by Diane Hester
‘Ms Bishop,’ he greeted.
‘Detective Macklyn, hard at work as ever. A comfort to every female on campus.’
He noted the contentious jut of her chin, the bite of her tone. Run-of-the-mill cop-hater, avid feminist or protective friend? ‘Actually it’s Lindsay I want to speak to. She doesn’t appear to be answering her phone. I wondered if—’
‘And that surprises you?’
He blinked. ‘Excuse me.’
‘Have you any idea what you’re putting her through? Just because she knew where Martha Daniels’ body was doesn’t mean she killed her.’
Protective Friend had taken the lead. ‘Is she here, Ms Bishop?’
‘No, she’s not.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
The woman paused to weigh up her options then realised she had none. ‘On campus. She went to the psych building to see Dr Ike.’
‘Who?’
‘Doctor Ronald Ikeman, a professor doing research into ESP. I talked Lindsay into having herself tested. I figured if she could prove she wasn’t lying about her visions you bloodhounds might leave her alone.’
Cop-hater closing on the outside.
Four women came through the foyer doors and approached the desk. Despite the interruption, Mac was pleased to see them each sign the security ledger police had placed there to monitor student comings and goings. He ushered his subject aside to a couch.
‘Do you believe Lindsay has ESP?’ he said, taking the adjacent chair.
‘Of course. Why would she lie about it?’
Mac arched a brow. He could think of one or two reasons. ‘Have you ever been with her when she’s had a vision?’
‘Just once. The one she had at the library the other day.’
‘What happened? Tell me about it.’
‘From what I understand, you already know that. Haven’t you already spoken to the other—’
‘I’d like to hear your version. What was it like?’
She blew out a breath. ‘Nothing outrageous. Lindsay simply stopped what she was doing and stared into space. She mumbled a few things I didn’t understand but when I asked her about it …’ She frowned. ‘Well, she didn’t respond at first. She was sort of …’
‘Incoherent?’ he supplied when she lingered too long.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Preoccupied is more what I’d call it. Like we all get when we’re concentrating hard on something.’
Mac nodded. How different her account was from Jennifer Dawson’s. ‘How long have you known Lindsay?’
‘Going on four years. We’ve been flatmates since we entered uni.’
‘And this is the first time she’s ever had visions?’
‘Since I’ve known her, yes. She said as a kid she had a few spells—that’s what she calls them—but nothing significant.’
‘So it’s only since Martha Daniels went missing that Lindsay’s spells have started again.’
‘As far as I know.’
‘You think there’s a connection?’
She pursed her lips. ‘You mean do I think Lindsay had something to do with the killing? I told you, no.’
‘You sound fairly certain.’
‘Of course I’m certain. She’s my best friend. No-one knows Lindsay better than I do.’
‘You didn’t know her well enough to know she had visions. That’s a pretty big secret to keep from a best friend.’
To his surprise she didn’t take the bait. Instead she frowned. ‘Lindsay doesn’t seem to want people to know. I think she feels uncomfortable about it. Embarrassed. Confused. And more than a little scared I’d say.’ Her glare grew accusingly. ‘Some people probably made her feel strange or weird about her gift.’
He pulled out his notepad and flipped it open. ‘Is Lindsay dating anyone at the moment? Does she have a boyfriend?’
The ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. ‘Gee detective, I’d put in a good word for you but I’m not really sure you’re her type.’
Mac stared back.
‘No, she’s not seeing anyone at the moment. Lindsay doesn’t date much, she never has. Spends most of her time studying and practising. School is very important to her.’ Her look grew thoughtful. ‘Maybe too important.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She doesn’t let go much. You know, hang out. Not what you’d call a party animal.’
‘Unlike yourself?’
Her smile was tight. ‘Yeah okay, Lindsay and I are pretty different. Lots of people think it’s weird that we’re even friends. But hey …’ She shrugged. ‘Sometimes different works out well.’
‘How has it worked for you and Lindsay?’
‘Well, as you guessed, I am a bit of a party animal. A few years back I went through a phase where things got a little out of hand. I started missing classes, fell behind with my studies, failed a few courses. Lindsay got me back on track.’
‘Sounds like a good friend.’
‘She is. The best.’
‘Was it like that for both of you right from the start?’
That stopped her a moment. ‘Not exactly. See we didn’t know each other before we got here. Lindsay got the flat, put a notice online for someone to share it and I replied.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll admit the first semester I had my doubts it was going to work, but then …’
Mac arched a brow in encouragement.
‘I’d been seeing this guy, then found out he was cheating on me and blew him off. He didn’t like being dumped and kept coming around, trying to talk me into getting back together. He didn’t really care about me, it was just a pride thing.’
Her gaze grew distant. ‘One night I was walking across campus and Paul confronted me. We argued and he knocked me down, got on top of me, started punching my face. Next thing I know, a rubbish bin comes down over his head and he falls to one side, giving me a chance to scramble away.’
‘A rubbish bin?’
She was smiling now. ‘It was Lindsay. She saw what was happening, knew she couldn’t out-muscle the guy and dropped an empty bin over him, pinning his arms. He was wedged so tight, we got clean away before he could free himself.’
