"It wasn't your fault, was it?" I asked, referring to Alyssa.
"I don't know. I just don't know anymore."
"You and Alyssa were happy together. There was no argument, there was no fight. You just walked in one day and found her dead."
Marco squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head. "She never let on that she was going to do it, you know? I mean, she kept talking about the wedding, how excited she was. It wasn't going to be a big deal, just a small group of friends and family—actually they were mostly my friends and family. Alyssa and her sister pretty much kept to themselves. They were all that was left of their family, you know. Their parents died six years ago in a car crash and there weren't any aunts, uncles or cousins. I just don't understand why she thought it wouldn't work out between us. We had all these plans for kids and building a house. I'd been saving up money; it was going to be perfect." Marco lowered his face into his hands and wept. "What did I do to drive her to that? Why? Why did she do it? If she didn't want to marry me, all she had to do was tell me—she didn't have to kill herself. I still don't understand why she thought that was the only way out."
I rubbed his back in sympathy as he rambled on, and felt tears sting my own eyes. The saddest part about suicide, I thought, was the wreckage of lives it left behind. I was considering this when an image flashed in my head and I sucked in a breath. Something struck me with brutal force and I jumped up as my intuition jarred my mind like a lightning strike. Marco looked up at me, clearly confused by my sudden movement. "What?" he asked.
"Marco, did Alyssa have any other male friends? Someone with dark brown hair? Maybe someone from her past? Someone who lived in Ohio?"
"No. Not that I know of. She and her sister moved up from there right after their parents died, and Alyssa didn't like to talk about her past. She said the past was the past and she didn't want to revisit it. Why?"
"I'm so sorry to have to ask you this, but why were the police so sure her death was a suicide?"
He swallowed. "There was the gun with her fingerprints and she left a note. Her sister said it was definitely her handwriting. I never read it, but according to Allison, Alyssa wrote that our marriage could never work and that she thought this was her only way out. She said she just wanted to be free. Allison blamed me for Alyssa's death."
"When was the last time you saw Allison?" I asked, something else tugging at my mind.
"Uh," Marco said, looking at the ground, "I guess it was in early June, at Alyssa's funeral." Liar, liar, pants on fire…
I was surprised. It was the first time I'd felt him lie to me. "How did you feel about Allison?" I asked carefully.
"Well, she was Alyssa's sister. I loved her like a sister. But after Alyssa died, she went all crazy. She said it was my fault, and she wouldn't even let me come into the house for the wake. I was just blown away, you know? So I guess I was pretty mad at her too, and I said some things I shouldn't have. Now she's dead and I feel terrible about that too."
At least that part was true. "Marco, please promise me that you will not do to everyone else who loves you what Alyssa did to you when she took her own life." That hit home and Marco flinched. Now that I had his attention I added, "I mean it. It may not seem like it now, but day by day it will get a little bit easier. I promise you that. You will never forget Alyssa, but at least you can honor her memory by living your life."
Marco nodded noncommittally and stood up. "I gotta get back," he said, and moved past me at a shuffle. My heart ached for him, and I knew without a doubt that he wasn't Allison's killer.
I got up myself and began to walk back to the cashier's office. As I rounded the corner, I bumped right into a broad chest. "Oh! Excuse me!" I said, backing up.
"I'm not sure I can do that, Abby," Dutch said, his eyes pinning me to the spot.
Uh-oh. "Dutch! What a surprise! Small world, huh? Funny running into you here …" I was rambling, my cover blown.
"What are you doing here, Abby?" Dutch asked me, his jaw clenched in anger.
"Getting my oil changed." I answered, hoping that would be my get-out-of-jail-free card.
"By Alyssa's ex-fiance?"
"Oh? Was that him?" I asked, giving Dutch a Little Bo Peep smile and eye flutter. Maybe my dazzling display of femininity would throw him off track.
"Wait for me out front, Abigail, and don't even think about not being there when I come looking for you."
