Rock Star Down (The Psychic Registry) (6 page)

Laurel took a cab to Nathan's office
that morning. The cab did not compare favorably with Nathan's BMW, the black
livery, or Fletcher's car and Laurel resolved to make such luxuries the norm.
But first she had to earn her keep, either with the city, or with Miller Davis,
or perhaps with both. She'd spent the remainder of the previous afternoon
pressing Mr. Bozeman – who as chief investigator for the City Attorney was her
nominal boss – but he had little time and even less information for Laurel.

Fletcher had laughed
when she told him about Archer's quid pro quo and the interrogation of Andre
Michael Foster. "Atta girl, Laurel," Fletcher told her. "Now
help old Nate sew up the Franklin murder and we'll start talking about your
future."

She'd have a future.
Unless Archer went back on her word or Nathan's work with Andre was a fluke.
Unless Franklin's murderer was a random stranger. Unless Laurel blew her big
chance… Nonsense! She made her own luck! She'd landed the admin job, then
insinuated herself into the research pool. Now she was working alongside
Nathan
Miller
! But she knew she had to be careful; Miller's reputation as a cad
and a charmer were well earned it seemed. And yet, she liked him very much.

She was still reeling
a bit from how easily Nathan had cornered Andre, prying the secrets from his
mind with so little effort. Still, he'd paid a price for his efforts! Knowing
what Andre knew and keeping such horrible thoughts at bay was obviously taxing.
Just how exactly did he cope with such madness inducing effects? Meditation? Acupressure?
He'd been circumspect in his explanation, she recalled. "Other things,"
he'd said.
But
what
other things
?

Was it drugs?
Prescriptions? Was he some kind of addict? No, no. That didn't fit.

I'll just have to
find out
, she thought.

Cindy cheerfully
greeted Laurel outside of Nathan's office, "Good morning, Miz Comfort. You
go right in, he's expecting you."

"Good morning,
and thank you," Laurel replied as she first knocked and then entered
Nathan's office.

Nathan looked up from
his desk and watched her enter and close the door.

"Good morning,"
she said as she approached his desk and took a seat in front of it.

"Morning,"
he nodded.

To her surprise,
Nathan looked refreshed and energized. "You look good, Nathan," she
said.

"I
feel
good," he replied.

She looked him over
more carefully, but if he was on drugs she could see no sign. "Yeah, about
that?"

Nathan grinned and
wagged a finger at her, "Save your inquisitiveness for the case," he chided.

"Until Archer gets
here I've got nothing else to do," she teased. "But you were in
pretty bad shape yesterday. And now, you look great! I just want to know what
to do in case you break and I have to reset you!"

He flashed a hard
smile, forcing her to swallow her own grin. "Let's just cross that bridge
when we get there," he said.

When
, he said. Laurel didn't know if she was more excited
or frightened by the prospect of having her questions answered. Something told
her she might like what she found out. Or maybe she was just imagining things.

His expression
softened a touch, "In an emergency, just call Cindy or Brendt, okay?"

Laurel nodded her
understanding. Nathan Miller could handle himself, and in the unlikely event
that he
couldn't
, the problem would fall to others, not to Laurel.
And
why would he trust her so?

He seemed to know her
mood and held his hands up in faint appeal. "There is something," he
told her.

"Yes?" she
replied eagerly.

"Just say my
name. Remind me who I am."

"Your name is
Nathan Miller?" she said for example.

"Yeah, it helps,"
he nodded.

Laurel smiled. Of
course she could be of help. "Anything else?"

He smiled, giving her
a thorough look over. "Other things," he said.

Other things…
Laurel mused. Then she giggled and thought of a ham.
Nathan could get inside her head. Not only that, but he could change her very
thoughts! Could he make her
do
things?

Nathan was shaking his
head.

"You're reading
my thoughts, aren't you?" she said.

"Nope. But I can
tell that you're worrying about it. I see it all the time, you know."

"Oh," she
said with some relief. "I confess I was thinking about Andre and how you
tweaked
him at the end."

"That's a good
word," he acknowledged.

"It's just that
you told me you would never hurt anyone," she said with some trepidation.

"I didn't hurt
Andre. Just
tweaked
his memory a little, like you said."

She nodded. Of course
that was all. But still, "How do I really know that?"

"Ah…" he
nodded in understanding. "You
don't
know, Laurel. You just have to
trust me. And if you can't and it bothers you that much," and he gestured
politely toward the door.

And she shook her
head, "No, no, no. I trust you, Nathan."

"I'm glad. And
you should know, Laurel, few people know as much as you."

She'd hoped as much. "You
can trust me, Nathan," Laurel assured him.

Their conversation hit
a lull, but she still had one nagging question: "Nathan?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you read my
mind?"

He smiled, "Since
when?"

"Since—
Since
ever
!" she stammered. Dammit, he was such a tease!

"A little,"
he told her.

"How much is a
little?" she said, a mix of alarm and excitement coloring her voice.

"Enough to know you
don't have psychic abilities, not any more than normal, at least. And enough to
know that you're as green as you say you are."

"
And
?"

He looked into her
eyes, "I know about the ham, Laurel."

For some reason she
found that revelation most embarrassing and she had the feeling that her entire
face was bright pink.

It is
, a thought agreed.

Wait, was that me?

No, it wasn't
, a thought seemed to reply.