‘A good move to teach in our self-defence classes. What happened to the guy?’
‘Chancellor expelled him.’
‘He never came back?’
She shook her head.
Mac sighed. Just when he thought he had another suspect … ‘And you felt that incident had some kind of effect on Lindsay?’
‘Well, up to that time she’d been fairly withdrawn. Nice enough but, you know, just shy. Afterwards she seemed to open up more. At least with me.’
‘But she’s never been an easy-going person,’ he prompted. ‘Still obsessive about her studies. Driving herself, always pushing.’
‘Goal-oriented is more what I’d call it.’
‘Funny, that’s not what Jen Dawson called it.’
This time her smile was filled with contempt. ‘Boy, you have been talking to people, haven’t you. Let me guess—Jen approached you, had nothing but bad things to say about Lindsay.’
‘You think Jen holds a grudge against her?’
‘I know she does. She and Lindsay had a class together their second year. A paper was due. Jen wrote hers and asked Lindsay to proofread it, hoping to impress her. Lindsay pointed out that most of what she’d written had been copied from a website. Jen got huffy, denied she’d plagiarised and handed in the paper. Unfortunately for her, the teacher had also seen the website and failed her for the course.’
‘And Jen thought Lindsay had dobbed her in.’
‘Give the man a cigar.’
‘Did she?’
‘No. But that hasn’t stopped Jen bad-mouthing Lindsay ever since.’
Chapter 13
Mac entered the psychology building and approached the first student he saw—a tall lanky male with an eyebrow ring and a fountain of dreadlocks overhanging his face. Hard to believe such a head contained brains capable of univ
ersity study, let alone a young mind of the future. At thirty-two Mac wouldn’t have considered himself past it, yet the style of some of the students he’d encountered made him feel he came from a different world.
Following the directions Fountain-head gave him, he started down a long sun-lit corridor. His interview with the flatmate had been unplanned but had shed further light on Lindsay’s character.
Bishop’s account had confirmed his suspicions that Lindsay was an intense, possibly obsessive personality, the type that often cracked under the relentless pressure they placed on themselves. Yet her insistence that Lindsay’s loner tendencies were due only to shyness was hard to swallow. In his experience people weren’t loners without a reason.
In the research wing, Mac found Ikeman’s door open and stepped inside. The large lab was flanked with ceiling-high windows and had a freestanding cubicle at its furthest end. A dark-haired man sat at a computer speaking via microphone to someone inside.
Through the cubicle’s single window Mac saw Lindsay seated alone at a desk. Keeping to one side so she wouldn’t see him, he approached the pair. ‘Dr Ikeman?’
The man looked up, smile at the ready, his rugged features and mirthful eyes more Indiana Jones than stuffy scientist. No doubt any research study he conducted would be immensely popular with the female students.
‘Yes, I’m Ron Ikeman. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Can I help you?’
‘Detective Macklyn.’ He flashed his ID. ‘I’m investigating the murder of Martha Daniels.’
‘Murder? But … I thought the Daniels girl was only missing.’
‘Her body was found this morning I’m afraid.’
‘My god, how terrible.’
‘Did you know her? Was she a student of yours?’
‘No. But to have something like this happen here, to one of our own …’ He shook his head, took a deep breath, then seemed to notice Mac again. ‘I’m sorry. Just give me a moment, please.’
Ikeman leaned forward and spoke into a microphone. ‘Go on with the test, Lindsay. Send through your answers after each round and let me know when you’ve completed all five.’
‘Okay,’ came the muted reply from the speaker.
He snapped off the microphone and swivelled in his chair. ‘Now, detective, how can I help?’
‘I was told you’re conducting research into ESP.’
‘That’s right. All forms of psychic phenomenon really.’
‘What kind of research? What exactly are you trying to learn?’
‘I’m hoping to determine if ESP ability can be enhanced or developed. And, if so, how and to what extent.’
Enhanced or developed? Not disproved? Mac did his best to appear receptive. ‘How do you go about something like that?’
‘Well, I start by giving each subject a series of tests to determine what I call their BER—basal ESP rating. That’s what’s going on here, in fact.’ He indicated Lindsay through the cubicle window.
‘Is there something special about that room she’s in?’
‘It’s just a soundproof chamber to ensure the subject has as few distractions as possible. And to eliminate any chance of cheating.’ Information flickered across the computer screen. Ikeman turned in his chair to peruse it.
‘And after the BER is established?’ Mac prompted.
‘I meet with each subject three times a week.’ He spoke without looking away from the screen. ‘I take brainwave readings and monitor the effects of different meditation and hypnosis techniques on their test results.’
‘That’s it? No drugs? No hallucinogens?’
A distracted smile touched the man’s lips. ‘Drugs would only complicate things for me, adding another factor to an already complex mix of variables.’ Ikeman frowned as he scanned the data. ‘Pardon me for asking, but what does my research have to do with your investigation?’
‘Doctor, I’ll be frank. Police learned the whereabouts of Martha Daniels’ body from someone claiming to have seen it in a vision.’
