by Diane Hester
Even his nearness, the warmth of his body against her side, couldn’t distract her from her fears for long. ‘Yeah, nerves of steel. If I can just stop shaking.’
They walked in silence, slower and slower until he was all but dragging her forward. Finally she stopped and could go no further.
‘This is the place?’
She could only nod.
Mac put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. When the men on both banks looked up at him he pointed to the area Lindsay had indicated.
She watched the officers run towards the spot and disappear among the bushes. Her heart was flying, her legs felt like putty. Despite the sun she’d begun to shiver.
Mac wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Remember, there’s nothing here that can hurt you.’
For a moment she let herself believe. He was there for her. This strong real person, concerned for her safety, prepared to protect her.
Then the shouting began.
Sam emerged from between two shrubs and waved Mac over.
‘I have to go down there. You’ll be fine. Just wait right here.’
And her protector was gone.
***
Bethany Willas lay on her back near the water’s edge, limbs splayed like a discarded rag doll. Her jeans and blouse were stained and torn, her feet bare. A ring of dark bruises encircled her throat and her face had a cyanotic cast. Hardly the worst scene Mac had ever witnessed. Yet something about it held him transfixed.
‘This cut on her temple …’ Sam squatted down near the dead girl’s shoulder. ‘You notice anything strange about it?’
Mac didn’t move. The mark was what had caught his attention. He needed to know he wasn’t seeing things. ‘Tell me.’
‘I swear Cavenaugh’s got one just like it. And I mean exactly. I saw it when you introduced us before—a little crescent beside the right eye. You mean to tell me you didn’t notice?’
Sam looked up, his frown clearing as he studied Mac’s face. ‘Of course you bloody well noticed; you’d have noticed an eyelash out of place. What’s the story, Mac?’
‘No story yet as far as I can see.’
Sam got up and stepped back beside him. ‘When Cavenaugh presented with bruises on her neck, you said the killer might have given them to her. You think he could’ve given her the cut as well?’
‘Not a chance.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because I was with her when it … when it first appeared. Less than an hour ago.’
Sam waited, frowning, for him to explain.
‘We were alone in one of the uni classrooms. I was questioning her and she seemed to go into some kind of trance. She fainted and … the next thing her head was bleeding.’
‘So you’re saying you didn’t see how it happened.’
‘No, I’m saying I did see and nothing happened.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Mac raked a hand through his hair. ‘Neither do I. All I know is, at no point did she hit her head or I’d have felt it.’
‘Well, she must have done it to herself then. Like you thought she might’ve done with the bruises.’
‘What, hit her own head? Sam, I was there. She passed out in my arms. She didn’t have the cut before then or I’d have seen it.’
‘Then she did it after that, on the floor. Maybe in a second when you weren’t watching.’
‘I didn’t take my eyes off her. Besides …’ He sighed. ‘It isn’t just that. The bruises are back.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The ones she had after the Daniels murder were all but gone when I saw her yesterday. As of her fainting spell, they’re back again. She claims she didn’t have them when she came in the room and somehow I think she’s telling the truth.’
‘A hunch?’
Mac gave the man a disdainful look.
‘Then what?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, something must have made you change your mind about her. With the Daniels murder you were convinced she was lying about pretty much everything. Now all of a sudden—’
‘Bloody hell, Sam, I’m not defending her. Nothing’s changed. I simply can’t figure how she did it.’
Sam took a breath and looked down at the body. ‘So essentially Lindsay Cavenaugh was marked in exactly the same ways as both of the victims.’
They stood digesting the fact for a moment.
‘Bloody hell, Sam, what’s going on?’
‘Mac, I know you don’t want to hear this but … If she didn’t inflict the injuries herself and no-one else gave them to her—’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t even say it. It isn’t possible.’
‘Well, what other explanation is—’
‘For Christ’s sake, you’re saying she doesn’t just have visions about them, she manifests their injuries as well?’
‘If you eliminate all other possibilities.’
‘Then why isn’t she dead? If Daniels and Willas died of their injuries why didn’t Lindsay?’
‘Perhaps she—’
Mac turned to see why the man had stopped talking.
Lindsay stood beside him, staring at the body of Bethany Willas in pale-faced horror. Her hand rose slowly to the cut on her head then descended to her throat. ‘It’s me,’ she whispered.
Mac cursed inwardly. He hadn’t meant for her to see this. Though he still believed she was lying about her visions, he was equally certain her role in the murders was wholly conscripted. Somehow—and he’d yet to figure out why he clung so desperately to the idea—Lindsay Cavenaugh was as much a victim in this whole affair as the two dead girls.
He took her arm and tried to turn her. ‘Come on, you shouldn’t be here.’
‘But I don’t … how can it …’ Her frantic gaze fixed on his. ‘That’s me,’ she told him.
‘You’re talking nonsense. Sam, finish up here, I’m taking her back.’ Again he tried to turn her and again she resisted.
‘I know you see it.’ She pointed to the cut on the dead girl’s face. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t, because I heard what you said.’
‘All right, I see it. Now let’s go.’ He turned her forcibly and marched her up the hill.