Nathan, is that you
, she wondered?

Yes
, a thought answered. But the thought was nigh
indistinguishable from her own save for the feeling that it did not originate
with her. She was convinced that it was Nathan's thought, but it did not sound
like him, rather it
sounded
like any other thought in her mind.

"Nathan, please
stop that," she said.

"Yeah, nobody
else likes that, either," he said.

She shook her head.
Then why do it? A possible answer occurred to her: "Is that what it's like
for you, when you read someone?"

And he nodded, pleased
that she understood the lesson. "My training, my expertise, the specifics
of my abilities— These things give me the edge to constructively use my power,
but they don't change the fundamental experience."

No wonder reading
Andre had so exhausted Nathan! She could scarcely tell where her thoughts ended
and Nathan's began. How simple it would be for him to insinuate his own
thoughts among hers and how difficult it would be for her to discern the
difference were she even aware of the intrusion. He was even more powerful than
she had ever contemplated and she feared that she didn't know the least of it.  

"Archer's here," Nathan
announced.

Laurel glanced over
her shoulder and a moment later Archer entered the office. Though she knew
better than to be surprised, Laurel looked impressed.

Nathan couldn't resist
teasing her. He smiled and pointed to his computer monitor, "I saw her on
the security feed."

And although she pretended
to scowl at him, he could tell that she enjoyed his attention.

"Good morning
people," Archer greeted them before taking a seat next to Laurel.

"I take it
everything went well with Andre?" Nathan asked Archer.

"It went
swimmingly. His lawyer threw a tantrum but it didn't do a lick of good. Once we
got the underpants it was
let's make a deal
time," Archer gloated.

"And the other
three murders?" Nathan asked.

"His lawyer drew
a line there, but Andre will come around once we get the DNA on his keepsake
collection. I kinda hope he doesn't deal on the other murders. If he goes to
trial he'll get the death penalty for sure."

"Get the
confession, Archer. There are three more families out there that need answers,"
Nathan said.

Archer nodded, "Yeah,
I know, I know."

"Andre gives you
any trouble on that, you call me," Nathan said, still pressing his point,
though Archer had conceded.

"You should have
been a cop," Archer quipped.

"Been there,"
Nathan said.

A silence settled in
between them and Laurel interjected, "So, who killed Rock Franklin?"

Archer glanced at her
and smiled, "His dear wife Jaqui claims he was already dead when she found
him."

"Of course you're
looking hard at the wife. Anybody else?" Nathan asked.

"Oh, sure. They've
got a big entourage including this fucking TV crew. Then there's the millions
of fans, a breeding ground for stalker whack jobs," Archer said.

"You're not a
fan, then?" Miller asked.

"Of Jaqui? No.
But I've seen the show. Franklin's band made some decent music and I
might
have seen them in concert while in college," Archer confessed.

"Nathan is
apparently above celebrity culture," Laurel informed Archer. "He's
never even
heard
of Jaqui
or
Rock."

"But you forget,
Laurel," Archer replied. "Nathan Miller
is
a celebrity. And
when you're a mysterious and wealthy public figure you are excused from having
to know who the
commoners
have deigned to take an interest in."

"Ah, of course,"
Laurel said with a smile.

Nathan was indifferent
to their jibes and he was glad that they were getting along as Archer could be
a bit abrasive to sensitive types. "So, setting aside the legion of
obsessed fans, do we have any actual suspects besides Jaqui? You know, people
with opportunity and motive?"

Archer shrugged, "The
short version is, no. According to my able colleagues who have been working
this case for the last couple of days, they've got nothing. By the way, I had
to buy dinner for Jacobs and Ramirez to get a briefing on the case, so I expect
you to reimburse me. Right now it looks like the wife."

"But even that
looks thin, right?" Nathan replied.

"Not enough to
take to trial. And with all the media on this, Fletcher won't indict unless we serve
her on a silver platter," Archer said. "Meanwhile, the M.E. is taking
his sweet fucking time with his report—"

"As always. He
doesn't have to run for re-election," Nathan said.

Archer continued, "Right,
but our guys say it's murder until the M.E. comes out different."

"How did he die?"
Laurel interjected.

Archer nodded and
pulled a large file from her handbag. "You want pictures?" She grinned.

The gist of it:
Franklin was found dead in the studio. Signs of blunt force trauma were
obvious. He'd taken a blow to the back of the head and another to the side of
his head. It appeared that the blow to the back was the result of a fall,
perhaps after being pushed, where he struck his head against a guitar
amplifier. The blow to the side came second, after he was down, most likely
delivered by a Gibson electric guitar.

"That was the
coup de grace," Archer said.

"Death by rock
and roll," Nathan replied.

Archer snickered,
though doubtless she'd heard it before.

Laurel shook her head,
"You two are terrible."

Archer took mild
umbrage and gestured at the crime scene photos, "We see this stuff all the
time, Laurel. And not just in photos, but in real life, understand? So cops and
the like tend to lean on dark humor. I suggest you get used to it if you plan
on staying in this line of work."

Laurel looked to
Nathan, but he was in agreement with Archer, "Laugh or cry, Laurel. But if
you cry all the time, they won't take you seriously. Some people go the stoic
route, but then folks worry that you're bottling it all up. So the occasional
wise crack helps diffuse the tension. It reminds everybody how lucky they are
not to be the one going into the body bag."