The man swung instantly around to face him. ‘Is that so?’
‘What I want to know is, in your opinion, how likely is it that this person is telling us the truth?’
‘Well, it’s certainly possible. There are dozens of documented cases of clairvoyants aiding police with investigations. Psychics regularly uncover evidence and help find missing persons, both dead and alive.’
‘Have you ever worked with someone like that?’
Ikeman huffed. ‘A gift of that magnitude would be a parapsychologist’s dream. Unfortunately I’ve never had the good fortune.’ His frown returned as he scanned the new readouts on his computer.
Mac watched him a moment. ‘You seem puzzled, doctor.’
‘I’m just correlating this subject’s test results.’
‘Something unusual?’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Sometimes the responses don’t record as they should.’ He scrolled down the page. ‘Although everything appears to be working properly.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Curious.’ Ikeman flicked to another page and made some comparisons. ‘So far this subject has gotten the lowest score I’ve ever recorded in the three years I’ve been conducting this test.’
‘The lowest score.’ Mac looked up at Lindsay through the glass, shocked at the twinge of disappointment he felt. Clearly, as ridiculous as her claims had been, a part of him had hoped she’d been telling the truth. ‘How low is low?’
‘Only two correct answers out of one hundred.’
‘So the girl has no ESP whatsoever?’
Ikeman’s brows lifted. ‘On the contrary, it’s possible her ESP rating is extraordinarily high.’
Mac’s gaze jerked back to the man. ‘But you just said—’
‘Yes, I know. It sounds contradictory, but a very low score can be as significant as a very high one. Here, let me see if I can explain it for you.’ Ikeman reached across his desk and pulled a pack of cards from a shelf.
‘The test I’m conducting at the moment is the standard Zeller clairvoyance rating. The subject is given this pack of twenty picture cards containing five each of four different symbols—a circle, a square, a star, a cross and some wavy lines. The subject selects the cards one at a time and tries to guess what they are without looking.’
Mac watched him lay the cards on the desk. He shook his head—tea leaves and entrails.
‘By the simple law of averages, even a subject with no ESP should get four correct answers out of every twenty.’ The doctor looked up. ‘You understand what I’m saying, detective? Even if I programmed this computer to feed me answers at random, I should still expect to get four right out of every twenty.’
‘Or twenty out of a hundred.’
‘Correct. So the fact this subject only scored two out of a hundred could be quite significant.’
‘Significant how; of what exactly? Are you saying she has ESP but is trying to hide it?’
‘Well, perhaps not hide, but for some reason she may be blocking it, yes. See, it’s my belief that psychic abilities are much like any other talent we’re born with. If a person is encouraged to develop them, they will. If they’re ostracised or made to feel bad because of them, they’ll downplay and eventually lose their gift. It’s possible that’s what happened in this case.’
Mac could contain his contempt no longer. ‘You make it sound like everyone and his dog is psychic.’
Ikeman gave him a cool assessment. ‘In my opinion, psychic abilities occur far more often than most people realise. We live in a world that values logic. Our schools stress numerical and linguistic skills. We teach our kids to dissect and analyse, yet frown on excessive flights of fancy. A child is encouraged to use his imagination only up to a point. Until it starts to get him in trouble.’
‘I’m done, Dr Ikeman,’ came a small voice over the computer speaker.
‘Very well, Lindsay, that’s all for today. You can come out of there.’
‘So wha
t this all means,’ Mac challenged, ‘is that you can’t tell whether a person has ESP or not.’
‘Parapsychology is not an exact science, no matter how much you or I might wish it so. Test scores here don’t mean quite what they do as in, say, mathematics or physics.’
Ikeman’s gaze drifted to the cubicle window. He stood taking in Lindsay’s willowy form, her slender neck, her graceful movements. ‘I’ll know more when I’ve studied her further.’ Something in his eyes made Mac’s jaw clench.
Lindsay stepped from the soundproof chamber. She started to speak, spotted Mac and froze wide-eyed.
Ikeman looked from one to the other. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘No,’ she said, and started for the door. ‘I have to go.’
‘Don’t you want to know your test results?’
‘I can’t now, I’m sorry. I’ll come back some other time.’
Ikeman frowned as she ran out the door. ‘Most of them can’t wait to hear how they did.’
Mac was halfway across the room. ‘Thanks for your time, doc. We’ll talk again.’
***
Mac charged down the psych building steps. He saw Lindsay hurrying across the common, jogged to catch up, and fell in beside her.
‘Would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?’ she said without stopping. ‘Why were you talking to Dr Ikeman? You think he’s involved in the killing now?’
‘You claimed you knew the whereabouts of Daniels’ body by psychic means. Ikeman’s supposedly an expert on the subject so I thought I’d get his opinion on the matter.’
She stopped abruptly. ‘And what did he tell you?’
Mac looked into her upturned face. She didn’t appear to have slept very well. More bad dreams? ‘He said psychics have helped police with numerous investigations.’
‘But of course you don’t believe that. Any more than you believe my explanation of the facts. A hundred experts could tell you the same thing and you’d still choose to think that I’m the killer.’