Gulp. I moved around him and headed to the cashier's office to pay my bill and retrieve my car keys, the thought of fleeing temporarily crossing my mind. When I came out of the office I could see Dutch and Milo escorting a handcuffed Marco to their patrol car and helping him into the backseat. My jaw dropped. Why was Marco being arrested?
Dutch approached me with a second pair of handcuffs, and I wondered if he really intended to arrest me. The look in his eyes was murderous, and in spite of myself I trembled a little.
"Why are you arresting Marco?" I asked sternly. Maybe I could throw him off by copping an attitude.
"Because we know he killed Allison Pierce," Dutch said, standing in front of me and jangling the cuffs.
"Based on what?" I asked.
"Based on the fact that he was the last person to see her alive. They had dinner together at a restaurant the night she was murdered."
Ah, now I knew why my lie detector had gone off when I'd asked Marco when he'd last seen Allison. "Seems pretty circumstantial," I said, showing off the legalese I'd learned from television.
"He has no alibi, Abby. We have a neighbor of his who witnessed Marco pulling into his driveway looking shaken and upset at midnight the night Allison was murdered. Marco claims he was just out driving around after leaving the restaurant."
"Hardly sounds like solid evidence," I insisted, a little rattled by the restaurant story.
"We also have his prints on her purse, which was found at the murder scene."
My thoughts whirred, and in my mind's eye I saw Allison and Marco sitting at the restaurant, her purse falling to the floor and Marco picking it up for her. "He didn't do it, Dutch."
"We think he did, Abby."
"My intuition says he didn't."
"I see," Dutch said, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, so that's the way it's going to be, is it, Detective?" I sneered, angry and insulted. "May I remind you it was my intuition that led you directly to Nathaniel Davies and his killers, but now all of a sudden I couldn't possibly be right about this? So instead of trusting me, you're going to lock up the wrong guy and let a killer walk around loose, possibly preying on other women. How many people have to end up dead before you listen to me?!" I yelled, causing people walking close by to turn and stare at us.
"What do you want me to do, Abby?!" Dutch yelled back. "Set Marco free and wait for your little crystal ball to lead me to the killer? Is that what I'm supposed to do?"
I looked over at Marco, sitting resignedly in the backseat of the patrol car, and thought that, for now, he might be safer in jail with people to watch over him.
I turned back to Dutch and put my hands on my hips. "Take me to the murder scene," I said boldly. "I know there's something there I can pick up on. I just need to connect with the energy of the place and I may be able to get some specific clues."
"What?!" he asked, shaking his head emphatically. "You are out of your friggin' mind, Abby. Go home." With that, he turned away from me and walked toward his car.
"If you don't take me to the murder scene, Dutch," I shouted to his retreating back, "I will call the news station right now and tell them how I helped you solve the Nathaniel Davies case, and that without my assistance, you guys would've been dead in the water! I'll bet the journalist I talk to will, of course, be totally unbiased and paint the entire story with the seriousness it deserves. I'm sure they won't slant it in any obscure, tabloidish way or anything. You, I'm positive, will come off sounding like the open-minded, forward-thinking, serious detective we all know and love. In fact I'm sure all your friends and collea
gues will congratulate you on your ingenuity. Using a psychic to solve a crime—pure genius!"
That stopped him. He pivoted and came stomping back to me, his breath fuming from him like a great manly smokestack. "You wouldn't dare."
"Coffee? Tea? Or try me, Dutch?" More Bo Peep smiles and eye batting.
Dutch wiped his face with his hand, smearing the grim expression plastered there, and took several deep breaths. Finally he said, "You are a real pain in the ass, you know that, Abby?"
"I try," I said smugly.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Meet me at the Royal Oak Police Station in one hour. If you're late, I'm leaving without you."
I saluted and trotted over to my car, which had been nicely cleaned and vacuumed. I drove with a small smirk all the way home.
Exactly one hour later I stood tapping my toe impatiently on the sidewalk waiting for Dutch and looking at my watch every thirty seconds. Minutes crept by and I began to suspect I'd been set up. If Dutch wanted to call my bluff on the news story, he'd be mighty sorry in about two hours. I don't make idle threats.
