Possession Page 2

  “Lucius called this woman in, and she gave them enough information to tag Wrightson as the most likely suspect.” Less than a week later, Wrightson had confessed, but by that time plenty of evidence had been confiscated from the man’s apartment to tie him to all four crimes. The man had gotten the death penalty.

  “How come we’ve never heard of this Laurent woman before?” Kiel asked.

  “She didn’t start offering her services until five years ago,” Random interjected. Lifting his lanky frame off the filing cabinets, he walked over to the other side of the captain’s desk. “She first contacted the commissioner back then. From what I’ve heard, she told him a few things about his childhood that convinced him she was the real deal.”

  Redd picked up. “She’s been working for us, for the police, ever since then, but very covertly. Very undercover. She doesn’t want the press to get wind of her. She prefers her privacy and anonymity. So whatever you two do, make sure it’s unobserved. Got me?”

  “And you’re going to take her word on anything she hands you?” Kiel questioned.

  The same half-grin appeared on both the captain’s and lieutenant’s faces. “Just wait,” Random told him. “Give yourselves an hour, and you won’t be disbelieving anymore.”

  Sam blew a raspberry. “I don’t believe in mediums or spiritualists. I don’t believe in psychics. And I don’t believe she’s going to convince me otherwise in an hour’s time.”

  Chuckling, Captain Redd leaned back in his chair. “You haven’t given me squat in a week’s time. One day with this woman isn’t going to do more harm than good. Here.” Closing the green folder, he tossed it at Kiel. “If she doesn’t give you anything viable by tonight, you have my permission to send her on her way. Fair deal?”

  The two detectives got to their feet.

  “One day?” Sam repeated, just to be sure.

  Random nodded. “But if she does give you a bone, run with it.”

  “Captain?”

  “Yeah, Stark?”

  “How many cases has she worked on?”

  Redd gestured toward the folder. “It’s all in there. Read it, and then if you still have any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them. Now get going. She’s waiting for you.”

  J lowered the receiver back into its cradle. Chewing her lower lip, she started up the stairs to her bedroom to change out of the shorts and t-shirt she was wearing. With two detectives on their way over she needed to wear something a bit more subtle. Something with a little drab attached to it so as not to draw any attention to herself.

  Something she could hopefully hide behind.

  Reaching her bedroom door at the top of the stairs, her ears caught the sound of the radio she’d left on in the downstairs parlor. She kept it on almost constantly when she was awake. It drowned out the silence in the big old Victorian style home where she’d grown up. A home where she was now the sole owner and occupant.

  Vaguely she listened with one ear to the news as she searched the closet for appropriate attire. Her hands landed on a simple dove-gray shift she liked. Taking it out of the closet, she added the blue-and-gray patterned silk scarf that went with it. Quickly she changed.

  She knew they would be calling her. She also knew why they needed her help. The only thing that eluded her was time. She had never been able to put her finger right on exact times, just relative ones like today or last week, or two years from now. Which was why she tried so damn hard to make sure that whatever she “saw” was as accurate as she could explain it.

  Details like men’s faces, buildings and locations—these things she could handle well enough. They were easy to describe to the police artist. J prided herself on the fact that she could break down everything that came to her into minute adjectives, right down to the feel of rough cotton gloves over the skin, or the burn of harsh summer sunlight coming through a window.

  Sighing, J dumped her dirty clothes into the hamper in the bathroom before returning to her bedroom. Brushing her thick hair into a ponytail, she quickly rolled it into a bun at the back of her neck and pinned it. A quick spritz of hairspray would keep the baby-fine hairs from flying into her face. Satisfied, she pulled the scarf over her head and went downstairs to wait for the detectives to arrive.

  She debated whether or not to leave the radio on. Sometimes she needed to hear its impersonal voice when she walked up the porch steps to the front door. It sounded like someone still lived there.

