Dark Places (15 page)

After we marked Willie down as super cooperative, we managed to locate and interview most of the students in Classon's classes and found them a tiny bit more complimentary to Classon than his esteemed colleagues had been. In fact, the words bastard, devil, horrible, or Lucifer never came up at all. Charlie gave me a call, politely requesting my presence in his office, so I headed downtown and left Bud to wow all the teenage girls with his big white grin and Georgia drawl and good looks. When I got there, I was sorry I'd come.

Charlie said, “Sit down, Claire, run the case for me.”

I sat. I told. “Everybody hated his guts. Everybody wanted him dead. Everybody's a suspect. Ever heard of
Murder on the Orient Express
by Agatha Christie?”

Charlie actually smiled. He must've seen the movie where everybody on the train takes turns stabbing the victim. Pleased that Charlie appeared to be in a fairly good mood, I waited while he took some time filling his black pipe. He never remembered the building's rigid no-smoking rules. None of us reminded him, either.

“Got your paperwork done yet?”

I shifted in my chair. “I just got here, Sheriff.”

“Let me have them the minute you do. I'm not rushing you, though.”

Yeah, like hell. “I'll try to get the reports in today.”

“How's Nick?”

I frowned. “Okay, I guess. He's in Paris on business.”

“So you're still with him.”

That was rather personal but everybody seemed to consider our relationship their very own
Days of Our Lives
, so I decided not to take umbrage.

“We see each other when he's in town.”

“He's a good guy.”

Part of his recommendation was due to the fact that Black was his biggest campaign contributor and they'd known each other for years. Then again, Black
was
a good guy, so I said nothing, just gave my best perfunctory nod.

“I've got a new assignment for you, Claire, and I don't want any argument about it.”

Uh-oh. That cut any objections right off at the knees. How could I argue with that? I said nothing again.

He swiveled in his chair and pulled a file out of his desk drawer. I found my tongue. “I'm right in the middle of the Classon case, sir. It's a big one that's going to take a lot of my time.”

“I know that, detective. This is part of that case. Don't get so dadgummed wadded up.”

Okay. Told you he had dumb sayings. I went on saying nothing. I was getting good at saying it, too, but it paid when dealing with your boss and superior who was devolving rapidly into a foul mood.

“I don't like this business with fuckin' spiders and garbage bags. Don't like it one fuckin' bit.”

Charlie was fond of the
F
bomb, used it often, enjoyed himself with it, did it awfully well, actually.

“I want that fuckin' lunatic locked up.”

I finally thought of something pertinent to say. “Me too, sir.”

Charlie stuck his pipe in his mouth and held it with his teeth as he flipped open the file. He gazed at me. Was it, could it be, sheepishly? I tensed. Charlie was not your run-of-the-mill, sheepish kinda guy.

“Okay, thing is, I got this letter.” He held up a sheet of paper torn from a yellow legal pad. I nodded as if it meant something to me. “It's from this guy named Joe McKay. Says he's helped out the police before. I checked him out and found out he's on the up-and-up.”

“What do you mean helped out the police?”

“Helped them solve cases they weren't getting anywhere with.”

“How'd he do that, sir?” I was deathly afraid of where this was going, and my instincts were right on target.

“He's an honest-to-God psychic, that's how.”

My stare could be described as dumbfounded. I tried for calm, didn't make it. “Sheriff, please, you don't believe in that crap, do you?”

Charlie puffed on his pipe. The smell was barely bearable. “Hell, no, but a couple of my old friends in the Corps do. They verified what he said, said he knew what he was talking about, had helped them.”

I waited, all sick to my stomach and wary, like he was going to sucker punch me in the gut. He did.

“Like I said, I got this letter from this guy and he says right here that a man was going to get killed in our jurisdiction. He said he saw a black trash bag and spiderwebs.”

“Lucky guess,” I suggested.

Charlie ignored my black humor, but he never had found me very amusing. “The postmark on this envelope dates back to last summer, Detective. I kept it because he mentioned some references, and as I said, they're people I know and respect.”

