“I am not a performing seal, Agent Stone.”
Proof enough, Cheney thought. “Did you happen to see where he is, ma’am? We need to bring him down before he can take another shot at Julia. Can you help us find this monster?”
She drew in a very deep breath, let it out slowly. Her dark golden-green eyes, witch’s eyes, never left his face. Maybe that was where she’d gotten her last name.
“I think he has an author’s name, isn’t that odd? Usually, of course, people don’t think about their own names, but I got this flash—he happened to look at a book and he felt at one with it. An author’s name, is this close?”
Damn. “Yes, it’s close.”
“Good. Now as to where he is. Again, he wasn’t thinking about where he is. But he’s watching me—well, he’s watching Julia, and he’s planning. I could feel chaotic energy roaring through him, the feeling he could outrun anyone, fight anyone, kill anyone who tried to stop him. But you know? I think he has bad eyes, though. You know already he wears glasses. He thought, only a moment, that maybe he’d get laser surgery, but he’s afraid to, his vision is too important to him.”
She turned to Julia. “If I’m pulled into another vision about him, perhaps it will be to where he’s staying and I’ll see it. I don’t want him to kill you. To lose poor August and to then lose you six months later—it would be too much. But I don’t understand. Why would anyone go to all this trouble to kill you? Fact is, if he knows why, he doesn’t care enough to even think about it in passing. You’re a challenge to him now, maybe the biggest challenge he’s ever faced from his prey. You’re his entire focus now.”
Julia said, “Who do you think killed August, Kathryn?”
“My opinion?”
“Yes, as a person, not a psychic.”
Kathryn said, “I don’t know, but you should talk to Soldan Meissen.” The same one Bevlin named, Cheney thought. “He was so jealous of August,” she continued, “it was eating him up. Perhaps it was something as simple as his wanting some of August’s big-name clients. I heard he netted one of August’s very rich longtime clients, Thomas Pallack.”
Julia said, “I did know that. But I haven’t spoken to any of August’s clients in a very long time now. Thomas Pallack was with August for more than ten years.”
“Few of them wanted to speak to you because they believed you were guilty and they didn’t want to be involved in any of that. I’ll wager whoever it was behind August’s death wanted you to be blamed, Julia, and so you were, but you survived the investigation. I think the person who hired this killer is afraid of you, afraid you’ll find something out, or you’ve already found out something that points to him, and that’s why he or she wants you dead.”
She paused, sighed. “At least you have August’s journals, you’ve seen firsthand how he changed lines, just as he changed yours. You’ve experienced through his own writing exactly what he was.” She sighed again. “How I wish I could read August’s journals. Perhaps you’d let me see them, Julia—”
“I didn’t know August kept journals, Kathryn. I’ve never seen them.”
Cheney said, “Did you ever actually see Dr. Ransom’s journals?”
Kathryn nodded. “One evening, maybe eight months ago, I was dropping off some papers. August was in his study and he was writing when I came in. Unfortunately he was holding his notebook at such an angle I was unable to make out the words. I remember he told me it was the only record of his life that meant anything, all the rest was just empty words.”
She rose. “I have a meeting with a producer in twenty minutes. Agent Stone, you have a rich crimson aura, beautiful, really, vibrant and powerful as a rushing waterfall. I’ve never seen a policeman with an aura like that.”
What to say to that?
“Oh yes, and there’s something else—you hurt him, Julia. The man was thinking he needed more Aleve for the cuts on his face and neck. His arm must not hurt very much, at least he didn’t think of it when he thought of the Aleve.”
All over the news, Cheney thought, except for the painkiller. The Aleve was a nice touch. Suspects giving alibis knew that specifics added verisimilitude. Evidently it was the same with psychics.
“I felt his anger like a furnace blast, Julia. Then he was aware his feet hurt and it distracted him for a moment. They’re new David Smith boots, and they’d rubbed blisters on his heels. That first time at Pier 39, he ran all out, not good in new shoes.”