At quarter past the hour I had my cell phone out and was already getting the number for Fox 2 News from Information when a silver unmarked police sedan pulled up curbside. Reluctantly I clicked the phone closed. I was so mad at being made to wait I seriously considered placing the call anyway, but decided I should quit while I was ahead. I got into the car and fastened the seat belt, not looking at Dutch. "You're late," I said in greeting.
"I know," he replied, then pulled away from the curb while I smoldered.
We traveled through downtown and turned into a small subdivision on the southeast side of Royal Oak. The area, which bordered the dramatically more expensive township of Pleasant Ridge, was immaculately kept, with huge maple trees shading the streets, and well-watered front yards glowing Chem Lawn green.
We made several turns down streets with names like Hickory Wood Lane and Smokey Oak Drive until we finally came to a small cul-de-sac on a street called Meadowlawn and parked in front of a one-story, rather rustic ranch with a for sale sign on the front lawn.
We walked to the front door, and Dutch removed the only visible crime scene tape still barring the doorway. He pulled out his notebook and flipped several pages, then bent over and turned the combination on a lockbox secured to the railing on the front porch. He extracted a key, but before entering he turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Abby, this place hasn't been cleaned since the night of Allison's murder. There was a lot of blood, and I want you to prepare yourself."
My eyes widened a little, and I took a deep breath, tucking in my emotions, preparing myself. After a moment I said, "I'm ready" and nodded at the house.
Dutch opened the door and we both stepped into a small foyer, where he fumbled with the light switch. The shades had all been drawn to keep out the eyes of the curious, and the room was fairly dark. When the interior was illuminated we walked forward quietly, oddly respectful of what had transpired here.
As I moved into the living room I looked around at the chaotic scene. Several rubber gloves and empty paper bags competed with overturned furniture, pottery knickknacks and various odds and ends littering the floor. The house had been destroyed.
There was garbage everywhere, and a fetid stagnant odor clouded the interior like heavy smoke. I waved a hand in front of my face and stepped in a little farther. I found my chest was moving a little too fast to take air in and out, so I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself. I opened them a moment later and looked more closely at the room. My eye caught the image of a handprint left in what looked like brown rust-colored paint on the wall, and I realized suddenly that the paint was in fact dried blood. I looked questioningly at Dutch.
"Hers. We think she struggled with him before he finally killed her. From the defensive wounds it looks like she put up one hell of a fight."
Dutch's face was set grimly and his mouth was a firm thin line. I nodded and continued to walk carefully among the litter. I hadn't completely opened up my intuition. I could feel messages coming in, but I wasn't picking them up just yet. My rational side wanted to survey the scene first and come up with a logical explanation somehow.
I wandered into the kitchen, and it too resembled the aftermath of a tornado. I retraced my steps and headed for the master bedroom. There, in the doorway, was the chalk outline of the final resting place of Allison Pierce. I stepped around the drawing, subconsciously avoiding a body that was no longer there. My intuitive phone was going haywire, and I was finally ready to pick it up. "Okay, Dutch, this will work better if you can take notes because I don't always remember what intuitively comes to me."
Dutch reached into his pocket and pulled out his notebook, nodding at me when he was ready.
"The first thing I'm getting is that there is this really strong connection to Ohio here. I get the feeling that Allison figured out something that no one else knew, and she thought it had something to do with Ohio. Wait, no, that's wrong. It had something to do with someone in Ohio, and there is some sort of reference to Robin Hood here. I keep hearing 'Robin Hood and his band of merry men' in my head. I don't know if that describes the guy we're looking for or not, but personally I think this has to do with a man who has dark hair and is a little on the short side. He walks with a weird kind of walk, like he hops when he walks or something. I get the feeling he wears big clothing, oversized clothing, because that makes him feel taller than he really is. This guy is definitely bad news. And I feel like he was here. Like he came up from Ohio because Allison found out about him. Also there is a connection to sports, baseball or softball, something about a bat. They keep saying 'bat, bat, bat' in my head—" I looked at Dutch then, and he was staring at me with the same wide-eyed expression he'd given me when I'd touched on something I wasn't supposed to know.
