about things. They have a routine that is always the same. The same number of robbers each time taking up the same positions within the bank, and I keep seeing a clock in my mind, which means they probably rob the place in exactly the same number of minutes each time. Like, down to the second. And it’s the same bank being hit each time, just at different branches.”

Perez’s mouth fell open. The cynical side of me thought that these skeptical bureau boys really were a bit too easy to impress.
“The sixth robbery hasn’t happened yet,” I continued. “They’re off the pattern.”

“Yes,” Robinson said.

I was a bit startled that he’d spoken, but I tried not to show it. “And you guys don’t know why they’re off said pattern. In other words, you don’t know if that means they’ve moved on to another city, or if they’re taking a break or even if they’ve given up robbing banks altogether.” Focusing on Perez, I said, “How long has it been since the last robbery?”

“Two weeks.”

I tapped my finger on the conference table. “Hmm. That’s interesting.” Purposely, I didn’t elaborate. If these two wanted more of my input, they’d need to ask. Politely.

“That it?” Robinson said after a lengthy pause.

I sighed and stood up. “No. There’s a whole lot more. But I’d like a look at the crime scenes before I comment further.”

“Now?” Perez said, glancing at his watch. I knew it was just before five.

“No,” I repeated. “Not now. Tomorrow. Nine a.m. In the meantime I’m going to head back to my hotel and rest. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I think you guys need a break too. At least a break from being total hard-asses. Tomorrow how about we all meet back here and at least pretend to play nice, m’kay?”

With that, I left them to glare at my backside.

*   *   *

C
andice met me in the hotel bar at six. “Sundance,” she said smoothly, sidling up to take the barstool next to mine.

“Huckleberry,” I replied.

“How’s things?”

“Peachy.”

She motioned to the bartender and pointed to my margarita.
He nodded and while he got busy making her a goblet of goodness, she considered me critically. “Brice and I have a bet, you know.”

I inhaled deeply and let it out slow. “You don’t say?”

“Yeah. He bet me you wouldn’t make it past the first week.”

I turned my head to arch an eyebrow at her. “
Did
he, now?”

“Yep. Dutch has you down for ten days, though.”

I chuckled. “Glad my own husband has such faith.”

“I have you down for the full two weeks,” she said.

“How much?”

“Last time I checked, the pool had five hundred bucks in it.”

“There’s a pool?”

“There is,” she said. “Oscar thinks you’ll crack the day before you’re scheduled to leave, while Cox didn’t think you’d even go. He laid money down that you’d head west all right, but he thought you’d bypass L.A. and make for Hawaii.”

I laughed and shook my head ruefully. “So, now that you’ve told me about the pool, you’re thinking that I’ll stick it out to the end
just
to let you, oh, true friend of mine, cash in and split the winnings with me, right?”

Candice picked up the margarita the bartender had set in front of her and took a demure sip before answering. “Actually, I was just counting on the first part of that scenario.”

I made a dismissive sound. “No way, Huckleberry. If I make it to the end of this nightmare, I get half of that pot.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” she said. “Although I might be more motivated to help you stay focused and on track if the split was closer to say . . . seventy-thirty.”

“Only if that seventy percent comes this way, darlin’,” I said, pointing to my chest.

“Fifty-fifty it is,” she said.

“I thought so.” We sipped on our margaritas in silence for
a bit before Candice said, “I take it today was as tough as yesterday?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Actually, today was pretty good. I scored a big win helping Agent Hart with her case against the stolen art fencer. I was the one who found his hidden wine cellar, where the team discovered a ton of evidence to convict the art dealer’s sorry ass and send him away for a long, long time.”

“Abby, that’s great!” Candice said, patting me on the back. “And it must’ve gone a long way toward convincing these L.A. Feds that you’re the real deal.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know, you’d think that would be the case. However . . .”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they’re a stubborn group.”

“So what’s next on their agenda for you?”

“A series of bank robberies. There’s a ton of supercharged energy around the crimes, so I’m thinking I’ll be able to do some solid good on the case. Tomorrow, we’re going to visit the banks where the robberies took place.”

“Sounds promising,” she said. I nodded and she added, “So why’re you here with that sad face and this big-ass margarita?”

I swirled the drink and frowned. “Because nothing I do seems to be good enough for these guys. I mean, Agent Hart is awesome. We had a late lunch together and I swear you’d like her too, Candice. But the other ones . . . Man! They’re just cold, you know?”

“Why do you need them to be all warm and fuzzy toward you?”

I made a face at her. “Come on, Candice, you know me better than that. I want them to think I’m awesome because I’m emotionally needy. Like . . . duh!”

“Ah,” she said. “Yes, I forgot. Your parents didn’t love you and the rest of the world has to pay.”

