“And put us closer to the heavier traffic of town.” She shrugged, trying not to show the impatience she felt. “Probably a financial wash at the end of the day.”
Again, Lindsay spoke up, her tone neutral. “True enough, Sheriff. We’ve got at least two former shopping centers and one strip mall with acres of parking lot going to waste, and I’m sure any of the owners would have loved to make a few bucks hosting a carnival.”
Metcalf sent her a quick look that just missed being a glare, then returned his attention to Samantha. “Trouble follows you carnies, I know that much. Things turn up missing, property gets destroyed, people get cheated with your so-called games of chance. And how many times have you taken money from people only to tell them what you knew they wanted to hear?”
“A few,” she replied calmly, answering the last demand. But she couldn’t resist adding, “Some people don’t want to hear the truth, Sheriff. And others wouldn’t recognize it if it bit them on the ass.”
He drew a breath to launch a retort, but she was going on, her voice still calm, still measured.
“Your views about carnies are a few decades out of date, but never mind that. Whatever you may believe, we run a clean show, from the games to the very well-maintained rides, and our safety record is spotless.”
“I didn’t question that.”
“Not openly. That’s because you checked us out the day we got here and started setting up.”
“I was doing my job.”
“Fine. All of us carry police I.D. cards with our fingerprints, like the one I showed you when I first came to you. Feel free to check out the prints belonging to everyone else in the show, the way you checked out mine. It may surprise you to discover that not one of us has a record, even for something as minor as an unpaid parking ticket. And we have good relationships with the police in every town along our normal seasonal route. This is our first time in Golden, so I suppose you can be forgiven a few doubts as to our honesty, but—”
Lucas interrupted to ask, “If Golden isn’t part of your normal schedule, why are you here?”
Her eyes flicked toward him, but Samantha didn’t turn her head when she answered him.
“The next town on our usual schedule just hosted a circus a couple of weeks ago, and we’ve learned never to follow a big circus into a town. Golden was the best alternative in the general area, especially when we discovered we could rent the fairgrounds for the duration.”
“Aren’t we lucky,” Metcalf muttered.
“Your town seems to be enjoying the rides and games.”
He glared at her. “And I’m charged with protecting my town from people who would abuse their good nature. And take advantage of their gullibility.”
“Prove we’re doing that, and we’ll leave. Peacefully. Happily.”
“And send my best suspect on to another innocent town? I don’t think so.”
“You know goddamned well I didn’t kidnap or kill Mitchell Callahan.”
“You knew about it before it happened. In my book, that says you’re involved.”
Samantha drew a breath, for the first time showing visible restraint, and said, “Believe me, Sheriff, if I have to have them at all, I’d just as soon my visions were restricted to simple things like where somebody lost their grandmother’s ring or whether they’ll meet their perfect mate. But I didn’t get to choose. As much as I’d rather it were otherwise, sometimes I see crimes being committed. Before they’re committed. And my bothersome conscience and inability to ignore what I see drives me to report the visions. To hostile and suspicious people like you.”
“Don’t expect me to apologize,” Metcalf told her.
“Like you, I don’t believe in impossible things.”
Lindsay decided it was past time to intercede. “Okay, Ms. Burke—”
“Samantha. Or Sam.” She shrugged.
“Samantha, then. I’m Lindsay.” It wouldn’t hurt, she thought, to try to establish a less combative relationship; it was just a pity Wyatt couldn’t see that. “Tell us something we don’t know about Mitch Callahan’s kidnapping and murder. Something that might help us catch the person responsible.”
“I wish I could.”
The sheriff said, “But your visions don’t work that way. Damned convenient.”
“Not at all convenient,” she retorted.
“Then how am I supposed to believe—”
Lindsay got up and headed for the door. “Sheriff, can I talk to you outside for a minute, please? Excuse us, everyone.”
There really wasn’t much Metcalf could do but follow her, scowling, from the room.
Jaylene said, “Well, that was fun.”
Samantha turned her head and stared at Lucas. “Thank you so much for your support,” she said.
Lindsay didn’t exactly drag her boss into his office, but she got him there quickly and shut the door behind them. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” she demanded.
“Hey, watch the tone,” he snapped right back. “We’re in the office, not at your place or mine, and I damned well outrank you.”
“Then fire my ass if you want to, but stop acting like an idiot,” she told him. “Wyatt, she’s not involved. You know that, and I know that. We wasted a hell of a lot of time yesterday trying to break her alibi, and we couldn’t do it.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“What? That she isn’t involved?” Lindsay counted off facts on her fingers. “She didn’t know Mitch Callahan. She’s been in Golden barely two weeks. She has absolutely no criminal record. There is no trace anywhere around Samantha Burke or that carnival of the ransom money. Absolutely no forensic evidence ties her to the place where Callahan was grabbed or to his body and where it was dumped. And lastly, in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not exactly a bodybuilder, and Callahan was a martial-arts expert twice her size. We didn’t find a sign of a gun or other weapon in her possession, remember?”
“She did not see the future,” he said grimly.
“I don’t know what she saw. But I do know she didn’t kidnap or murder Mitch Callahan.”
