Conduit (10 page)

“Well, Miss Julie,” he said, his fake, thick accent
propelling every word, “you can’t sleep in your car overnight. Even if you
leave the car running with the heater, you’ll possibly run out of gas and
freeze to death. Can’t have that happening.”

“Maybe I can make it ahead of the storm to one of those motels
you mentioned. An hour, you say?”

“You’ll never make it in time. The storm is almost here. The
store I went to is in the same town with the motels, and they were battening
down the hatches as I left. It’s not going to take much longer before it
overcomes us here.”

Julie pouted. “I knew I should have flown to Seattle. I
always seem to have the worst luck.”

He rubbed his chin. “My ranch isn’t far from here, about forty-five
minutes. I have an extra bedroom. It’s not much, but it’s warm. There’s plenty
of food and a hot shower as well.”

The corner of Julie’s mouth turned upward in a seducing
manner. “I suppose I’ll have to take you up on that. I can pay you whatever—”

David held up his hand. “You don’t have to pay me a dime.
That’s what we do out here, help those in need.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you came along to save this damsel
in distress. Your generosity is appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it.” David looked at their cars sitting in
front of the rest stop. He didn’t want her car anywhere near his ranch. Though
his ranch was private, he couldn’t take a chance someone would see her. If she
drove there, she might also remember how to get back someday.

“Why don’t you leave your car here?” he asked. “I can drive
you back in the morning, as soon as the roads are clear and safe. There’s no
point in us both driving out there. You’ll have to double back anyway in the
morning, so you should save the gas since you’re on a budget.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I understand if you want to drive also. We just met and I
am a stranger. You may feel safer having your own car. You can follow me and I’ll
go slowly so you I won’t lose you.”

“That’s not necessary,” Julie said. “I trust you. Besides,
if we go too slow the storm will catch up to us.”

David smiled. “We better get going then before this storm
hits.” He followed her to his car, wondering how his ruse to get her back to
his ranch worked out so well. He only planned to spend more time with this
woman, to figure out why she affected his gift. Beyond that he had no idea what
he was going to do.

After several drinks at his ranch, David succumbed to her
seduction. Even with the occasional tryst, he had not been with many women. He relied
on his fantasies to satisfy him, rather than sexual exploits. Julie preferred
the lights to remain on, a rough vixen who encouraged him to be forceful with
her.

The longer their encounter continued, the more his thoughts
wandered to his fantasies. Images of blood and death mixed with sweat and skin,
and David’s hand traveled up to her neck, an autonomous limb obeying its own
will. Delight filled her eyes with the slight squeeze, but then terror replaced
her ecstasy, and her life started slipping away.

The petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes fueled his desire to
end her life, but then he intercepted a flourish of thoughts from her mind. The
sudden twist with his gift changed his mind about killing her too fast. He
loosened his grip on her neck just enough so she sucked in a few breaths to
prolong her life. Then he tightened his grip again. He repeated this same
pattern over and over, so he could extend the experience while she flailed
beneath him, attacking him with sharp fingernails and throwing thoughts his way.

And then she died. David let go of her limp neck and climbed
off her lifeless body. He sat on the bed beside her for hours, much as he had
with his mother, studying her like an eager child completing an experiment for
the science fair. Other than missing the blood he craved, her murder trumped
every one of his fantasies.

He replayed the night in his mind until he came to an answer
that made sense: terror. Combined with terror, the extreme emotion he had
tapped into with his mother escalated his ability to connect to others and hear
their thoughts. Sex was just another extreme emotion, a vehicle to ignite his
psychic gift.

If he could read every thought of his victim in those last
moments of life using just terror and emotion, then pain was the next logical step
in expanding his abilities. With pain, he could reach out to others like him
and communicate with them. He just needed more women—conduits—who amplified his
gift.

Women like Jillian Waters. In the decade since Julie showed
him his life’s meaning, he found many women who met the standards he required,
but none like Jillian. A conduit with an aptitude far above most other women, she
was the key to removing the time delay in his communication with Emily. If he
accomplished that, he would be another step closer to leading Emily straight to
him.