  Not that J didn’t like the solitude. She truly valued her aloneness at times. The last thing she needed was to have a roommate who would leave stuff scattered thither and yon, as her grandmama had referred to it, and become more of a bother than a comfortable second presence in the house.

  No, it was better to be able to find things exactly where she’d left them. To know that if anything got broken or disturbed, it was her fault alone. To know that every phone call and every piece of mail that came to the house was just for her.

  It also helped when some of the visions came to her, some of them so fierce and terrifying that she’d wake up screaming. On those nights the noise would not awaken anyone else.

  Better, it was good to be alone where no one would criticize her. Or tease her about her ability. Or rail at her for some of the things she saw, if she happened to mention them by accident.

  Thank the dear Lord Grandmama had understood.

  They will be here soon.

  J smiled. Okay, that was a given, she told the little voice inside her head that spoke to her. Still, soon was another time-related word. It could mean ten minutes from now, or a couple of days from now. How far was it to the Aaron Street Station? Not far, if she remembered correctly. Roughly fifteen to twenty minutes away, if they managed to catch all the lights green.

  This would be the first time she’d worked with the captain over at Aaron Street. In the past she had worked on two cases for the downtown station on Sender, and two for the Vickers County Sheriff’s Department. Four cases in all as herself, and three others where she’d phoned in tips to the hotline before she had been able to gather up enough courage to present herself in person.

  A shudder ran through her. J ran a nervous hand over her shift to make sure the dress wasn’t too wrinkled. She went into the kitchen for a drink of water, hoping it would help to calm her. The first meeting always went badly. It would take the men a while to accept her, and a bit more time to accept whatever it was she had to tell them. She hated these first encounters, but she had no choice if she wanted to continue doing what she did.

  It wasn’t as if she needed the money. No. After her family had been killed in that car accident, the same one that had nearly taken her life as well, she found out that her father had invested well over the years. Mostly in electronics. Gas. Some Internet stocks. A few shares of a global telecommunications company that hit it big with cell phones. She wasn’t rich by any means, but the dividends alone were enough keep her living comfortably for the rest of her life.

  Her grandmama had taken her in and raised her. J vaguely remembered the house where she used to live, back when her parents were still alive. It was a one-story affair, but she had been six when the accident had taken it all away from her. Even before her grandmother died and left her this house.

  Grandmama had owned the Victorian home she loved to visit. She adored the smell of the place, with its cedar closets, and ages-old bedding and clothing stashed in the trunks in the attic. She could spend hours playing dress up. So when Grandmama had asked if she wanted to live there, J had embraced the woman with hope and tears. Grandmama knew of her specialness, and there were many times J and the elderly woman had sat in the kitchen over cups of tea, discussing her ability. Grandmama had never criticized nor condemned her for what she’d been born with.

  Faintly her ears caught the sound of a car entering the gravel driveway. Wiping her sweaty palms on her thighs, she went to wait in the foyer.

  No, she took the jobs because she couldn’t stand by any longer with this
knowledge in her head and not share it with anyone. For years she had “seen” the cruelties inflicted upon others, most of them innocents. It wasn’t until that small boy had been abducted that she had screwed up her courage and called in to the tip line to leave the first of many messages she would later phone in. Back then her payoff had been to hear that the guilty had been nabbed, tried, and sentenced. That had been her ultimate satisfaction.

  Until the Milkman murders.

  A cold finger ran its icy nail up her spine. It had taken everything out of her to approach the police in person because her gift had screamed that she needed to view the scenes. She had to go there and relive every brutal blow. After putting herself through that ordeal, the information she had given the authorities had been enough to have them put a tail on Leander Wrightson. Unaware he had been fingered, the man had merrily gone about his business, only to find the law waiting for him when he entered the kitchen of intended victim number five.

  After the jury pronounced him guilty, J had been handed a check for a thousand dollars. She had never taken money before, even when her calls to the tip line paid off. It wasn’t a lot of money, but she had accepted it. She had put it in a special savings account. Why, she didn’t know. It was one of those time issues again. Some day down the road she would need that money. Her inheritance was enough to keep the house and property in her name. Enough to pay the taxes and the bills. To put food on the table and clothes on her back.