“You can’t know that, Lindsay.”
“Yeah, Wyatt, I can know that. Fifteen years as a police officer tells me that. And nearly twenty years as a cop would be telling you the same goddamned thing if you’d just get past this rampant hatred of anybody you perceive as a con artist and look at the facts.”
The sheriff stared at her.
Lindsay calmed down, but her voice was still flat and certain when she went on. “It’d be easier and a lot less painful to blame something like this on an outsider, and she’s certainly that. She’s an easy target, Wyatt. But, just for the sake of argument, what if you’re wrong? What if she had nothing to do with it?”
“She’s a viable suspect.”
“No, she isn’t. Maybe she was Saturday or yesterday, but we know now she couldn’t have done it. She flat-out couldn’t have. Yet you still had her brought in to answer more questions. And how many reporters are lounging around keeping an eye on the comings and goings here at the station? How many saw her brought in?”
His jaw tightened even more. “A few.”
“Uh-huh. And just what do you think the anxious and worried people of Golden are going to do when they read in the papers that an avowed fortune-teller from a little carnival just passing through town is under suspicion for the kidnapping and murder of a local man?”
Metcalf was beginning to look unhappy, and not just because Lindsay was telling him how he should be doing his job. He was unhappy because she had to tell him. “Shit.”
Quiet now, Lindsay said, “She doesn’t deserve what might happen to her because of this. All she did was try to warn us. We didn’t believe her, and I doubt we could have stopped the kidnapping even if we had. But either way, she doesn’t deserve to have a target painted on her back.”
He struggled with himself for a moment, then said, “It’s not possible to see the future.”
“A hundred years ago, it wasn’t possib
le to land on the moon. Things change.”
“You’re comparing apples and oranges. Landing on the moon was science. Physics, engineering. Touching something and seeing into the future is . . .”
“Today’s new-age voodoo, yeah, maybe. And maybe tomorrow’s science.” Lindsay sighed. “Look, I’m not saying I believe she did what she says she did. I’m just saying that there’s a hell of a lot more going on in this world than we understand—today. More than science understands today. And in the meantime, all our police science and procedure says that lady didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping, and common decency as well as due process says we let her off the hook unless and until that changes.”
“Christ, I hate it when you’re right.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And I love it when you admit that. The thing is, you have to go back into that conference room with two FBI agents and one maybe-psychic and try to salvage the situation.”
“There’s nothing to salvage. I might have gone overboard, but—”
“Have I ever told you how pigheaded you are?”
“Yes. Look, I am not going to apologize to her.”
Lindsay shrugged. “So don’t. Just move on. Maybe she’ll be the gracious one.”
“You’re pushing it,” he warned her.
Lindsay turned toward the door, saying dryly, “Just trying to make sure you get reelected. I like sleeping with the boss.”
“What did you expect me to do?” Lucas demanded of Samantha, his voice a bit tight.
“Oh, I don’t know. Vouch for me? Confirm that I am, in fact, a genuine psychic, all tested and validated and everything? Maybe say that even the FBI has legitimized psychics, so the good sheriff might want to table his hostility and pay attention.”
It was Jaylene who murmured, “We had pretty much decided not to go into detail about the unit or our abilities.”
“Right. And of course that decision had nothing to do with me showing up.”
“No, it didn’t,” Lucas said.
“Bullshit. There can’t be any taint of carnivals or roadside fortune-tellers to sully your precious unit’s serious reputation; you don’t have to remind me of that.”
“Even you have to admit Metcalf would have taken you a lot more seriously if he hadn’t seen a picture of you in that wild gypsy outfit.”
“I wasn’t born independently wealthy, Luke; I have to make a living. Please excuse me for using the only skill I have in the only way available to me. At the time, I really didn’t have a whole lot of options.”
“And I don’t have a lot now, dammit. We’re investigating a series of fatal kidnappings, Samantha, and we do not have time to educate every cop we have to work with in the reality of psychic abilities. Sometimes the best we can do is get in, do our jobs, and move on with as little discussion as possible.”
“You’re good at that, as I recall. Moving on without discussion.”
Whatever Lucas might have replied to that cutting comment was lost—at least for the moment—as the sheriff and his detective returned to the room.
“Any progress?” Lindsay asked cheerfully.
Jaylene murmured, “Not so you’d notice.”
Lindsay lifted an eyebrow at her, but said to Samantha, “If there’s nothing else you can tell us, we won’t keep you any longer.”
“Yes, you will.” Samantha sat up straighter in her chair and looked at the sheriff. “You’ll put me in your jail or under house arrest with a couple of watchdogs—or I’ll sit out in your damned lobby where everyone can see me.”
“Why?” he asked warily.
“Because there’s going to be another kidnapping. And considering the way people are beginning to look at me around here, I’d really rather not continue to be a suspect in anybody’s mind.”
Lucas was on his feet immediately. “Another? Christ, why didn’t you say something before now?”
“Because she’s not in danger yet,” Samantha replied.
“How do you know that?”
“The vision. I saw her tied to a chair in what looked like a small, windowless room, and on a desk nearby was a newspaper with this coming Thursday’s date. I think he’ll send a photo of her with the newspaper, to prove she’s alive when he demands the ransom. I think he’ll expect to be doubted, especially after Callahan was found dead.”