Emily had only attended one funeral
in her life, the one for Aunt Susan. Seeing Aunt Susan lifeless in a coffin had
rendered Emily inconsolable. There were times even today when she could close
her eyes and envision Aunt Susan in her casket, wearing her favorite dress, her
neck adorned with the pearls Emily gave her on the birthday before her unexpected
death from an undiagnosed aneurysm.

Losing her aunt had the same effect on Emily as if she had
lost her mother, and yet her true biological mom refused to go to the services for
her only sister. Since there was no other family to help, Emily handled all the
arrangements on her own, with the assistance of Aunt Susan’s dear friend, Marta
Mendez. When Emily left her house for the funeral, her mom let loose a barrage
of insults directed at both her and Aunt Susan. Ten years later, she had not
run out of mean things to say about either one of them.

Emily wiped away the images from that painful time of her
life. The tears in her eyes would help her look like a mourner for Diane Murphy,
but she didn’t want to be overcome by grief and overdo the act. She needed
people to trust and open up to her, not console her.

With Cassie on her heels, Emily pulled open one of the
heavy, ornate church doors. A young priest directed them to the sign-in sheet
to their left. Cassie walked over to the sign-in sheet while Emily scanned the
lobby. Crammed into the small space, mourners spilled out into the hall that
circled the interior of the round building.

“There are a lot of names on the list so far,” Cassie
whispered when she rejoined Emily. “I think some people are here out of
curiosity rather than true mourners.”

“This could be more difficult than we anticipated,” Emily
said. “I’ll go to the photo table to see what I can find. Maybe you can head
into the chapel and start some conversation. We’ll meet up when the service
starts.”

Cassie nodded and walked toward the chapel, stopping to
shake hands and chat with an elderly couple near the doors.

Emily moved to the photograph table against the wall. She
had committed to memory the pictures of the other victims and hoped she would
spot one of them in the mass of photos of Diane Murphy. If anything, she might
be able to pick up on an emotion of someone near the table and engage them in
conversation to probe further.

Normally reserved for announcements and bulletins during
Sunday mass, the table held photographs from all stages of Diane Murphy’s life,
arranged in chronological order. Mourners came and lingered at the table for a
few moments to take in the images, and then left to talk with others or move
into the chapel.

Emily scoured each photograph for anything that could help.
She started with the photographs of a smiling baby on her daddy’s knee, then a
proud kindergartner on the first day of school, all the way through high school
and college graduation. She moved to the end of the table, to more recent
pictures of Diane. Photographs of her with family, friends, and coworkers
revealed a happy soul, successful and content with life. None of the faces in
the large arrangement of photographs were those of other victims.

At the very end of the table, a petite woman stood in front
of a blown-up photo of Diane. Emily realized the woman had been there since she
and Cassie first entered the lobby. The woman must have been close to Diane to
have spent so much time in front of the photograph, but Emily didn’t recognize
the woman’s heart-shaped face and stick-straight auburn hair in any of the
photographs. The woman glanced up from the picture and smiled at Emily.

Emily returned the smile and said a quiet hello. She started
to turn away when the woman’s voice stopped her.

“How did you know Diane?” the woman asked.

Emily moistened her lips and prepared for the lie. “We went
to high school together.”

The woman’s breath shook in her throat and her large brown eyes
welled with tears. “She was such a good student. Straight A’s all through high
school. Valedictorian her senior year. So smart.” She lifted her hand and
gestured at Emily. “Of course, you know all this since you went to high school
with her.”

“I haven’t stayed in touch with her as much as I should have
after high school.” Guilt gnawed at her for lying, but she pushed forward with
hopes that her story could extract some information about Diane and her killer.
“I’m Emily Monroe,” she said, and held out her hand.

“Tara Murphy,” the woman said, and she shook Emily’s hand.

“You’re related to Diane,” Emily said with surprise. The
woman was not in the chapel with the rest of the family as she would have
expected at such a sad event.

“Her aunt,” Tara said. “Her dad is my oldest brother.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Emily said. “Such a tragedy.”

“Thank you.” Tara looked back at the large photograph. “Diane
was a wonderful girl. She never hurt a fly. She didn’t deserve this.”