"We recovered a bat in the front yard. He used it on her like batting practice," he explained.
I sucked in a breath and was suddenly aware that my vision was closing in on me. I couldn't seem to focus and I felt my knees grow weak. Dutch caught me and helped me outside, where I sat perched on the front stoop with my head between my legs and Dutch rubbing my back in slow circular motions. Finally I could see clearly again and smiled a little at him. "Thanks. I guess it was just the smell and the scene in there—it caught me off guard a little."
"That's why I didn't want to bring you," Dutch said in an "I-told-you-so" tone.
"Yeah, well, thanks for trying to shield me from the ugly, but I need to help you guys figure this out."
"Why, Abby? Why do you have to?" he asked, looking intently at me. My lip trembled unexpectedly at the question, and a wave of guilt washed over me. "I guess I feel like I let Allison down. She came to me looking for answers and I only gave her bits and pieces. Then when she needed a little clarity, I blew her off. Maybe I could have prevented this. Maybe there was something I missed."
"Abby," Dutch said, but I ignored him.
"Maybe if I'd just given a damn I could have…"
"Abby, this isn't your fault," he said, gripping my shoulders and looking deeply into my eyes.
I swallowed and fought back the tears pooling in my lower lids. "But what if it is? What if part of my karma was to prevent this from happening and because I didn't listen, because I blew her off, she ended up dead?"
Dutch smiled kindly at me and said, "Abby, I don't know much about karma, but I do know a little about life. Look, you can cause-and-effect yourself into insanity, or you can just accept that you do the best that you can, whenever you can. You're human. There is nothing to feel guilty about."
I took a deep breath and struggled to accept what he'd just said. After a minute, I'd composed myself again. "Okay, I'm ready to go back inside," I said as I stood.
Dutch looked at me for a moment, his eyes summing me up. Finally he sighed heavily and followed me inside.
I walked into the foyer and entered the living room. I closed my eyes and focused again, listening int
ently to my intuitive phone. Something was tugging me down the short hallway at the back of the house. I followed the trail and came to two doors, one straight in front of me, the other to my left. The first led to a bathroom, the second to a door that had been padlocked, but now hung crookedly on its hinges and was splintered from top to bottom. A large footprint was visible just to the side of where the door's padlock still clung to the metal clip that had once been attached to the doorjamb. I looked back at Dutch for an explanation.
"Alyssa's door was padlocked. The killer didn't know the combo and he wanted in there real bad."
I turned back to the entryway, pushing in the crooked door carefully and stepped inside the small bedroom. The room was fairly bare. There was a bed frame but no mattress or linens, two empty nightstands were toppled over, and a small dresser rested against one wall, its empty drawers strewn across the room. The room had been painted recently, the smell of paint still clinging lightly to the air, and I noticed small round shadows of color seeping through the white over the bed frame. The closet door had been opened but only empty hangers hung inside. There was nothing else in the room, but my intuition was telling me something was out of place. I looked around, staring at everything until I finally got to the window next to the bed. Something about the window was off. I moved forward and checked it, but discovered it was locked tight. I stepped back and surveyed the scene again. The window kept calling to me. Maybe I needed to view it from a different angle. I turned and walked out of the bedroom, back down the hallway and through the kitchen to the back door. "I need to go out to the backyard," I said over my shoulder to Dutch, who'd been following me.
"Help yourself," he said, gesturing.
I undid the lock and stepped out onto the lawn then headed over to the exterior of Alyssa's bedroom window. There were no bushes or flowers along this edge of the house, nothing under the window but overgrown grass. I put my hand on the glass pane, something still tugging at me. Dutch stood off a few feet watching me intently as I shut my eyes and listened to my intuition. I had a feeling I needed to move to my right, so I did and walked around the edge of the house, and there I saw it. A rusty screen lay hidden behind a bush at the side of the house. Dutch followed me and watched as I carefully picked the screen up and moved it to Alyssa's window. It fit perfectly.
Abby Cooper, Psychic Eye Page 14
