Night Vision

by Maggie Shayne

  The chief frowned. “Why? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  She tried to come up with an answer that would sound logical.

  Then he nodded knowingly. “It’s that ESP thing again, huh?” His face bore that same look of blatant disbelief she’d seen so often as a child in her father’s eyes. Though his words were kind, and his expression tried to be, she knew that deep down he thought she was a fraud.

  He did remember her name, though. She almost wished he didn’t. She wished she had never made that phone call the other night. “It’s nothing psychic,” she said. “It’s just a gut feeling. And the shoes were the same. That’s all.”

  The chief nodded as if he understood. “Is there somewhere else you can stay tonight, Ms. Rose?”

  “Sure. I can go to a hotel for the night.”

  “You do that, then. You’ll be safer, more comfortable, and besides, we’ll need access to the house for the next couple of hours. Sam, why don’t you take her inside to pack up a few things?”

  “I can manage,” she said. But she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to get more than two feet from Sam’s side right then, and frankly, the thought of spending the night alone in a strange, impersonal hotel room didn’t appeal in the least.

  Sam shook his head and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll go with you. We don’t want you accidentally tromping on evidence, after all.”

  She let him guide her toward the front door of her house, belatedly turning back to the chief. “It was nice meeting you, Chief Skinner,” she said, holding out a hand.

  He had a notepad in one hand and a cell phone in the other, but he gave her a nod, attempted a sympathetic smile, then moved toward his officers.

  “Come on, Meg.” Sam led her into the house, straight to her bedroom. He stood just inside the bedroom door, looking around. “Do you think he came in here at all?”

  “I don’t think he had time,” she said. “Nothing’s out of place. He was coming through the kitchen, maybe made it almost into the living room by the time I got out and ran. And then you were there. I imagine he went right back out when he heard your car.”

  “Thank God the hospital’s only five minutes away.”

  “The hospital is fifteen minutes away, Sam.” She tipped her head up to look at him.

  “Yeah, well, I’m trained in high-speed techniques.”

  “You were worried about me.”

  “I was freaking petrified.”

  She smiled just a little. “Thanks for that.”

  He shrugged, averting his eyes. She decided to let it go for now, but God, it did her good to know he felt the power of what was between them as clearly as she did. And to know it wasn't all pretend, on his part. She tugged an overnight bag from a shelf in her closet, tossed it onto the bed, then went to her dresser to open drawers. She pulled things out almost at random, her attention not on the job as she tucked items into the bag. In the end she didn’t even know what she’d packed. She was too busy analyzing what was happening between her and Sam, wondering what her dreams had been telling her all this time, speculating on the killer’s reasons for coming after her tonight.

  “You need anything from the bathroom? Toothbrush, makeup?”

  She nodded vaguely, realizing she had gone still with her hands buried in her top drawer. She shook herself, then went into the bathroom off her bedroom and gathered more items. “What do you think he wanted?” she asked.

  Sam stood in the bedroom, beyond her range of vision. “We don’t even know for sure it was him.”

  “Of course we do. Your Chief Skinner does, too. At least, he didn’t disagree.”

  She heard Sam sigh.

  “He seems nice, Chief Skinner. Even if he doesn’t believe I’m for real.”

  “He’s a decent guy. Taught me everything I know about being a cop.”

  She frowned, coming out of the bathroom with her hands full of things from her counter. Hairbrush, makeup, deodorant, toothbrush. She stood in the doorway, where she could see him. “I would have thought your dad would have done that.”

  He looked at her sharply. “You know about my father?”

  She shrugged, moving to the bed to drop her collection into her overnight case. “I got curious. Did a little internet research on you tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you earlier, I got the feeling you were being less than honest with me about something. I thought maybe I could find a clue what.”

  He sighed. “And I told you, I’ve got nothing to hide from you, Megan. My father was killed in the line of duty. I was only a kid at the time.”

  She nodded slowly, bent over her bag to zip it up. “What happened to him?”

  “Liquor store robbery. He and his partner showed up before the perps got out of the store. One took the back door, one the front. Bad guys decided to shoot their way out the back. Dad chose the wrong door.”

  She felt the heartache in his words, the loss. It still hurt. “I’m sorry.”

  “Skinner opened fire, got them both. Too late, though. Dad was already down.”

  “Skinner? The chief was your father’s partner?”

  He nodded. “It hit him as hard as it did the rest of us, I think. He took us under his wing after that. I think he felt like it should have been him instead of Dad. He didn’t have a wife or kids.”

  “Survivor’s guilt,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess so. He was there for us after that. Kind of stepped in, took care of things my father would have. My grandmother resented it, I think, him stepping into her son’s place. But the rest of us were awfully glad to have him around.”

  “God, it must have been awful for your mother. How many kids did she have?”

  “Three. My two sisters and me. And my grandmother, to boot.” He moved to the bed, picked up her bag. “You ready?”

  “I can’t find Percy.”

  He frowned.

