Mind Games (5 page)

“I thought you didn’t wear rings.”

“Not when I’m performing, but I wore one last night to a party. Now, leave me alone. There’s no story here, I assure you. I don’t know who supplies your tips, but you’re really off base with this one.” She shrugged him off, shot past the sergeant at the front desk beckoning her to stop, and bee-lined into Lucier’s office. He looked up, surprised at the intrusion. Beecher, looking like he’d been in a train wreck, sat in the chair she occupied last night. He started to get up.

“Stay there,” she snapped. “Who leaked news about my involvement with this woman’s disappearance?”

Lucier glanced at Beecher, then back to Diana. “No one, why?”

“Because a reporter by the name of Jake Griffin nearly ran me down and seemed to know all about it. How did that happen?”

“Sure
you
don’t know?” Beecher asked, making his first comment border on insult.

If Diana’s glare was daggers, Beecher would be writhing on the floor pierced straight through his heart. She picked up the phone and started to punch in the numbers before Lucier leaned over and depressed a button for an outside line. She began again, staring at the rumpled, overweight cop the whole time.

“Galen, have you mentioned anything about last night to anyone?”

“No, why?”

“Did Blanche?”

“Since she’s been with me the whole time, no. What’s going on?”

Beecher challenged her stare, and she stifled a childish urge to swat him. “Nothing. Just checking. Talk to you later.”

“We can’t worry about this, Ms. Racine,” Lucier said. “News is bound to leak out no matter how hard we try to keep it under cover.”

“As long as you know I had nothing to do with it.”

“How convenient for you.” Beecher said. “A leak. Who’d’ve thought? I’m shocked.”

Diana turned to the detective. “With all due respect, would you shut the fuck up?”

Beecher exploded from his chair as if he were shot from a cannon. “You can’t talk to me that way. Ernie, she can’t talk to me that way.”

“But you can keep taunting me, huh? Well, that’s not the way it works. I’ve been ridiculed by the best.” Turning to Lucier, “Can you get him out of here? There’s no way I can do what you’ve asked with him in the room feeling the way he does.”

“Cool it, Sam,” Lucier said calmly, “or leave. We can’t work against each other here. We need to explore every opportunity, no matter how weird. What do we have to lose?”

“Wha—” Diana huffed. “Now there’s a vote of confidence. Gee, I feel better already.” Why had she accepted the appeal for help from a man who thought she was a publicity-seeking crackpot?

Lucier stood. “Look, Ms. Racine―Diana. If we’ve offended you, I’m sorry. This is different for us, and yes, a little strange. Please don’t take it personally.” He lifted a cloth satchel from his desk. “We have a scarf and a shirt Buffy Tyler wore the other
day. Her family consented to go along with this. Obviously, they’re distraught. Even though Mr. and Mrs. Tyler know you, they’re skeptical. If they accept your premise of what happened, they’d have to believe Buffy is dead.”

Diana calmed, but only slightly. “Of course. After all, who’d want to believe some fruitcake claiming she saw their daughter dead in the water? And in a vision, no less.”

“The word fruitcake never came up. Honest.”

He offered a smile, and she felt herself smiling back. The lieutenant seemed to be honest about his feelings, and he was definitely easy on the eyes.

“Truce?” he asked.

“Truce,” she said, in spite of the tongue click coming from Beecher.

Lucier withdrew two articles of clothing from the satchel and laid them on the desk. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Diana squinted at Beecher, daring him to make a snide remark. She turned to the detective. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said a minute ago. I know what you think of me, and that’s okay. You’re not the first person who’s felt that way. But I’d appreciate if you’d keep your opinions to yourself. This is hard enough without the bad vibes I’m getting from you.” Still, Beecher made no apology.
The bastard’s smirking. Probably chalking one up for himself on an imaginary scoreboard
.

Diana shook her head.
Block him out
. She lifted the scarf and shirt, took a seat, and held them in her lap. She hated this part because she had no control over what happened. The object transmitted from its owner. How? She didn’t know and never had. But her reactions were never the same.