“No, she didn’t,” Emily said. She wanted to probe further,
curious why Tara didn’t appear in any of the photographs on the table. “Were
you close to Diane?” she asked.

“Very,” Tara said. “Out of all my family, we were the
closest. Her parents weren’t really fond of our relationship or of me in
general, but we still spent a lot of time together. We even had dinner the
night before she went missing.”

With Tara’s words, Emily understood her absence from the
photos, but she needed to dig a little deeper. She had always been able to get
others to reveal personal information to her, things they normally would not
share with strangers. Her ability to extract information had nothing to do with
being psychic, but was part of her personality.

“Did you have a falling out with her parents?” Emily asked.

“I don’t know if I could categorize it as a falling out. Her
dad and I were never close, but not by my choice. I’m considered the crazy one
in the family, the one nobody wants to admit they’re related to. Except Diane,
that is. She loved me for who I am and never judged me.”

“I couldn’t imagine anyone would treat you badly, especially
family.”

“Oh, I know I seem normal, but they treat me like a pariah,
almost like I’m evil or something.” Tara held Emily’s eyes and lowered her
voice. “See, I’m a psychic of sorts.”

Emily flinched. Tara’s confession was the last thing she
expected to hear.

“I don’t know why I just told you that,” Tara said. “I’m
sure you also think I’m crazy.”

Emily placed her hand on Tara’s arm. “I don’t think that at
all,” she said. She didn’t want Tara leaving at such a critical moment in the
conversation, but more than that, she understood Tara’s plight and wanted to
provide some comfort. “You said you’re a psychic of sorts. What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it exactly. It’s not like those people on
television who say they can see the future or talk to dead people. They’re
really just out to take money from people. I get glimpses of things every now
and then. Diane was the only one in the whole family who understood me and wasn’t
ashamed of my abilities.”

Emily dropped her hand away from Tara’s arm. She wanted to
reach out to this woman and tell her she wasn’t alone. Emily knew all too well
about being shunned by family members, and having the only family member who
understood be taken away by death. Even without being psychic, she sensed Tara’s
isolation from the rest of her family and her concerns about how she would cope
without Diane in her life.

But Emily couldn’t reveal her own true nature and admit she
had lied about her purpose for being at the memorial service. There were more
people here to speak with, and she didn’t want to ruin the opportunity to get
to know them better. She also didn’t want to destroy her established rapport
with Tara, in case she needed to speak with her again.

“I know it doesn’t mean much,” Emily said, “but I am really
sorry about Diane. Even though it’s under horrible circumstances, maybe this
tragedy will help bring you and your family back together.”

Tara tilted her head. “I didn’t think about that before, but
you might be right. I guess all I can do is hope for the best.”

“I should probably get into the chapel before the service
starts.”

“I’m going to stay here for a little longer,” Tara said.

“It was really nice to meet you, Tara.”

“Likewise.” Tara shifted her eyes back to the photograph of
Diane, lost in her memories of better times.

“Lucy Kim’s preliminary tox screen
is back.”

Lionel looked up as Shawn walked into their shared office
waving paperwork around in his hand. “Let me guess,” Lionel said. “It’s negative
for everything.”

“And Detective Edwards wins the prize,” Shawn said. He
dropped down into the chair behind his desk. “We have Perry’s autopsy report
also. Outside of the info he already gave us, there’s nothing we didn’t expect.”

“Aurelio and Timmons finished the family interviews,” Lionel
said. “The principal of the school where she worked called me back, which is a
near miracle being that it’s Sunday. Nothing there to go on, outside of a
potential suitor. We can interview him tomorrow at the school, but I doubt he’s
our guy.”

“Have you been able to narrow down when and where she was
taken?” Shawn asked.

Lionel walked over to the whiteboard against the wall. With
black erasable marker, he had detailed a timeline of the places where they knew
the victim had been in the hours leading up to her disappearance. In red, he circled
the block of time where he thought she might have crossed paths with her
killer.

Pointing to the board, Lionel said, “Last Thursday, Lucy
taught her kindergarten class in the morning. On Thursdays she always leaves
right after the morning class so she can go to Wichita State University, where
she’s pursuing her Ph.D.”

“Every Thursday is the same?” Shawn asked.

