I smiled patiently and held in a sigh. He sure was a difficult SOB. “I would appreciate it if you would call the Newhouses and ask them if Kyle ever spent time racing around in a dune buggy.”
Harrison stared blankly at me. “Why exactly?”
I lost patience and growled, “Oh, for cripe’s sake! Can’t you please just this once lend me this one tiny bit of credit and make the call?”
Harrison visibly stiffened and his eyes narrowed slightly, but I was relieved when he pulled out his notebook and his cell phone and punched in some numbers he read off the page. Candice and I waited expectantly and then we heard him apologize for calling the senator back so soon before he asked him my question. “He did?” Harrison said with obvious surprise. “Where exactly did he like to go?” There was a pause; then Harrison’s eyes bulged and he shot an alarmed glance at me. “Which side of the state is that?” There was yet another pause and Harrison scribbled furiously in his notebook. “Thank you, Senator. I appreciate the added information. I’ll let you know if it’s relevant to this investigation shortly.” He then clicked off his phone and sat back in his seat, staring at me curiously. “Okay,” he finally said. “I’m starting to believe you may actually be psychic.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said woodenly. “So what did Newhouse say?”
“He said that Kyle used to go dune buggying each summer with a couple of friends up near Silver Lake. They’d camp and ride dune buggies all day.”
Candice beamed at me. “Silver Lake,” she said. “No wonder you were seeing flecks of that in your vision!”
“Yeah, but you know what that means, don’t you?” When no one answered, I stated the obvious. “Kyle’s body is buried somewhere in those dunes.”
Harrison picked up his cell again and began to dial and he remained on the phone talking to various police and FBI agents throughout the rest of lunch. As Candice and I were setting our plates aside, Harrison said, “Thanks, Ben, and keep me posted on what you guys find.” And then he clicked off.
“They’re going to do a search?” Candice asked.
“They are.”
“Are you going to drag us up there this time?” I really wasn’t in the mood for another long ride that would end only with me sitting in a car for three hours.
“If I did, would you be able to locate the body?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I admitted because I thought I could. But then something else filled my mind and I thought, rather than head up there and sniff around, I might be able to just point the search party in the right direction. “Have your team look near some sort of shack,” I said. “I believe one side of the shack is painted aqua. There’s also the color red mixed in too.”
“His body is in the shack?”
I considered that, then said, “No. It feels like it’s buried. But it’s near the shack, not in it.”
Harrison jumped back on his phone and called that in.
After getting off the phone, he laid some money down for the bill and motioned for us to go. We headed out to his car and were soon under way again. It was quiet in the car, everyone alone with their thoughts, and I could feel my eyelids growing droopy. I really wanted a power nap and was considering taking one when Harrison said, “So tell me how this works, exactly.”
I started at the sudden noise in the quiet car. I looked at Candice’s face in the passenger-side mirror and saw a small smirk on her face. “Were you talking to me, Agent Harrison?” I asked when she said nothing.
“Yes,” he said, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.
“You want to know how my intuition works?”
He nodded.
I sat up straighter in the seat and tried to stifle a yawn. “Well,” I began, “it’s not that complicated. I focus on something and then certain images fill my mind’s eye. The pictures I see are usually metaphoric and the sequence I see them in usually links them together, so as they appear to me, I try and piece together the story they tell me.”
Harrison remained quiet for a little bit, and then he asked, “Yes, but how does it work? How can you pick up on things that you have no knowledge about?”
I shrugged. “I think you want me to give you the science and I’m afraid I can’t do that. It’s kind of like asking a caveman how his eyes work. He just looks at something and describes what he’s seeing. The actual physiological stuff that is going on with my body and my brain that allows me to get this information is something that I don’t have a clue about. I can only tell you that it happens and what it looks like. I can’t tell you why or how.”
“So why can you do it and other people can’t?” he said curiously.
“Why do some people have better vision or hearing than others?” I asked him in return. “Again, you want me to give you the science, and I don’t have that. I’m the subject, not the researcher.”
“So you do believe that there is something scientifically going on with you. That there are measurable changes happening.”
“Absolutely. The question still open is what to measure and how to detect those changes. I don’t know that we’ve developed the right tools yet to be able to measure or identify what exactly is going on with me physically when I’m using my radar, and that’s why there are so many skeptics. Everyone wants to be shown the ‘proof,’ and going after that is all well and good if you’ve got the right tools to measure and detect the differences between someone using their radar and someone not using it. But if you haven’t developed the tools of detection yet—in fact, if you don’t even know where to look—then there’s no proof to be had. The only thing you can quantify are the results—but that’s just not good enough for some people.”
“What about all this predicting-the-future stuff, though?” Harrison asked me. “What’s your take on how that works?”
“Good question,” I said to him. I took it as a positive sign that he was curious. “I think for that we actually can use a bit of science, and I’ll point to Mr. Albert Einstein for clarification.