“And how does this affect my investigation?”

Charlie didn't mince words, didn't ask my opinion. “I want you to let this guy work with you and Bud. Show him the crime scene, let him read your reports, do whatever you need to do to get this fuckin' perp behind bars.”

“Oh, Charlie, no, don't make me do this.”

Sometimes when under stress or wigged out by particularly horrible commands, I revert to his given name. That was a mistake today.

He took his pipe out of his mouth so he could glower at me better. “That's an order, Detective. Give the guy a chance. You might be surprised at what he can do.”

Hocus-pocus suddenly came to mind, that, and charlatan, quack, phony, nut, and crackpot.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to meet him, talk to him, see if he gets any of his vibes or visions or whatever the fuckin' hell he calls them.”

“Yes, sir. I should have some time next week to get together with him.”

“That's good because he'll be here any minute.”

Shit, to put it in a nutshell. “Now?”

“That's right. Surprisingly enough, he lives around here. I'm amazed you've never heard of him before.”

Me, too. I had a vision of my own, and it involved driving around town with the Amazing Kreskin, afraid to think thoughts for fear of being eavesdropped on.

“Good, here he is now. You ready to meet him?” Charlie was looking over my head and through the glass door of his office. He motioned for his tiny secretary, Madge, to usher the man in. I turned to see if he had a pink aura or something ephemeral around his head.

He had an aura, all right. He was about the best-looking guy I'd ever laid eyes on, except for Black, maybe. Tall, buff, long dark-blond hair that almost reached his shoulders. A couple of days unshaven, probably going for the bad-boy look. He was wearing tight jeans and brown leather hiking boots, a black sweatshirt that said USC, and an unzipped black parka with brown fur around the hood. Oops, he forgot to wear the obligatory black leather jacket. No self-respecting bad boy would be caught dead in a parka, but hey, maybe psychic bad boys got cold riding around on motorcycles in subzero weather. But funniest thing, I disliked him at once, didn't trust him, either. Why, I do not know. He smiled at me and I wondered if he could read my thoughts. Just in case, I thought,
You don't fool me, you clown.

“Hello. I'm Joe McKay.” He nodded at us. “Sheriff. Miss.”

Miss? Who the hell did he think he was, calling me miss? “I'm no miss, McKay. I'm the lead detective on this case.”

McKay stretched out his hand, a real friendly, smiling psychic. “Glad to meet you, Lead Detective.”

I decided to be up-front. “If I shake your hand, you gonna read my mind?”

Charlie said, “That's enough, Detective. Shake the man's hand and quit being a fuckin' smart-ass.”

I shook his hand.

McKay put his forefinger to his forehead and said, “Oooh, she doesn't like me. She doesn't want me helping her with this case. She thinks I'm a con man.”

I looked at Charlie. “You're right. He can read minds.”

To my surprise, both men laughed. Problem was, I wasn't trying for levity.

Charlie reached out and clasped McKay's hand. “Welcome aboard. Don't mind the detective here, she'll warm up to you if you help her get her man.”

Well, that made me sound like either a Las Vegas gold digger or a Royal Canadian Mountie.

McKay said, “That's okay. Most police officers resent me at first.”

“Have a seat, Mr. McKay.”

I sat down, too. I looked at him again. He was sexy, I decided. I wondered about his background, where he'd come from, why he'd turned up all of a sudden and saddled me with his mumbo-jumbo crap.

“Tell us about yourself, Mr. McKay,” I invited.

“Not a lot to tell. I'm from around here originally but have spent the last fifteen years in the Marine Corps. Demolitions.”

Now I'd have to worry about him blowing up things. And uh-oh, Charlie was a Marine. Now they'd have that Semper Fi bonding stuff going on all over the place. I didn't have a chance.

“Semper Fi,” said Charlie

“Semper Fi,” said McKay.

“Vietnam. What about you?”

“Iraq.”

See what I mean? They discussed their respective military careers for a few minutes, and I wondered if the Amazing Kreskin knew so many details because he committed the murder himself. Made a lot more sense to me.