  “My cat.” She looked in all Percy’s usual hiding places–under the bed, in the bathtub, in the closet–all the while wondering if she wanted to pry further than she had into Sam’s personal history, and decided she might as well. “Your grandfather died in the line of duty, too, the paper said.”

  He frowned at her. “You really have been snooping, haven’t you?”

  “The article mentioned it.”

  “Yeah, he died on duty, too. Car wreck. Anything else you want to know, Megan?”

  “Quite a lot, actually.”

  He watched her face, waiting, his own seeming clouded or angry or something.

  “But not now.” Did he seem a bit relieved by that? Hard to be sure. “The Windsor’s right in town, ten minutes from here. I can get a room there. I’m sure they aren’t booked up this time of year.” She looked around, but there was still no sign of Percy. “There’s plenty of food and water here. I guess he’ll be all right.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine. But you’re not going to the Windsor.

  “I’m not?”

  “No. I want you someplace safe, someplace this guy wouldn’t think to look for you, just in case your hunch is right.”

  She blinked. “And what place would that be?” she asked.

  He sighed. “Mine. If you're okay with that.”

  “I’m okay with that."

  “Good.” He actually smiled a little, and it lightened the somber mood brought on by what had happened tonight, and by her morbid, probing questions. “Because I’m going to pry into your past to pay you back for prying into mine. Come on.”

  Chapter 7

  “Did you get to see the girl from the park at the hospital tonight?” Megan asked, probably to change the subject.

  He glanced at her as he drove, decided to let the matter of her snooping go, for now. “Yeah. Her name’s Linda Keller. I didn’t get much out of her, though. She didn’t get a look at the guy, and was still too shaken up to give me anything helpful.”

  “Maybe ... I could see her.”

  He blinked, loo
king at her face, her eyes. She was still trying to help, even after all she’d been through tonight. “I don’t know if you noticed, Megan, but being involved in this might have put you at risk.”

  “If I could talk to her, touch her hand again, I might be able to get something.”

  “You did that once. All it got you was knocked on your ass and feeling her pain. Not to mention a visit from the suspect.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why are you so determined to help?”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting the vision to hit so hard last time. This time I’d be ready. I could look more carefully, see things I missed before. She might have seen things she doesn’t realize she saw, or is too traumatized to remember.”

  His lips thinned. “All right. I’ll take you to the hospital in the morning.”

  She nodded.

  “Will you tell me why you are so damned determined to do this?”

  She shrugged. “What makes you think there’s a reason? Why can’t it be something I just want to do?”

  “Come on, Megan, I know it’s more than that.”

  She closed her eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know a lot about you, Meg. Way more than I ought to. I want to know more.” He smiled at her. “Besides, I told you I was going to repay your prying with some prying of my own.”

  She drew a breath, sighed. “I haven’t had a vision about anything this important since I foresaw my father’s death.”

  He swung his head toward her, stunned by her words and the pain he sensed behind them.

  “I saw it all. He’d been drinking, left the bar, got behind the wheel, went off a bridge on the way home. The car exploded. He was gone. I tried to warn him. He didn’t believe me. Called me a liar just the way he always did when I claimed I had a vision. I got the back of his hand for this particular lie, and was sent to my room. Then my mother came in and made me kneel and pray with her rosary for nine hours straight. She believed visions like mine could only come from the devil.”

  “I had no idea. Meg, I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “When the vision came true, just the way I said it would, she was even more certain I was evil. Said I had caused it. She barely spoke to me after that, and eventually sent me to live with her aging aunt, where I basically became a caregiver. My mother died a few years later. For years after that, I had no visions at all, except for this one recurring dream I could never understand.”

  She averted her eyes when she said that.

  “What was the dream?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Sam.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I won’t push on that. But what about the visions? Why did they stop?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I suppressed them. Maybe on some level I believed I was to blame for my father’s death. I don’t know. But when they did come back, they came almost tentatively. Minor things, nothing big, nothing I had to prevent or change. This is the first time I’ve had a vision about something this important. And I guess I’m afraid if I don’t do what I’m supposed to do, they’ll go away again and maybe never return.”

  He nodded slowly. “You think you stopped having visions because you failed to save your father. And you’ll stop again if you fail again.”

  “Maybe. Maybe saving this girl is part of my penance.” She was silent for a moment. Then looked at him quickly. “If the killer is going after witnesses, Sam–”

  “She’s safe. We’ve got a guard on her hospital room door, and her house is under surveillance.”

  “And...what about her cat?”

  Damn. He’d forgotten about the cat. “Tell you what,” he said. “You and I will go by her place and feed her cat ourselves, all right?”

  “That would make me feel a whole lot better,” she told him.

  He shook his head slowly. “All you’ve been through and your chief concern is still a damn cat.”

  She shrugged. “I like cats.”

  “Yeah. I kind of figured that out.”

  As he drove them toward the victim's house, Sam wasn’t convinced they were going to find any cat at all, much less a buff-colored, overweight one with one green eye and one blue. He phoned the hospital as he drove, asked a nurse to put him through to Linda Keller’s room, but only if she was still awake.