“Can I help it if I had a crappy childhood that left me broken and damaged beyond repair?”

She grinned. “No, I suppose not. And for the record, you are neither broken nor damaged beyond repair. Dented, maybe, but not broken.”

“That, right there, is the reason I love you. You just get me.” For emphasis, I saluted her with my drink. And then I got serious. “You’re right, though, I suppose. I’ve been trying all day to keep in mind what you said last night about it being their stuff, not mine, if these guys are so skeptical. Still, it’s really tough to work in a hostile environment.”

“Is it really hostile?” she asked curiously.

“I’d have to say that it is, and it makes me uncomfortable. It’s tense and it’s angry and no one but Agent Hart trusts me. I was fine this morning, Candice, I really was, and I thought after I brought in the home run on the Grecco case that the boys would ease up, but they’re not. It’s as hostile as ever and when it’s coming from all directions, I have a hard time ignoring it.”

“You can bring me in, you know,” Candice said seriously. “I mean, fuck this Whitacre dude who wants me to stay out of his bureau. If you need me, then I’ll go with you tomorrow.”

I had a brief flash of Candice being physically removed from the building by Robinson and Rivera—the two biggest men at the bureau. That wasn’t sure to end well . . . for them.

“No,” I said with a sigh. “It’d only cause trouble for both of us.”

“So what can I do?” she asked.

“Hang out with me for a while tonight, give me a pep talk in the morning, and tell me it’s all gonna work out in the end.”

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in
close to her. “It’s all gonna work out okay, Sundance. You just go in tomorrow, bring home a big win on that bank robbery case, and those bureau boys will have no choice but to come around. Just remember, you won Brice over, and nothing says more about your capabilities than that.”

She was right about that. Brice had been the
worst
when I’d first started working his cases. He’d put me through all sorts of seemingly impossible scenarios—which I’d passed—before finally coming around. And the boys at my own bureau back in Austin had also been really tough nuts to crack. Candice reminding me of that actually bolstered my confidence. “When you’re right, you’re right,” I told her. “I’ll just go in tomorrow and blow their minds while bringing in another big win.”

“Easy peezy,” she said.

And we both drank to
that.

•   •   •

T
he drive to the first bank in La Cañada Flintridge the next morning felt interminable. Of course, that might have been because Robinson and Perez forgot to bring along their sunny dispositions, opting instead for Mr. and Mr. Grumpy Pants.

Such an unpleasant couple,
I thought as I stared meanly at the backs of their heads. I’d even offered to treat them to a coffee if they’d been willing to stop at any one of the five gazillion Starbucks that we passed along the way, and they’d both looked at each other like, “Does she really think we’re doing that?” and kept driving.

And because I’m not someone who can just let an obvious insult go (you’re reeling in shock right now, I know . . .), I’d taken to humming a merry tune. I’d started with “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” segued rather elegantly into “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” and lightly flitted over to “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” before Robinson had turned his head to glare hard at me and said, “If you don’t stop, I’ll throw you out of this car.”

“Like I’m scared of you!” I’d snapped in return. Still, I’d
stopped humming. When one is faced with being tossed from a moving vehicle, it’s probably best to
fermez la bouche
.

At last we arrived at the bank in question and Perez parked near the rear. The boys got out first, buttoning their suit jackets to hide their badges and guns. The move wasn’t lost on me; they didn’t want anyone to know they were FBI with me in tow. They were probably afraid I’d get inside the bank and start speaking in tongues.

I was tempted to pull something like that out of spite, but then, I didn’t really know what speaking in tongues was all about and quite frankly it sounded like a lot of work, and I hadn’t even had a decent cup of coffee yet.

With a reluctant sigh I followed them into the bank and after coming through the doors, I moved off to the left near a potted ficus tree, as much to find a quiet place to feel out the ether as to get away from the señores Grumpy Pants.

The bank had only two patrons in it, but there was a tense energy to the place. I figured the staff was still very much on edge after their ordeal. It occurred to me that I didn’t know much about the robbery other than what I’d already felt out about it the day before. Neither Robinson nor Perez had shown me anything from the case file: no photos, video, descriptions, witness statements. Nada. Which was fine—I mean, I could still pick stuff out of the ether on my own—but it would’ve been nice to have had something tangible and relevant to the case shown to me prior to our hopping in the car and driving all the way here.

“Whatever,” I muttered as I shrugged off my irritation and got busy doing my job. Taking three deep breaths, I got calm and centered and focused all of my intuitive prowess on the interior of the bank.

My attention was pulled in a completely different direction. “Weird,” I said quietly. Turning toward the window that I was standing in front of, I looked out at the parking lot. It, like the bank, was mostly empty.

“Did you need some assistance?”