“So you live around here? Where?”

“North of the lake. I inherited a house up there. It's pretty remote, but that's what I like about it.”

Charlie said, “We appreciate your contacting us. I was pretty shocked when your prediction panned out.”

“Yeah. I thought I should apprise you when I first sensed what was going to happen. I hoped it wouldn't, of course.”

I said, “Well, don't keep us in suspense, Master Yoda. Who did it?”

McKay laughed again, but Charlie removed his pipe and glared at me.

“If you can't act professionally, Detective Morgan, then I'll have to put Bud in charge of the Classon case.”

Well, ouch. Point taken. “Yes, sir. I'm sorry, Mr. McKay. I'm just not used to deferring to psychics during my investigations. I'm sure I'll get used to it, given time.” Yeah, two or three decades.

“Like I said, nobody's glad to see me until after I prove myself. Believe me, it's you who'll be solving this case, Detective, not me. I'll just try to help when I can.”

“Thank you so much. I'm really so thrilled.”

“Detective, I'm warning you.” Charlie, at his most restrained. But his face was the color of a ripe raspberry. Very close to bursting.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, there it is. I'm going to let you two go get acquainted. Introduce him to Bud, too. Mr. McKay will fill you in on what he needs from you, and I expect you to listen to him and quit being so damned uncooperative. Hell, if he can help us, we'd be stupid not to use him.”

McKay said, “Thank you, Sheriff Ramsay
.”

Thank you, Sheriff Ramsay.
I parroted in a screw-you internal growl.

“Take him out to Classon's house, then show him where the victim was found. See if anything comes of it. Keep me posted.”

And that was that. Charlie was done, washed the psychic out of his hair and into mine. Well, okay. I'd handled worse things in my life. I almost died a couple of times, actually. I could handle a so-called police psychic.

Outside the office I tried to exchange amenities in the best way I could and without gritting my teeth.

“If I've got to take you along, come on, but don't think I'm going to babysit you or listen to a bunch of John Edward crap.”

“Yes, ma'am. Lead the way.”

Okay, so his amenities were better than mine. I've never been known for amenities, and I wasn't starting with him.

“Meet me outside, McKay. I have to get the key to Classon's house. I guess you want to go there, right?”

‘Yes, ma'am. I need to handle some of his personal possessions. See if I feel anything.”

“But of course.”

McKay smiled and sauntered off down the hall like a reincarnated James Dean. I realized my teeth were making strange gnashing noises, so I strode off to the evidence locker. When I exited at the front entrance, my new psychic friend was sitting atop one huge Harley-Davidson motorcycle. He saluted me with two fingers and gave me a sassy grin. I nodded, then got into my Explorer, wondering if I could lose him in traffic. But oh yeah, I forgot, he could zero in on me with his mind.

I backed out, wondering why Charlie hadn't shoved this guy off on Bud. They were more of a pair, both cute and benignly arrogant. In the rearview mirror, I watched him put on his helmet, fire up his cycle, then swerve smoothly in behind me. We traveled like that until we hit the open highway that led north to Classon's house. I drove carefully, just under the speed limit, in order to annoy him. It didn't take long. After five minutes he swerved out and sped up until he was alongside my driver's window. I glanced at him, and he saluted again, did a really impressive wheel stand, then shot off ahead of me.

“You just got yourself a ticket, pal,” I said, no, grumbled. I reached for my flashing light then returned to my senses. It would be childish to arrest him. More importantly, Charlie would jerk me off the case. Calm and confident again, I proceeded at speed limit. About two miles up the road, he was sitting just off the road, waiting. He waved as I passed by. I ground my teeth. The psychic was a smart-ass, too. Great.

By the time I reached Classon's road, the day had clouded over, and I remembered that snow was forecast again, not as heavy but just as much trouble. I stopped the car in front of the house and got out, wondering if Granny Talbott down the road was eyeballing us during
Sex and the City
commercials. I waited politely as he killed his engine and hopped off his bike. He took off his helmet and hung it on the handlebars.