At the top, he swore at the sight of reporters held at bay by crime-scene tape that now cordoned off the area. A police car was just pulling up near the bridge and he guided her towards it. They ducked beneath the tape. Mac had a quick word with the driver and pushed her into the passenger seat.
Lindsay never noticed the cameras clicking, the microphones thrust before her face. She stumbled forward, head down, eyes glazed, seeing only the marks on the dead girl’s face.
Chapter 19
From her desk’s bottom drawer, Lindsay carefully lifted out the shoebox and set it on the desk top. Each item inside was swaddled in tissue paper. One by one she took them out and arranged them before her.
The Christmas-morning thrill of unwrapping her treasures was heightened by the memories attached to each piece. The miniature kitchen table with its three-layer chocolate birthday cake—the day she’d sculpted the cake out of clay, Nan had baked her a real one just like it. The antique brass bed—Nan had stitched the quilt herself even though her hands had been gnarled with arthritis.
She delighted in each new unveiling. The dressing table with drawers that opened. The spinning wheel that really turned. The miniature Christmas tree with tiny ornaments and candy canes of twisted wire. Items too precious to sit around her bedroom gathering dust. So she’d kept them safe. Both the treasures and the memories attached to them. Hidden away in her bottom drawer, her deepest heart. Hidden and desperately guarded. Till now.
Now she needed to see and touch them. In the hope that, for just a short while, they could blot out the horror that had swept through her life again.
Though she’d clung to her memories of the old woman, somehow time had managed to dull them. She hated to admit it, but sometimes she had trouble seeing Nan’s
face. Holding these treasures produced flashes of a sharper image but it wasn’t enough.
She lifted the box to her face and inhaled. Clay, glue, old fabric and wood. The bouquet of scents at once transported her. Nan’s little flat. Off the main house, overlooking the garden. A sanctuary. A world apart. If only she could go there now.
Out in the living room, she heard the apartment door open and close, then footsteps hurrying up the hall. Shaunwyn rushed in, breathing heavily. ‘Good, you’re still here. I was afraid you might have already left.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ Her friend’s tone had shattered her reverie. ‘Please don’t tell me another girl’s missing.’
‘Not quite. Here, look at this.’
Shaun opened the newspaper she was holding and laid it over the items on the desk. ‘This morning’s Bulletin.’
Lindsay stared, for a moment not recognising the distorted image as her own. ‘Oh my god, this was taken yesterday. The room down the hall from Collier’s class, where Mac and I went to avoid that reporter.’
She looked again at the dreadful photo, at her half-closed eyes, the curious boneless lean of her body. Mac was behind her, reaching out as though to catch her. The image was framed by the classroom’s glass door.
‘This must’ve been taken just as I fainted. That reporter snapped it right through the glass.’
A second smaller picture showed Macklyn guiding her into a police car. “Psychic or Suspect” was the article’s title. ‘This was taken later at Botanic Park. The mongrel must have followed us there.’ She continued reading.
Shaunwyn laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Sorry, kid. On top of everything else, you certainly don’t need—’
‘I don’t believe this.’ Lindsay jabbed a finger at the article. ‘I refused to give this guy an interview so he just made up whatever he wanted.’ She surged to her feet. ‘I am not helping police with their investigation and I certainly didn’t give my story to him.’
She turned from the desk, paced around the room then flopped down onto the edge of her bed.
Shaun sat beside her. ‘I didn’t want to show you but I thought you ought to be prepared before you went to class. Half the campus has probably seen this by now.’
Lindsay put her head in her hands. Yes, of course they would have.
‘Not that that’s a bad thing,’ Shaun added quickly. ‘It’s just … Well, I got the impression you didn’t want people to know about … you know … your gift.’
Lindsay straightened and managed a smile. ‘Can’t put anything over on you. World’s biggest sticky-beak.’
‘I feel lousy being the one to tell you.’
‘Don’t. Far better I hear it from you than someone else.’
Shaunwyn narrowed her eyes to slits. ‘That bastard has a lot to answer for, leaking this to the papers.’
‘If you’re talking about Macklyn, he insists he didn’t tell them about me.’
‘And you believe him?’
Lindsay hesitated. For a brief while the day before Macklyn’s attentions had seemed slightly more than his job demanded. But in the car on the way back from the park he’d once again grown silent and remote as though distancing himself from a possible suspect.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered at last.
‘Well, whoever did this is on my list.’ With dramatic flair, Shaun grabbed the newspaper off the desk and threw it in the bin. She turned back to Lindsay. ‘Maybe you should get away for a while.’
‘I thought about it. But Macklyn advised me not to leave town.’
‘You wouldn’t have to go far. Just off campus.’
‘Yeah, but where? I don’t have the money to hole up in a hotel.’
Shaun grew hesitant. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of … home.’ She hurried on when she saw Lindsay’s face. ‘You wouldn’t have to stay long. Just a few days, till this blows over.’
Lindsay shook her head. ‘Not an option.’
‘But don’t you think … under the circumstances—’
‘These are the worst possible circumstances under which I could go back.’
‘But why? Whatever happened between you and your folks, I’m sure they’d put it aside for this.’