“Every Thursday. She showed up at WSU for her class, and then
studied in the library until it closed at eight, just like she does every
Thursday. The students working the closing shift that night remember her
because she was the last person to leave and is a frequent visitor to the
library at that time of night. They said she was so engrossed in her studies on
Thursday night that they practically had to kick her out. Friday morning, she didn’t
show up to teach her class.”

“What time does kindergarten start?”

“Nine-fifteen, but the principal said she’s usually there
around seven with coffee for her and the male teacher the principal suspects
she had a crush on. The principal said when she didn’t show for class, his
secretary called her house and nothing. Went straight to voicemail. That’s when
the principal called her father, who is listed as her emergency contact.”

Shawn kicked his chair back and put his feet up on his desk.
“I bet he was no help when you talked to him.”

“Not at all. He said he sees her every other Friday for
family dinner at his house, but never outside of that. They talk on the phone
maybe once a week, but only for about ten minutes. The only reason he knew to
report her as missing is because her work called him.”

Shawn looked up at the board. “So we have a span of time
from eight Thursday night until seven Friday morning.”

“I think we can narrow it down a bit more. I’m willing to
bet she was taken at the library.”

“It’s a good thought, since she was the last person out the
door. Did anyone walk out with her?”

“She left alone. The students who were working stayed until eight-thirty
to close the library. According to her dad, she didn’t own a car, but took the
city bus everywhere. Timmons talked to the bus driver for that route. He doesn’t
remember her getting on the bus at the library, but he did have a few people
get on at different stops around the campus.”

“Unfortunately that doesn’t mean she didn’t get on the bus
at the library. He may have forgotten seeing her since other kids got on the
bus at the campus, but at least it’s a start. How well lit is the parking lot
at night?”

“Glad you asked, because you get to find out tonight. You
have a meeting with Dean Sheila Reynolds at seven. She’ll answer questions and
escort you to the library parking lot.”

Shawn groaned. “I’m going to get remarried just so I get a
night off every now and then.”

Lionel frowned and walked to Shawn’s desk. “Better be
careful who hears you say things like that. Barbara keeps threatening to set
you up with one of her single friends.” He swiped Perry’s reports off Shawn’s
desk and pointed them at Shawn. “I’m going to tell her to do it so you’ll shut
up for once about being single.”

“I’m not complaining,” Shawn said. “Remember, I have golf
clubs in my trunk just waiting for me. Being single has its perks.”

“So does being married,” Lionel said. He sat down behind his
own desk. “That’s why you’re checking out the library tonight with Aurelio and
Timmons. I’ll be at home reading through the family interviews. You know
Barbara absolutely hates me working from home more than when I log late hours
at the office.”

Shawn’s eyebrows shot up with a victory smile. “You’re right
about that. I’d much rather be at the library with some stuffy dean.” He
grabbed his coffee mug off his desk and left the office for a refill.

Staring at the autopsy report in his hand, Lionel’s vision
blurred over. If either of them had a better chance at finding something on the
killer tonight, it was Shawn. The family interviews wouldn’t give him any
information that would lead straight to the killer. Hopefully Barbara wouldn’t
be too upset with him bringing death and destruction into their bed to read while
she watched her favorite television shows or read a book.

His fingers touched the framed picture on his desk of
Barbara and Cassie on either side of him at El Dorado Lake on the Fourth of July
last year. It had been a great weekend, with hotdogs and hamburgers cooked on his
little Hibachi grill and beautiful fireworks that lit up the lake.

Emily had driven out the morning of the Fourth to join them
for the rest of their camping weekend. Lionel rented a pontoon boat and they
floated on the still waters with a cooler filled to the brim with ice cold beer.
Before they lost daylight, Emily snapped the picture of them standing at the
back of the boat with alcohol-induced laughter. Then they finished off the
cooler of beer while watching fireworks explode over their heads.

It was a simpler time, he thought. This case had changed
him, changed Shawn, and had even changed Barbara. Now he had brought Cassie and
Emily into the mix. He hated including them in this, though they were perfect
for the job. He didn’t want them damaged by this case like everyone else who
touched it, and he prayed he hadn’t made a mistake.