Haunting Refrain (12 page)

“I noticed,” she said, still looking out the window. “He probably read your article and decided I was as bad as
Venice
. He really doesn't approve of
Venice
's psychic bent. Now I guess I'm tarred with the same brush, so to speak.”

“I'm sorry if it caused you a problem, but I don't think the guy's stable.” As they slowed to a stop in
Pumpkintown
, he made a mental note to find out more about Helmut and changed the subject to Kelly Landrum. He told Kate what he knew and how few leads there had been. “So you could be providing a new lead. If what you say, or see, is right about the jealousy or anger, it has to be someone who knew her. But not a regular boyfriend or anyone her friends were aware of. What does that suggest to you?”

“I don't know.
Maybe a married man.
Someone who needed to keep it secret.
Maybe a professor.”

They crested a hill and John said, “That’s the
Keowee
River
down there. We'll cross into
Oconee
County
and then it's just a few miles to Devils Fork.”

Even in the fading light in the car, he could see Kate's hands clench as they crossed the river. For a second, he was sorry he had brought her, but then he considered the story and squelched the thought.

“A professor—that's good,” he continued. “I thought of a married man, but not a professor. What other kind of person would want to hide a relationship with a college student?”

“What about a politician? They're always worried about appearances.”

“Yes. She was awfully young for the average bureaucrat. Besides, most of them are married.”

“Not all of them. J. B.—”

“J. B. McGuire, the state representative?” He made the connection immediately, vaguely remembering photographs with a mousy little wife hovering in the background. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her.
And then the divorce.
The press had had a field day with the handsome politician and his quiet, self-effacing wife, but there had hardly been any photos of her, just rampant speculation. That’s why he hadn’t connected McGuire’s wife to Kate. Ouch. No wonder she was suspicious of the press. Turning off toward the boat landing, he said, “He's your ex.”

“That's him.”

“Weren't you a little young for him? Does he like young girls?” His mind slipped into high gear, wondering if there could be a connection. Maybe that's how Kate knew so much—maybe she had seen J. B. with the Landrum woman and was afraid to admit it.

“Of course not!
There's nothing wrong with J. B.”

“What did he think about your psychic abilities? Did it bother him?”

“Wait a minute. He has absolutely nothing to do with this. We've been divorced for over a year, and I hardly ever see him. You cannot connect him with this.”

“He does a lot of fundraisers on the campus, uses student volunteers.” He downshifted to second and let the engine slow them as he followed the twisting, descending road toward the water.

“That’s ridiculous.” She turned in her seat, glaring at him.

“You're awfully protective for an ex-wife.” He stopped the car and faced her, one eyebrow raised.

“It's just that he's a nice guy and doesn't deserve to be tangled up in anything that could affect his political career. The divorce was bad enough.”

“Then why did he do it?”

“What makes you think he did it?” She turned away and fumbled for the door latch. “Let's get on with this.”

“Whatever you say.”
Remembering her flash of temper the first time they met, he backed off. He couldn't afford to alienate her just now—she was the only item of interest in what looked like a dead-end case. He told himself that was his only interest in her.
Liar
.
He got out and walked around the car to Kate's side. Dark had fallen. “The moon is almost full, and it's clear tonight, so maybe we won't break our necks. Are you sure about this? You don't have to, you know.”

“I know. I'm fine.” She got out, staring over the moonlit water. “I doubt if I'll see anything. So far, things have come only through touch.”

John took her arm and led her down the boat ramp to the water. “This is where they brought her out. She was about half a mile from the shore—he was probably aiming for the three rivers. Good thing he missed. It’s about 800 feet deep there.”

They stood in silence at the water’s edge. Deep shadows disguised the outline of the rough bank; a soft night-wind ruffled the surface of the lake. Although it wasn't cold, Kate wrapped her arms around herself.

The water lapped gently against the base of a large rock near the edge of the concrete. She sat down on it, her expression blank. John pictured Kelly as Kate had described her, floating, her arms outstretched toward the dark sky.

Kate's head snapped up.
“Boats!
Where do they keep the boats?” She jumped up, turning as she tried to see the shoreline, and would have tumbled into the water if John hadn't caught her arm.

“What boats? What did you see?”

“I'm not sure.” She exhaled, deflated.
“Probably nothing.
Water slapping against something.
I don't know if I imagined it or saw it.”

“Well, what was it?”

“I think she was being carried through the woods. She was already dead.” She tilted her head back, looking at the skewed trees, and lost her balance again.

“What the hell are you doing, Kate?” John caught her again. He didn't know whether she was crazy or possessed, but she certainly needed a keeper.