“As you know, Einstein believed that time is not a linear line, that it does not begin at one point and continue out to some finite point in the far distant future. No, he believed that time is actually a loop; that it is possible to consider that time could actually curl back on itself. And if you think of the symbol of infinity, you understand his concept even better. Time as a sideways figure eight in constant motion but swirling back to points already traveled. Now, if Einstein is correct, and time is a loop, then I believe that there are certain things within that loop that are set, or determined. Think of it like time as a stream, and within that stream there might be large boulders which represent specific events where the water—time—bumps into them, and ripples in the water get sent forward and backward.
“What I believe people like me do is look for those boulders, and the reason we can see them is because of the ripples flowing back from them, like an echo effect. Very much like how a bat or a dolphin uses their sonar. They can see in the dark because they’re sending out sound waves to find the big objects in their path. I’m using thought waves to find the boulders and the ripples. Now, I can’t see everything, of course, but those ripples stand out, and the closer I get to the boulder, the more pronounced the ripple and the clearer the imagery.”
Harrison was silent for a while. “So you believe that we have no choice. That our futures are completely predetermined?”
“No, not at all,” I said, and I could see the surprise in his eyes as he glanced back at me. “I think the boulders—these specific events—might be set, like they are in a stream, but we’re floating along in the water and we’re free to choose the course that best suits us.
“So, to give you an example, let’s say a certain type of cancer runs in your family. And let’s say that one of the boulders in your stream is this cancer. Now, if you don’t go in for screening, you might hit that boulder head-on and maybe, because you chose not to get prescreened and it was too late when you found out, maybe yo
u died from the impact. But say you did go in for regular screening, and say, because of that screening, your life was saved and you were able to carry on farther down the stream. We can choose which way we’ll go when we come to those boulders. We can smack into them, or curl to the right or left and move along down the river to the next set of boulders. It’s our choice.”
“Huh,” said Harrison. And that was the last he said for a long while.
Chapter Nine
As the sun started to set on the horizon and we entered the peak of rush hour traffic, Harrison’s phone rang. He answered it in his usual clipped tone and when I heard, “Good work, Ben. I’ll alert the family,” I knew they had found Kyle. “See what you can do about getting a DNA sample. We might want to consider dental records, though, to get a positive ID. It might be quicker,” Harrison added.
After he’d hung up, Candice said, “They found the boy.”
Harrison sighed. “They found a body. It was pretty much where Ms. Cooper said it’d be. Near a light blue outhouse at the edge of the camping grounds. The cadaver dogs found him without a lot of trouble.”
“Those poor parents,” Candice said, and I knew that her own grief over the loss of her grandmother was still close to the surface.
“Yeah,” Harrison agreed as he turned off the highway onto the main road leading to the FBI offices.“Informing the parents is the part of the job I could do without.”
I stared out the window keeping my thoughts to myself. I felt very sad for Kyle’s parents and what they were about to learn. I couldn’t imagine having that last vestige of hope taken away from me if my child went missing. Still, at least they would finally know. It had to be better than imagining all the possible tortures that could be happening to someone they loved.
Harrison dropped us at Candice’s car. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
“I’ll call you when we decide on the next course of action.”
“Okay. Good night.”
Candice didn’t say anything. I figured she was still a little put off by Harrison’s stiff attitude. When we got into her car, she said, “And, by the way, Abby, great job!”
I smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad someone noticed.”
“He’s not getting my vote for Mr. Congeniality, that’s for sure.”
“Me neither.”
We drove home and I invited her in for dinner. She begged off, saying she wanted to go work the kinks out after the long day in the car by going for a run.
I hurried through the rain to the front door and walked straight into the smell of something delicious. “Hey, doll,” Dutch said from the dining room table. “I didn’t hear from you, so I started without you.”
My eyes roved to the clock on the far wall. It was after seven. “That’s cool,” I reassured him. “Is there enough left over for me?”
“Always,” he said, getting up to retrieve my plate from the kitchen.
“You know,” I said, sitting down wearily, “you’re pretty much the best boyfriend ever.”
“Pretty much?” he said, returning with my plate of roasted chicken with red potatoes and yellow squash.
“Yep. If you picked your socks up off the floor, though, I’d be willing to toss that out and just go with best.”
Dutch laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said. The phone rang and Dutch went to answer it. I dug into the chicken and closed my eyes dreamily as I chewed.
In the background I heard Dutch say, “Yes, sir, she’s right here.” I opened my eyes to see Dutch handing me the phone. “Harrison,” he mouthed.
I took the phone. “Hello?”
“Sorry to disturb you so soon after dropping you off, but I was hoping that you and your associate would be able to come with me to interview Leslie’s parents tomorrow?”
“Er . . . ,” I said, thinking I needed to check with Candice first. “I guess. Can I call Candice and get back to you?”
“Yes.”
I waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t, so I ended by promising to call him back shortly. I then ate two more forkfuls of chicken (hey, I was hungry!) and pressed the speed dial to Candice’s cell. I got her voice mail and knew she’d already left for her run.