Lindsay stared down at her hands for a moment. ‘You remember I said I had spells as a kid? Well the situation was a bit more involved than what I told you. It wasn’t easy on the rest of my family.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My condition was difficult for them to explain to other people.’
‘Yeah, so. It couldn’t have been any worse for them than it was for you.’
‘Actually it was. Especially for Pam.’ She forced a smile. ‘It’s not easy having a mutant for a little sister.’
Shaun’s jaw dropped in sudden understanding. ‘You mean to tell me, all these years—Christmas holidays, semester breaks—you never went home because of this?’
‘I wanted to. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. It’s just … things are better if I stay away.’
‘Better for who?’ Shaun shook her head. ‘Do they know this is why you never come home?’
‘I’m sure they do. It’s also quite clear they prefer it this way.’
‘How would you know if you haven’t spoken to them in three and a half years?’
‘They know where I am, Shaun. They live in the Hills, less than an hour’s drive from here.’ Lindsay smiled sadly. ‘They haven’t exactly been beating the door down all this time, have they?’
***
Lindsay took the chair beside Ikeman’s desk. He’d immediately set aside what he’d been doing to have this impromptu session with her. ‘I imagine you saw the paper this morning.’
‘Yes, and I want to say how sorry I am. It’s unfortunate that this kind of sensationalism follows people with your abilities. I hope you haven’t let it upset you.’
He looked into her eyes and seemed to find his answer there. ‘But of course it has. I suppose it’s all well and good for me to give advice. The fact is you have to live with this.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve come to ask if you would reconsider helping me.’
‘You mean help you stop having psychic episodes? Lindsay, I explained—’
‘I had another spell yesterday. It was different from any I’d ever had before. For one thing, I passed out in the middle of it. And when I woke up I couldn’t remember what happened before that.’
Ikeman frowned. ‘How far back was your memory affected?’
‘I think just a few minutes before I fainted. I know I was having a vision at the time but I can’t remember what it was about.’
He steepled his fingers, considering the facts. ‘Lindsay, you realise the symptoms you’re describing could be indicative of a physical condition. Possibly epilepsy. For your own peace of mind, you might consider—’
‘No. No tests.’
Her vehemence startled him. He studied her a moment. ‘That’s entirely up to you, of course. But don’t you think—’
‘It wasn’t epilepsy, it was a spell. I know because as I was coming out of it I saw Bethany Willas. Or rather …’ She swallowed. ‘I saw where he’d dumped her.’
‘Another killing?’ Ikeman sat forward. ‘You informed the police? They found the body?’
She told him about her trip to the park with Macklyn.
‘I can understand how upsetting this must be for you,’ Ikeman said when she had finished.
‘No. You can’t. Because that’s not all of it.’
She reached up and pulled her collar aside. ‘Bethany had bruises on her neck from being strangled. She also had a distinctive crescent-shaped wound above her right eye.’ With her other hand she lifted the fringe of hair from her forehead.
The doctor’s jaw dropped.
‘Now do you see why I need your help? This isn’t just a matter of seeing things anymore. Things are happening to me. Things I can’t stop and don’t understand.’
‘I gather your injuries can�
��t otherwise be accounted for.’ Ikeman’s voice was hushed with awe. He lifted his hand. ‘May I?’
She nodded and he reached up to touch her temple. ‘Extraordinary.’
She let out a huff. ‘Did you think I was making it up? You think I do this kind of thing for kicks?’ She regretted the caustic words at once. ‘I’m sorry.’
To her surprise he looked even more sympathetic. ‘People have doubted your accounts in the past.’
It wasn’t a question, it was recognition. The acknowledgment of something no-one else had ever tried to understand. ‘Yes.’
He leaned close to capture her gaze. ‘Well I don’t, Lindsay. I may not have an explanation for why or how this is happening to you, but I believe what you’re telling me.’
She felt a knot let go in her stomach. ‘Thank you.’
‘However, you, in turn, must be willing to accept that there could be a logical explanation for this.’
‘Willing? Doctor, if you can find something that makes sense of all this I’ll eagerly accept it.’
‘Very well.’ He sat back and smiled. ‘Then the only thing more I have to ask of you—if we’re to work together on this—is that you forget the ‘doctor’ and call me Ron.’
‘Work together? You mean …?’
‘I can’t very well let you face this alone, can I? But don’t get your hopes up. As I said, I don’t know how much help I can be to you.’
‘Just the fact you’re willing to try is enough. Ron.’
‘Yes, I’ll try, I give you my word. If that’s what you want. But, Lindsay, have you considered …’ His gaze grew thoughtful. ‘Were you to fully utilise your gift, you might be a tremendous help to police in finding the killer.’
Her smile died. Macklyn had raised the exact same question. Though she’d known he would never have believed her answer, the man sitting before her just might. ‘All I ever see is where the bodies are. Nothing more. Nothing that could have prevented what happened or stop it happening again.’
‘I see.’
‘If I could help, don’t you think I would? If I knew who he was, if I could see what he was going to do, don’t you think I would tell the police?’
‘You never saw anything that might suggest the killer’s identity?’