“Let go!” She shook herself free, shaking her head at the same time, trying to clear it. “I'm sorry. I’m glad you’re here. I couldn't tell what's real for a minute.”

“Could you just tell me what's going on?”

“I was trying to concentrate on Kelly, picturing her in the lake, but then I saw the trees, sort of upside down.” She described what she had seen, adding, “But I don't know if it really happened. The only times I've ever seen anything before are when I've touched something.”

“Maybe you did touch something. That's where the diver who first saw her was sitting. They brought her out about there, too. Would that be enough?” He didn't tell her what the diver saw, or how sick the guy had been.

“I don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore.”

“Let's back up. You said you heard water slapping against something. And you asked where the boats are. Did you see the boat?” John peered into the darkness, blocking out the moon with his left hand. “There are no rental boats here. It had to have been a private one.”

“This isn't helping. I couldn't see the boat. I don't really know if I saw anything,” she muttered in disgust. “Maybe I'm losing my mind. I don't know what's going on.”

“I sure as hell don't,” he said. “The body had to have been in a boat to get that far out into the lake, but anyone could have put in at the
Jocassee
landing and gone out toward the middle. We could find out if there are any private landings with access to this lake, and who owns them. See if any familiar names turn up.”

“Why would someone come all this way to dispose of her?”

“Because this lake is over a thousand feet deep in places.
If he had hit the right area, she would probably never have been found. I think she must have been killed and brought directly here on that Friday night she disappeared. It was dark and rainy
and—”

“Rain!
Yes, I saw rain when she was being carried.”

He didn’t get the significance, but she seemed excited by it. Maybe it helped her confidence.
 
They walked slowly back toward the car, with Kate twisting, walking backwards, looking up, all the way. John kept his hand out, ready to grab her if she fell or stumbled. He hoped she wasn't going into a trance or whatever these people did. She was shivering. He wished he had a jacket or a sweater to give her. “Look, why don't we come back tomorrow when it's daylight? We could try the other landing, and then maybe we’d find something.”

“I have to check my appointment book. I can't think right now, and I need to talk to
Venice
.”

“
Venice
? Why?”

“Because she's the real psychic.
She may be a little heavy-handed sometimes, but she understands this stuff. Maybe she can explain what happened tonight.” Kate climbed into the cozy litter of John's car and rested her head on the seat back. They drove in silence, passing a few lighted houses and fewer cars. It was a lonely road. Kate drifted off.

When they reached
Greenville
, she roused herself and told him where she lived. She was almost asleep again when he turned onto her street.

“We're here. Which house?”

“There,” she pointed. “Whoops. My mother did teach me not to point.” She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

John coasted to a stop in front of her house and turned off the engine. Looking up and down the street, he said, “I'll walk you to the door.”

“Thanks, but I'm used to this neighborhood. I'll be all right.”

He got out with her anyway. “By the way, I think you should know that I had some calls today asking about the psychics. Some of the callers were pretty hostile.”

“I’ll bet.” She yawned again.

“One of them was the prophet. He’s crazy. I hope you don’t run into him again.”

* * *

First the body—he still couldn't believe it had been found—and now the preliminary autopsy said she had been strangled. A prickle of fear inched across his scalp. He thought she had been in the water too long for them to figure that out. Still, they couldn't tie it to him.

Nothing was going right. Like the other night—he had waited for
Venice
and then she had shown up with that damned professor, who had gone into the house with her.

He continued to read. Suddenly his heart lurched. The name struck him like an angry copperhead—
Charlene Nelson!
They had forgotten her, dropped the case, he raged, smacking the paper down on the glass table. It had been almost a year, and they had given up finding her killer. He had buried her in the woods, thinking she wouldn't be found, but that had been a mistake. Some kid and his dog had uncovered her right away. Now this Gerrard fellow was suggesting a connection between her and Kelly. There was no way he could know that. Charlene hadn't been at all like Kelly. Charlene had been a mistake from the beginning. But never mind about that: she was history. The question was
,
how did Gerrard know about her?
Speculation?
Or the women?

Carefully, he restored the newspaper to order and finished reading. Good. It didn't mention Kate and
Venice
at all, and no one else could possibly connect him to Charlene.

He had begun to relax when he saw it—another, smaller article on the third page, where the main story carried over. That damned Gerrard again. He described the “uncanny accuracy” of the psychics' vision of the body and how Landrum had been found, even to the dark clothing she had been wearing. The concrete blocks eliminated accidental death, lending credence to their visions. It
was
the women! They told the police where to find her. He knew all along it was them.

Fear gripped him. He couldn't wait any longer. They were probably spying on him right now. He should have taken care of them right away. Well, he would now, before they led the police to him.