Looking away from the window, I saw a woman about my age with long blond hair and clean, somewhat angled features, smartly clad in a black business suit, addressing me. “No,” I said, attempting to smile. “I’m good.” My radar hummed and my attention was pulled back toward the window and outside.

“Are you sure?” she said.

There was a nervous hitch in her voice and I realized that I might look like someone who could be casing the joint. To put her at ease, I pulled out the lanyard from inside my coat with my FBI consultant ID attached. “I’m here about the robbery,” I said.

She flinched ever so slightly before steeling herself; then she leaned forward and looked closely at my ID. “You’re a consultant to the FBI?”

“I am,” I said, then pointed to Dumbledumb and Dumbledumber. “They’re actual agents.”

She turned to look and took in the sight of Robinson and Perez standing off to the other side staring dully at me. “I think those two were in last week,” she said. “They spoke to the bank manager. Would you like me to get her?”

“Not right now,” I said, and swiveled once again toward the window, unable to keep my attention away from the parking lot for some reason. “What the heck is out there?”

“Out there?” she repeated, that nervous hitch back in her voice. “Nothing. I mean, it’s the parking lot.”

Still distracted, I said, “Yeah, but there’s something. . . .” I
moved away from the ficus and over to the entrance. Something from outside was pulling at me and my intuition wasn’t letting it go.

“Where’s she going?” I heard Perez say when I pushed on the door to head outside.

“I guess we’re leaving,” Robinson replied.

But I wasn’t leaving so much as following my gut. Once outside, however, I was at a bit of a loss. There were four cars in the medium-sized parking lot. None of the cars felt suspicious to me. So what was it that had called to me so urgently from inside?

I scanned the parking lot, trying to feel from which direction that intuitive pull had come from, and finally settled on straight ahead—but there wasn’t a car parked in any slot straight in front of me. Just several spaces and a hill that appeared to lead up into the mountains.

Walking forward a few paces, I puzzled over what my intuition was trying to tell me. I felt like I needed to look at the ground, so I did, sweeping my eyes back and forth over the pavement, searching for anything resembling a clue, but there was nothing, not even a bit of litter.

“Dammit,” I said, irritated.

“What are we doing, Cooper?” Perez asked me. “Are we leaving and going to the next location?”

I waved at him impatiently. He needed to shut up so that I could focus. “Not yet,” I told him while I scanned the ground again. Walking forward several more paces, I tried to find the clue, but something felt very off about where I was looking. “This is so weird,” I said to myself. Then I looked up at the horizon and put my hands on my hips. In the distance at the top of the hill that abutted the parking lot was a bulldozer, trudging along near the base of what appeared to be a plateau of land
about a hundred meters up and away from where I stood. All of a sudden I sucked in a breath because a series of images was popping into my mind like flashbulbs, and none of those images meant anything good.

“Agent Perez?” I said, staring up at the bulldozer.

“Yeah?”

“Was someone killed during any of the robberies?”

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied with a note of irritation.

“Weird,” I muttered, walking forward again, my gaze still on that bulldozer. I have a distinct sign for murder—it’s the image of a smoking gun—and it kept appearing in my mind’s eye like an annoying strobe light. The closer I walked to the hill, the more the image flashed. I wondered if maybe the driver of the bulldozer had committed a crime, but I wasn’t sure that felt right either.

Behind me I heard Perez say to Robinson, “Where’s she going?”

“No idea,” came the reply.

I didn’t bother to turn around and explain it to them. At that moment I was totally focused on following my intuition.

It kept leading me forward and when I reached the edge of the parking lot, I didn’t stop. Lifting my leg over the metal guardrail that separated the hill from the lot, I moved into the deep grass and began to ascend the slope.

It was a steep climb, but the ground was firm from the recent drought, which was good since I was in heels, but at the top the view was a bit unexpected. There was a large swath of flat rectangular land that’d been cleared of trees and scrub. There was also a sign posted about ten feet away announcing the new development of a series of homes starting in the mid–seven hundred
thousands. A mock-up of the type of house about to be built was also on the sign, but what was really weird was that the sign appeared to me to be both new and then something aged and faded.

I blinked hard and when I focused again, I saw that the sign had to be brand-spanking-new, but then it seemed to fade again right before my eyes, becoming dirty and weatherworn. I shook my head and there it was again, crisp, clean, and promising luxurious homes for an affordable price.

“What the hell?” I asked myself. I felt a little dizzy and disconnected as I gazed at the sign, so I pulled my gaze away from it and back to the cleared land, and that’s when I saw the graves.

There were four of them. They were freshly dug, side by side, without markers or ornaments of any kind. At the sight of them, my breath caught and my heart seemed to skip a beat. I knew that the graves held the bodies of four young girls. It was as if someone had told me that as a fact, and it caused me a bit of nausea. “Oh, God,” I whispered.