This time her heart rate spiked, its drumbeat pounding in her ears as another force entered her body and captured her in an eerie hold. She didn’t know how long she sat there clutching Buffy Tyler’s clothes before the vision crystallized, and she saw a repeat performance of what she had seen last night. The woman’s dead eyes. Her body slithering into the water. The lack of oxygen in the room.

The clothes burned in her hands, and she flung them to the floor to break the connection. Sweat trickled down the sides of her face, and after a series of deep, gasping breaths, she found the air again. It took a minute to resume a normal breathing pattern.

“Jeez, this is bullshit,” Beecher said. “I can’t help it, Ernie. I gotta get outta here.”

“Hold on, Sam. We’ve come this far. Let’s see what she has to say.”

“Ernie, this woman’s fucking with us. She’s a phony. Look at her. This whole thing’s like from a goddamn movie script. Halloween Twenty-Something.”

Diana sat riveted to her seat, heart still pounding. It had been so long since she’d felt this inner turmoil, and now, within a matter of days, forces wrenched her back twice to the worst times of her life.

“I love when people talk about me like I’m not here. Especially when they’re saying such nice things.” She focused on Beecher. His contemptuous sneer said everything without words. Diana felt the flush on her face cool. She tucked her hands under her thighs to hide the tremors.

Lucier leaned across the desk. “Well, can you tell us anything?”

She focused on the lieutenant as she translated the vision into words. “She’s in a swampy area of water near a park. I get the feeling people camp there. I saw birds and wildlife, maybe it’s a refuge.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and patted her face. “I have a sensation of waves, but not where she is. Somewhere nearby. Undulating water. Lots of trees, but definitely swamp.”

Lucier squinted, and Diana could tell he was pulling at visions of his own.

“Sounds like Bayou Segnette State Park. I used to take my kids to a wave pool there.”

Beecher looked at him, his words a husky growl. “Jesus, Ernie, I can’t believe you’re falling for this crap.”

“I’m going now if anyone cares. She’s there or someplace similar, whether you believe me or not.” She got up, wobbled, and reached for the side of the desk to steady herself.

Lucier rushed to assist her. “Are you all right?”

His arms were gentle around her, holding her up. He smelled like lime and herbs. “Just great.” She looked into his concerned face. “No, really. I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“Jeez.” Beecher rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

She broke free from Lucier and started for the door, then half turned. “You know, I stopped doing this not because of the skeptics—there would always be those—but because I found mostly dead people. That’s a huge burden for a little kid. At first, the police thought I had something to do with their disappearances because they didn’t believe a child could have that kind of power. I never wanted it, and each time I drew on those powers to find someone, I lost a part of me until there was almost nothing left. I’d forgotten how death felt until last night. Today too. I know you won’t believe this, but I hope you’re right and I’m wrong.” Then she slipped out the door.

* * * * *

L
ucier ignored the look on Beecher’s face. He knew what was coming.

“She’s good,” Beecher said. “Got the act down pat, I’ll give her that.”

“And what if she’s right, Sam? What if Buffy Tyler is somewhere like Diana Racine described?”

The detective scoffed. “I’ll buy you the biggest goddamn steak at the restaurant of your choice.”

Lucier picked up the clothes Diana threw on the floor. “You’re on.”

“Don’t tell me you believe this charlatan.”

“Right now, we have nothing else. Can’t hurt to check.”

“Even if she’s right, which I doubt, there’re alligators in that bayou. We’d have to find a body pretty quick for there to be anything left.”

“Nevertheless, I’m getting authorization from the captain.”

Beecher stood, smoothed his wrinkled shirt over his belly and into his pants. “If you get the okay, I’m going too. I gotta see this.”