“So you know he’ll have her on Thursday,” Lucas said. “What’s to stop him from grabbing her tonight or tomorrow?”
“He never does, does he? Grabs them late on Wednesday or early Thursday, and always makes the ransom demand on Thursday to give the family just enough time to get the money.”
“That’s the pattern,” Lucas said grimly. “Want to tell me how you know about it?”
“Wait a minute,” Metcalf interrupted. “Do you know who she is? What she looks like?”
“This time I made damned sure I found out who she is.”
“How?” Lucas asked.
“In the vision, she was wearing a shirt with the logo of a local softball team on it. Turns out she’s the assistant coach. Carrie Vaughn. She lives out on Highway 221. I tried to warn her a couple of hours ago, but I got the feeling she didn’t believe she could be in any danger.”
“Get somebody out there,” Metcalf said to Lindsay. “I’d rather be embarrassed than sorry later.”
Lindsay nodded and hurried from the conference room.
Lucas said, “Answer the question, Samantha. How did you know what the kidnapper’s pattern has been?”
“Lucky guess?”
“Not funny.”
Samantha’s smile twisted. “Oh, you’re wrong about that. It is funny. In fact, this whole thing is a cosmic joke. You just haven’t heard the punch line yet.”
“How did you know about the pattern?”
She looked at him for a long moment, expressionless, then said, “We’re staying at that little motel near the fairgrounds. If you’ll go there—”
“I thought you people stayed in those campers and RVs,” Metcalf interrupted.
“Usually we do. Sometimes we like hot showers in bathrooms large enough to turn around in. Some of us are at the motel. Okay?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Just wondered.”
“We’ve paid in advance, if you were wondering that.”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“Yeah, I figured it might have.”
Lucas said, “Will you two please stay on the subject and stop sniping at each other? Sam, what’s in your motel room?”
She didn’t let herself react to the shortened version of her name. “Check the top drawer of the nightstand, and you’ll find a handkerchief in a plastic bag. He dropped it at the carnival, probably yesterday. When I picked it up late yesterday afternoon, I had the vision.”
“And?”
“I told you what I saw.”
“What else?”
“Flashes of the others. The other victims. Ten, twelve of them. Men and women, different ages, nothing in common. Except him. I knew what he was doing, what he’s been doing all these months. His pattern. And I knew why.”
“Why?”
“Sure you want to know, Luke?”
“Of course I want to know.”
Samantha shrugged. “Okay. I saw a chessboard. Not a lot of pieces; it was an endgame. Two players. I saw their hands moving the chessmen. And then I saw the face of one of the players.”
“Who was it?”
“It was you, Luke. Get it? Get the joke? You’re here because he wants you to be here. It’s not about the money. It was never about the money. He’s playing a game. He’s matching his skills and his wits against you. You, personally. And he won’t stop until the game has a winner.”
Metcalf said something profane under his breath and then, louder, said, “If you expect us to believe any of this—”
“I don’t expect you to believe a thing, Sheriff,” she said without taking her eyes off Lucas.
“Why me?” Lucas demanded. “Why would
he fix on me?”
“Because you’re the best. The past few years, you’ve really made a name for yourself in solving kidnappings and abductions. And since those crimes tend to be high-profile, you’ve gotten a lot of press, other media. You’ve been very visible. I guess he’s been watching.”
“No,” Lucas said. “I just don’t buy it.”
“Maybe you just don’t want to buy it.” She seemed to hesitate, then said slowly, “Why do you think he kills them?”
“He didn’t kill them all,” Lucas said immediately.
“He didn’t kill the first one,” Samantha agreed. “Let her go once he had the money like a nice little kidnapper, even though she’s convinced he’d planned to kill her. If he had planned to, he must have changed his mind. But I guess he found something lacking in the way that ended, huh? Because he’s been killing them ever since.”
Lucas was silent.
“So what was it, Luke? Why did he start killing them? They never see him. They couldn’t identify him, so they aren’t a threat. He gets his money, or has almost every time. So why does he kill them? Come on, Luke, you’re a natural profiler. What possible reason could he have for slaughtering these people once their ransom is paid?”
Despite his own antagonism, Metcalf found himself watching the federal agent and waiting for his answer.
Lucas sat back down in his chair without looking away from Samantha, and after a moment said slowly, “According to the official profile, he’s not willing to take the risk that they might be able to identify him.”
“What about the unofficial profile? You must have your own ideas. Don’t tell me you and Bishop actually saw eye to eye on this one?”
“It makes sense, Sam.”
“Sure it does. It makes perfect psychological sense. And I don’t have a degree in psychology, so maybe I’m the last person you should listen to. It just seems to me that broken minds don’t work the way they’re supposed to. That’s why they’re broken.”
Jaylene said, “Broken minds. Good description.”
“He wouldn’t be kidnapping and killing people if he didn’t have a few screws loose.”
“We can only hope.”
Lucas said, “The point is that the profile fits what little we know about the kidnapper. It makes sense that he kills them to avoid the risk of identification.”