  She picked up the phone and after reminding her who he was, he said, "I wanted to check in, see if there was anything you needed taken care of at your house while you’re in the hospital.”

  “Is there any–have you caught him yet?”

  “Not yet. But we will.” He hated that he couldn’t bring her better news, tell her the bastard was in custody and wouldn’t be hurting anyone ever again. He hated it. “When we talked earlier, you said you didn’t have any family or friends in town, being new here. I thought I should check in, see if there’s anything you need taken care of at home.”

  “Thank you. That’s so thoughtful of you.”

  “It’s the least I can do, believe me.”

  “There is something you could do for me, if it’s not too much trouble. There’s really no one else I can ask....”

  “That’s why I called. And it’s no trouble at all, really.”

  “I have a cat at home. I was out of cat food this morning, so he missed his breakfast, and if he doesn’t have anything tonight, he’ll be just miserable.”

  Sam caught Megan’s eyes, saw the knowing look in them. “I’ll pick up some cat food and feed him for you. Is your house locked?”

  “Yes, but there’s one of those hide-a-key rocks near the front walk. Um...he likes Frisky Cat, the tuna flavor.”

  “Got it. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Yes, actually. That woman, the one who helped me in the park...is she all right?”

  “Fine. She’s with me now. Actually, this call was her idea.”

  “Thank her for me, will you?”

  He glanced at Megan, a thought crossing his mind. “What does your cat look like?”

  She seemed taken aback by the question, but answered after a brief pause. “Yellow gold. I guess you’d call him buffy. And terribly overweight. He’s got two different colored eyes, which makes him sort of bizarre looking, but I think that’s what drew me to him in the first place. Why do you ask?”

  A funny little wave of something washed through his stomach and head.

  “I was just curious. Listen, if you like, you can thank that woman yourself. She’d like to come by and see you tomorrow, if you’re up to it.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  “All right then. I'll bring her by in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Detective Sheridan. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He flicked off the phone, glancing sideways at Megan. “You nailed the cat. To a tee.”

  “You sound surprised.” She tipped her head to one side. “You are surprised, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I just–I’m not used to seeing this kind of thing in action.”

  “I thought you believed me about the visions, Sam.”

  “I do.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not so sure you do. I don’t think you’re sure you do.”

  She sounded almost wounded. Hell, he didn’t want to hurt her. He cared about the woman way more than he ought to, and to be honest, while he’d never believed in this kind of psychic bullshit–had actively refused to believe in it–she had him wondering. Her childhood tale was goddamned heart-wrenching.

  Unlike his chief, he didn’t believe she had any real knowledge of or connection to the killer. He was on her side in that. And while technically, he was supposed to be working here, getting close to her to get the truth out of her, he was really with her because he wanted to be. And he was starting to believe in her abilities.

  “This kind of thing takes getting used to, Megan,” he said, aware she was still waiting for him to reply. “It’s ne
ver been a part of my experience. That’s all.”

  He turned the car into the parking lot in front of a twenty-four-hour convenience store, and they went inside for the cat food.

  Frisky Cat, tuna flavor.

  Then they drove to Linda Keller’s address, and he easily located the key in the fake rock. Too easily.

  He picked it up, took the key from the compartment in the bottom, then held the rock out to Megan. “This is way too obvious,” he said. “She might as well leave the key in the door.”

  “Oh? Where do you suggest people leave a spare key?”

  “In their pocket.” He put the key into the lock and opened the door.

  Megan came in behind him, carrying the cat food. The biggest cat he’d ever seen came bounding toward them with a plaintive meow, and proceeded to rub itself against Sam’s leg. Megan located the cat’s dishes and filled them. The cat pounced on the food as if starved, though Sam estimated he could probably live several weeks without a bite. She filled the water dish, too.

  Sam saw the collar, heard the jingle of the tags that hung from it, and out of curiosity, crouched down to take a look. He read the tag with the cat’s name, Roderick, engraved on it. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  “Got the name right, too, didn’t I?”

  He glanced up at her.

  “Wish I could get the name of our killer that easily.”

  “So do I.” The voice of reason, and force of habit, told him it wasn’t proof of anything. Hell, now that he thought about it, the victim could have told her about the cat back in the park, while he was chasing after the perp.

  But he didn’t really think so. “So are we set here?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She squatted down beside him and stroked the cat. “You’ll be okay for the night, won’t you, boy?”

  A throaty purr that did not interrupt the feeding frenzy was the beast’s reply. She rose again, and Sam did, too, walking to the door, pocketing the key. “Tomorrow we’ll take this to her at the hospital. Leaving it where it was is just asking for trouble.”

  “You’re the expert.”

  They walked out to his car, and he drove the rest of the way to his home, a small, two-story box in a residential neighborhood. He wasn’t that surprised to see all the lights on and three cars lined up along the roadside out front. “The troops have arrived,” he said softly.