* * * * *

T
he captain approved Lucier’s request, and the next morning he and his team began their search. He requested the expertise of the park ranger, who suggested they concentrate on the banks of the bayou where gnarled tree roots formed underwater pockets—hiding places for gators to conceal their stash. Dark clouds moved in, and Lucier hoped they’d locate something before the rain started. Luckily, toward midafternoon, they found most of Buffy Tyler. Beecher watched stone-faced as divers scouring the secret retreats lifted her remains to the surface.

“I’m sorry the Racine woman is right, Sam, because Buffy is dead, but did you say I could pick any restaurant in town?”

“Hmmph,” Beecher grumbled. “This can’t be happening. No matter what you say, I still don’t believe that woman can do this. No way.”

“You have an explanation?”

“It’s a publicity stunt, and she’s involved in the murder.”

“What?”

Nearby cops turned around at hearing Lucier’s outcry. He lowered his voice. “You can’t be serious. She didn’t want anyone to know and seemed plenty irritated when word leaked. How do you explain the episode with Cyrano?”

Beecher thrust out his jaw defiantly. “No one saw him except her. Besides, getting someone to play the part wouldn’t be too hard. This is Mardi Gras for chrissakes. She made sure people saw her pass out. I’ll bet any money one of the Racines let the cat out of the bag. That father of hers is always looking for a way to cash in.”

“Let me get this straight.” Lucier jabbed his finger at Beecher’s chest. “You’re saying one of the Racines killed Buffy Tyler or had her killed, then hired someone to dress up like Cyrano to touch Ms. Racine so she’d pretend to have this vision to help the police find the body. All for publicity. That’s what you’re saying, right? You think those people are capable of murder?”

“Sure, why not?” Beecher said, obviously unwilling to concede. “I’ve looked up some stuff about Diana Racine. Her act is phony as hell. Most of what she tells people can be found with a little research. I bet she has a whole team of people working for her.”

“Yeah, well I’ve looked her up too. Spent last night going over some interviews from people she’d read. Every one said she detailed something in her reading that no one could have known.
Every one of them
. When she was a kid, institutes all over the world conducted hundreds of experiments for extrasensory perception and clairvoyance, all with unanimous verdicts. Diana Racine was the real thing. Ask the police departments who hired her for years, not to mention families with missing relatives the police had given up on. Her percentages were astounding.”

“Yeah, and all for a price.”

“No question, she made lots of money. But her father controlled that, not her. She was a kid, Sam.”

“Then why’d she quit?”

“You heard her today. Said the stress tore her up. That’s heavy stuff for a little girl.”

“So now she rakes in the dough by doing an act plus private readings for the likes of Francine Marigny and Claire Tyler.”

“Hey, so the woman has to make a living. And that’s another thing. She doesn’t need the money or the publicity. Diana Racine’s booked for years. If she’s a phony, something keeps audiences coming back for more.”

The two men walked toward their car, quickening their pace when the first drops of rain fell and arriving as the downpour hit.

“Maybe she is a showman,” Lucier said, flicking the rain off his hair. “So what? That doesn’t make her a phony and sure as hell doesn’t make her a murderer.” He zeroed in on Beecher. “What have you got against this woman, Sam? You seem blind to the possibility she’s on the level.”

Beecher popped an antacid into his mouth. “Gut instinct. I don’t believe in any of that supernatural crap.”

“Normally, neither do I, but I can’t ignore this. I’m going to talk to her tomorrow again.”

“Suit yourself, Ernie. But watch out. She’s a con artist.”

“Don’t bet another dinner, friend.”

Chapter Five

The Button Speaks

D
iana opened the door of her hotel room, swallowed by an oversized terrycloth robe. She thought it was her mother, but it was the lieutenant. Damn, she wore no makeup and a tangle of uncontrollable ringlets tumbled from a hairclip on top of her head. Oh well, this wasn’t a social visit. He’d come to rub in the fact that she’d been wrong. But the minute she saw his expression and the downslope of his shoulders, she knew. Leaving the door open for him to follow, she turned, cinched her robe tighter, and settled on the small sofa in the sitting area.