And then I realized that the bulldozer was headed right for the graves. In a panic I rushed forward onto the freshly tilled earth. Slipping in my heels, I began waving at the driver, trying to get his attention. He wasn’t stopping or even slowing down; he simply kept a steady pace directly for the four graves. “Hey!” I yelled.
“Hey!”

A moment later the bulldozer ran over the first grave.
“Stop!”
I screamed, and tried to run faster. My feet were covered in dirt and my ankles kept twisting as I ran in the damn heels, but I wasn’t fast enough to reach the bulldozer and he ran over the second grave a moment later.
“Stop! Stop! STOP!”
I screamed.

“Cooper!” I heard behind me. Perez or Robinson had obviously come up the slope—I didn’t know which of them was calling to me, nor did I care. At the moment I was completely focused on
getting to the driver of the bulldozer before he crushed the bodies of all four victims. Just as he was about to plow over the fourth victim, however, he must’ve heard or seen me, because the bulldozer came to an abrupt stop, rocking on its giant tread as the driver pushed hard on the brake.

I was panting and out of breath when I caught up to the big machine, and I was still waving my arms, trying to get him to back away from the fourth grave, as well as get off the first three.

“Cooper!” I heard again, but I continued to ignore Perez and Robinson.

At last the door to the bulldozer opened and the driver leaned out a little. I pointed to him and said, “Get back! Get back off the graves!”

He blinked. “What?” he said, turning off the loud rig so he could hear me.

I pointed to the front of the bulldozer. “You just ran over three graves! The women have been murdered and you’re destroying evidence!”

The driver’s eyes widened in shock and he got out of the cab, stepping onto the tread of the wheel to look out over the shovel of his truck.

I ran forward to the front to point to the remaining grave, but when I rounded the rig, I came up short. In front of the shovel, the dirt was perfectly flat. “Dammit! You ran over the fourth one too!”

“Cooper!” came that voice again. Now that the bulldozer was silent, I could tell that it’d been Perez who’d been shouting to me.

“Shit!” I swore, and moved quickly to the other side of the shovel to look underneath the big truck, but it was too dark to see anything.

By now the driver had jumped down from the tread and had
come around to my side. “Lady, what graves are you talking about?”

“There were four mounds of dirt here!” I said, in a bit of a panic about them. “How could you not see them?”

The driver took off his ball cap and squeezed it nervously. “I didn’t see any graves!”

“What’s going on?” Perez demanded, coming around the bulldozer.

I was actually a little relieved to see him. “There’re four women buried here,” I said.

He looked down at the ground, then back at me. Robinson came around the bulldozer at that moment too. “What do you mean there’re four women buried here?” Perez said. That made Robinson skip a step.

“When I was in the bank, my intuition kept pulling me up here, and when I crested the hill, I saw the bulldozer about to run over the graves of four young girls.”

Robinson, Perez, and the driver looked down to where I was pointing, which was right in front of me. I could’ve sworn the fourth grave was there, but again I figured it was underneath the dozer’s shovel. “You need to move this thing,” I said, hitting the shovel with the flat of my hand.

The driver nodded and started to walk toward the cab, but Robinson called to him with, “Hold on a second. Somebody explain to me what the hell this is all about.”

I moved away from the shovel, past Robinson and Perez, without pausing to explain. When I was clear of the bulldozer, I motioned to the driver to get up into the cab and back the thing up. I figured the explanation would come when I could see the graves more clearly, if they weren’t already smunched level.

Luckily, the driver seemed to think I might have more authority than Robinson (although why he thought that was anybody’s guess), and he moved up to the truck, hopped in, and started the engine. Perez and Robinson came to stand next to me, and as the bulldozer was very loud, it prevented them from yelling at me.

We all waited until after the bulldozer had backed up several meters and then the driver cut the engine again and came back down to us. I moved over and stared at the ground. There was a tugging sensation in my gut and I pointed to a section of dirt. “There,” I said.

“There what?” Robinson asked, his tone low and even with barely veiled fury.

I directed my answer to Perez. “There are four women buried here,” I said. “Murder victims.”

Perez looked at me like he thought I was crazy. “Says who?”

“Says my intuition,” I told him.

Perez turned to the driver. “You see any dead bodies around?”

The driver got even more nervous and fidgety. “No, sir! No, I didn’t see anything. I’ve been leveling off the grade here all morning, and I didn’t see nothing.”

Perez looked from the driver to me, then back again. “You got a hand shovel we could borrow?” he asked.

“Back at my pickup,” the driver said. “It’ll take me a couple of minutes to get it.”

“Please do,” I told him. If the only way to convince these clowns was to dig a little into the dirt, then I was willing.