  This extra, it would be needed for something else. And long ago J had come to accept whatever the voices in her head told her, no questions asked. After that first job, she had taken anything the police offered in payment as long as it was at least a thousand dollars. She didn’t balk if they offered her more, but she wouldn’t take less than a grand. Again, she had no idea why.

  The doorbell rang. It was one of those old-time chimes that sounded like a clock striking the hour. Grandmama said the tune was called Church Bells Will Ring. The house was full of odd nuances like that.

  Pasting on her best smile, J opened the door, and hoped the detectives coming to get her hadn’t already formed a permanent opinion about her.

  “Friggin’ hell! Can you believe it? A psychic!”

  Sam glanced sideways at his partner. The scowl on the man’s face looked permanent. “Chill, bro. No judging until we get there, okay?”

  Silence flowed past them, as well as the scenery. Apparently this woman lived in the older part of town. Either she was from old money, or she was a sitting duck for the dregs of humanity. Not a good choice, either way.

  He glanced again at the man sitting in the passenger seat. One thing Kiel was never good at was disguising his emotions. “Hey, don’t worry. If you can fool a precinct full of experienced cops, this woman won’t be able to figure it out, either. So chill. Put on your best homicide detective guise, and I’ll do most of the talking.” He made a motion toward the folder in the man’s lap. “What did you find out?”

  Kiel snorted. “Not a helluva lot personally. But she’s been instrumental in at least seven cases, three voluntarily and four by request.”

  “Any idea how she works?”

  “Works?”

  “Yeah. Like, does she roll her eyes back into her head and go into a coma, and act as if she’s possessed? Does she use a crystal ball or some of them Tarot cards? Or does she hear little voices in her head telling her who’s guilty?”

  “You’re nuts.” Kiel sneered.

  “Yeah? Well, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?” Sam shot right back. Several long seconds passed, when Sam shook his head. “Sorry, Kiel. I went over the line.”

  “No. It’s understandable.” The man snorted again. “There isn’t a person alive who can say that what we’re having to go through is normal.”

  “Alive or dead.” Sam tried to smile over his bad pun, but failed. “Twenty-one twelve. Was that the address?”

  “Yeah. Oh, wow.”

  “Yeah. Wow.”

  Their first impression of the old house was awe. Someone had taken the time, trouble, and money to keep it looking almost as it must have appeared when it had first been built. Right down to the gingerbread scrollwork and handcarved wooden balustrades and porch railings. Overall it was a bright, sunny yellow with warm brownish trim. A profusion of sunflowers overflowed in the flowerbeds. A white rocking chair with a red-checked cushion moved lazily at the end of the porch. The place look appealing and inviting. As friendly and inviting as a step back in time.

  “How old is this Laurent woman?”

  Kiel flipped open the folder. “Doesn’t say.”

  “I got five bucks that says she could be our grandma.”

  “I’m not taking that bet, Sam. Why else would she need an escort back to the station? She can’t drive. Probably doesn’t even own a car.”

  They pulled into the gravel driveway. At that instant they were faced with what was left of the garage. “It’s a greenhouse,” Kiel stated the obvious.

  “Yeah. Probably uses it to grow the herbs she needs to concoct her potions and stuff.”

  Kiel snickered.

  They got out of the car and followed the brick walkway to the porch. Taking the short steps to the front door, Sam raised his hand to knock on the door. But before he could complete the gesture, the door opened. Both men did a mental and physical step back.

  The woman was covered so completely, only her face was visible. Oh, but what a face. It was the face of a world-class model. Young, with perfect angles and not a blemish to be seen. Lightly arched brows were the color of caramels. She was wearing a shapeless shift in a bluish-gray color. A scarf in similar shades was tied over her head, hiding the rest of her hair. But that face, those ripe lips…and those eyes.