I took the time waiting for her to call back to finish my dinner and help Dutch with the dishes; then we sat back at the table and had some coffee.
Candice called back then, and when I answered, she said, “What’s up?”
“Harrison wants us to go with him to interview Leslie’s parents tomorrow.”
“Works for me,” she said. “I’ve got nothing on the books.”
“Me either. I’ll send you a text with the time.”
I hung up with her and dialed Harrison back.“We’re in,” I said when he answered.
“Seven thirty,” he said perfunctorily. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” And then the line went dead.
I sighed and set the phone aside. “Trouble?” Dutch asked, watching me closely.
“I think your boss is an ass,” I said earnestly.
Dutch barked out a laugh. “You’re just picking that up? Gee, Abby, you’re usually quicker on stuff like that.”
“No, I mean it, Dutch!” I insisted, all kidding aside.
“I think the guy has some sort of social disorder or something.”
“Social disorder?”
“Yes. I mean, one minute I think Harrison might be warming up to us and the next he’s like . . . a complete jerk!”
“Welcome to the bureau, Abby,” Dutch said with a smile. “We’re not paid to be nice. We’re paid to get results.”
“You’re not like that,” I argued.
Dutch leaned forward and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of my chair to sit me in his lap and kiss me. “When I’m at work, I’m able to conceal my true persona,” he said.
“I see,” I replied with a giggle. “Your persona, is it?”
Dutch nodded earnestly. “Yep. The real charm comes out only when I’m not wearing the badge.”
“Ahhhh,” I said as he began nuzzling my neck. “It’s been a little while since I’ve seen that . . . er . . . charm, you know.”
Dutch pulled his face out of my neck and stared at me with bedroom eyes. “Wanna get reacquainted?”
I giggled again. “I’m game,” I told him, and he slung me over his shoulder caveman style and carried me upstairs, where we got on with the charm.
The next morning Candice and I got into Harrison’s car just as the first rays of the sun were lighting up the east. “Morning!” I said brightly. Candice shot me a quizzical look, but I ignored her. I was going to make Harrison like me if it killed me.
“Ms. Cooper,” Harrison said coolly. “Ms. Fusco.”
“Agent Harrison,” Candice replied tonelessly.
I sighed. This whole getting everyone to be one big happy family was likely to prove tougher than I thought.
I sat up front as we wound our way through traffic. I was surprised when we arrived at a small airport. Harrison pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. “We’ll be traveling by charter plane,” he said before he got out.
I followed with Candice behind him to a set of three hangars. Harrison led us to the middle one and over to a small white plane with blue piping. “Agent Harrison,” a portly man with white hair and an easy smile said warmly.
“Ed,” Harrison said. “Are we clear for takeoff?”
“I’m just running through the final checklist,” Ed said, running his hand along the underside of the wing. “Why don’t you and your guests grab a cup of coffee and I’ll come get you after I’ve gone through the rest of my list?”
Harrison nodded and began walking again without commenting to us. Candice and I followed and we made our way into a small, cozy office with several chairs and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Candice headed straight for the brew and she poured us both a cup. As she handed one to me, we both took notice that Harrison seemed to be waiting for
a cup as well, but instead of pouring him one, Candice merely stepped aside, giving him access to the coffeepot. I gave her a contemptuous look, as she was doing nothing to help ease the tension in our little group, but she just gave me a smart smile.
No one, it seemed, was up for chitchat, so I made my way over to the window and watched Ed go through his checklist. And that’s when I began to get a really uncomfortable feeling.
It started as a little sinking sensation in my lower gut, but the longer I watched Ed as he moved around the plane, the more unsettled I became. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I turned and looked at Candice, wondering if I was just uneasy about the thought of going up in such a small plane. I’m generally claustrophobic, so the idea of being squished into a tight space with a tiny window while flying the turbulent air over Lake Michigan wasn’t very appealing.
“What’s up?” Candice asked, noticing my unease.
“I don’t think I want to get on that plane,” I whispered.
Candice’s attention moved to the window. “Is something wrong with the plane?” I had to give her credit for immediately trusting my radar.
I focused on her question and turned back to the view of the plane in the hangar. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I want to say no, but something’s not right.”
“What’s your intuition saying?” she pressed.
“Nothing specific,” I admitted. “I just feel really uneasy about it.”
“Uneasy as in you think the plane might crash?”
By now Harrison was listening to us and I caught the look of alarm register on his face as he glanced in our direction.
I ignored him and focused on Candice. The feeling I had was so fuzzy that I thought if she could only ask the right question, I might find the reason for my distress. “Again, I don’t think so,” I said, feeling that out. “But something doesn’t feel right to me.” Turning to Harrison, I asked, “Do you know how long Ed has been flying?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “No,” he said. “But I know it’s been many years. He’s the registered pilot with the FBI for this district and you don’t get that accreditation without logging a whole lotta flying time.”