  Kiel was the first to speak. “Hello. I’m Detective Stark. Will you please let Miss Laurent know my partner and I are here?”

  The lovely woman stared at him as a frown slowly darkened the perfect face. Kiel realized with a start that she wore a pale gloss over her full lips. Otherwise her face was bare of makeup. More amazing were her eyes. They were hazel in color, except for the outer edges which were brown. Very unusual. Very arresting.

  “Who?” she repeated.

  Kiel paused. Was she asking who they were? Or who they had come to get? He decided to try again. Reaching inside his jacket, he produced his bifold and flipped it open to show her his ID and badge. “We’re Detectives Stark and Reese. We’re from the Aaron Street Station. Our captain sent us over to take Miss Laurent over to a crime scene. Will you let her know we’re here?”

  “Who are you?”

  His mouth felt dry. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. Even spookier was the definitely perplexed expression growing more pronounced on the woman’s countenance. He started to comment on it when Sam came up behind him.

  “Would you tell your mother we’re here?”

  The woman’s gaze shifted immediately over to Sam. Quietly she replied, “The name is pronounced ‘Leh-rahnt’. And my mother died twenty years ago.” Her mouth drew into a thin line. “I’m J Laurent. I’m the person Captain Redd phoned to ask for help.”

  “You live here alone?” Sam asked.

  Her gaze shifted from Sam back to Kiel, and the perplexed look increased. “Who are you?” she repeated.

  “I’m Detec—”

  “I know what you’re saying,” she abruptly cut in. “Maybe I’m not making myself clear. Maybe I should be asking what are you?”

  Sam glanced at his partner to see the man grow pale. It shocked him. “Miss Laurent, is there a problem?”

  Instead of answering, she stuck a hand out in Kiel’s direction, fingers spread. “Let me touch you,” she ordered. Demanded.

  At that moment both men understood the truth.

  J Laurent was blind.

  Steeling himself, Kiel walked toward her and held out a hand. Sam held his breath as the woman’s fingers came in contact with his partner’s.

  A stream of warmth
flowed through him. The sensation was enough to make him jerk away. J tilted her head in his direction, but the puzzled look remained stamped on her beautiful features. Underneath the flawless complexion, her skin paled.

  An uncomfortable silence passed between them until Sam cleared his throat and stepped forward to offer his arm. “Miss Laurent, we need to be going. Here. Let me help you to the car.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but decided not to. Reaching around, she closed the door, locked it, then stuffed the key in a side pocket of her dress. She placed a hand on Sam’s arm, and the three of them walked back to the car.

  “Let me sit in the back,” she requested in a no-nonsense tone.

  Sam looked at his partner, then nodded before opening the door to help her inside. Quietly the two men got into the front seat.

  “We’re taking you directly to the scene of the crime,” Kiel began. His voice was quivering. In fact his whole body was still shaking from the contact. Her touching him for just those few seconds had felt like standing in front of a heater, with wave after wave of warmth washing over him. It had been a very long time since he’d felt that kind of warmth from another human being. Not even Sam gave him that kind of intense reaction.

  “I would appreciate it if you would give me a direct answer,” J requested again. This time her tone was more derisive, and silently brooked no further delay.

  Turning in his seat so he could look back at her, Kiel repeated, “You mean what am I? I’m a detective with the force. Homicide division.”

  Her eyes seemed to bore straight through him, but their effect on him was even more pronounced. For the first time in the month since it had happened, Kiel Stark felt totally exposed and vulnerable. Extremely vulnerable.

  And turned on.

  Geez! Get a grip on yourself! You of all people can’t be feeling this!

  But he was, and he was damned if he could understand why. Why? Why?

  J chewed on her lower lip. Kiel could see her teeth were like little white pearls. A flash of desire stroked him, surprising him, and for once he was glad she couldn’t see the hunger he knew had to be in his eyes.