I laugh. “I sort of wish I could channel his rage. I’m convinced he’s going to kill again. There’s going to be a third fire with a third dead body, and I have no idea who he’d target. How do I figure this out before it’s too late?”
Mitchell returns to his seat. “You’ve already had one premonition about this case.”
“What are you talking about? No, I haven’t.”
He furrows his brow. “Oh, really? Then explain the dream-vision about the baby blanket. Your senses were telling you about that from the start, long before we talked to Julissa and found out about the baby.”
“What about the other clue? The silver jewelry? I still have no idea what that means.”
“You’ll figure it out, and it’s more proof I’m right. It has to be a clue to something that happens in the future. I’m convinced that dream was a premonition.”
“So, what are you saying? How does that help when I can’t figure out what the dream means?”
Mitchell smirks, his eyes lighting up the way they do when he’s about to make a fool of himself.
“Don’t. Please don’t. I just want to get through one case without one of your sayings.”
He holds up his hand. “Okay. It’s a good one, though. Totally appropriate and witty.”
I roll my eyes. “You always think your sayings are witty.”
“True. But fight fire with foresight is particularly good.”
I smack my forehead with my open palm.
Dad’s door opens, and he gets back in the car. “Well, it seems things are back to normal between you two. How’d you manage to pull that off so quickly?” he asks Mitchell.
“Don’t repeat it. It was bad enough the first time.”
“I told Piper we need to fight fire with foresight,” Mitchell says.
Dad laughs. “I think I actually like that one.” He starts the engine. “Now, let’s get our game faces on because Nelson Rake isn’t going to be the least bit happy to see us.”
Dad isn’t wrong. The second Nelson opens the door, he tries to slam it in our faces. Mitchell is strong, but Nelson is bodybuilder strong, so there’s no point in trying to force the door open. Instead, Mitchell yells, “You can either open that door now, or I will haul you down to the station for questioning.”
Nelson opens the door, but only enough to poke his head out. “I already talked to that lady cop. I have nothing more to say. My wife is dead. The least you people could do is stop harassing me and find the person who did this.”
“That’s why we’re here,” I say. “Turns out your alibi isn’t so solid. You were spotted in town on Tuesday. You know, the day after Tony Trevino was murdered and the day before your wife was killed. I’d say that proves you gave false information to the police and tried to hinder a murder investigation. Now, I’m not a police officer, but I’d say Detective Brennan could easily charge you with providing false information and hold you for at least twenty-four hours while he builds a case against you for premeditated murder.”
Nelson doesn’t look the least bit intimidated. “You want to charge me with something? Go right ahead. My lawyer will have a field day with that. But I’m not talking to you otherwise.
“Fine. We can do this your way.” Mitchell removes his handcuffs from his belt. “Nelson Rake, you’re under arrest for providing false information to a police officer during a murder investigation.”
True to his word, Nelson Rake doesn’t come willingly, which only makes the situation worse for him because now Mitchell can add resisting arrest to the charges. Mitchell has to call Officer Wallace for backup, and a patrol car since Dad refuses to have Nelson sit next to me in the back of the BMW. Nelson also insists on calling his lawyer, which Mitchell says he’ll be able to do once he’s booked.
The process takes much longer than I’d like, and since I’m no help at all, Mitchell tells Dad and me to go home. We pick up Jezebel, and Dad drives us to my apartment.
I take a hot shower, and then Jez and I wait for Mitchell. I’m about halfway through my book when he knocks on the door before walking inside.
Jez jumps down from the couch and greets Mitchell.
“How’s my favorite blonde?” Mitchell asks her, making me smile.
I close my book and place it on the end table. “How did it go?”
“He’s a stubborn man. He fought us on everything. His lawyer is coming first thing in the morning when we interrogate him.”
Lawyers don’t scare me. I’ve gotten people to fire their lawyers in interrogations before. Of course, that’s easier to do when the person is innocent. I’m not so sure Nelson Rake is.
“I also found out there’s been no sign of Eugene Spicer. It’s like he fell off the face of the earth. It doesn’t make any sense.” Mitchell joins me on the couch and loops his arm around me. “We know he was in Weltunkin. Someone had to have seen him.”
He’s right, but if the wrong person saw him, it could mean really bad news for Eugene. “What if Eugene is the third victim?” I ask. “We know both he and Nelson were in town for the murders. What if Eugene saw Nelson kill Tony, and then Nelson killed Eugene to keep him quiet.”
“That would explain why we can’t find Eugene,” Mitchell says. “But I thought your senses were indicating the third murder hasn’t happened yet.”
He’s right. They are. I wish I had something of Eugene’s that would allow me to find him. I’d know if he was dead or if Nelson has him locked up somewhere.
“I know you just got here, but I think I should go to bed. It’s where I had that dream-vision, and right now, I need to have another premonition.”
Mitchell nods. “So you can fight fire with foresight, like I said.”
“Why on earth do I love you?” I ask, shaking my head as I stand up.
“Because I’m devastatingly handsome and extremely witty. How many times do I have to tell you that?” he teases, following me to my room. “Plus, I’m great at tucking you in.”
I get into the bed, and Jezebel joins me. “I’ll give you that last one.”
“I’d say sweet dreams, but I think prophetic dreams is more appropriate.”
“That’s the plan.” Come on, senses. Don’t fail me now.
Chapter Fifteen
My senses failed me big time. I didn’t have a single dream, psychic or otherwise, which means I’m in quite the mood when I enter the interrogation room Saturday morning. Nelson Rake and his lawyer are already seated at the table.
“Please address all questions to me,” the lawyer says without so much as telling us his name.
“Mr. Rake,” I say, deliberately ignoring the lawyer, “how do you explain the fact that you were in town on Tuesday?” I sit down and lean forward on the table.
“I’m sorry. Maybe you didn’t hear me when I said questions should be addressed to me,” the lawyer says, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his bony nose.
“You haven’t so much as told us your name. Until you do, I’ll be speaking directly to Mr. Rake.”
Under the table, Mitchell places his hand on my leg. He wants me to calm down, but that’s tough to do with the energy in this room.
“My name is Marvin Keenan. I assumed you knew who I was.”
“To your dismay, your reputation does not precede you, Mr. Keenan.”
Mitchell squeezes my leg gently. “What Ms. Ashwell is trying to say is that we’re hoping for a congenial discussion. Introducing yourself is a common courtesy. After all, I’m sure you want this interrogation to go smoothly. Angering us certainly won’t do any favors for your client.”
Nelson Rake glares at his lawyer. “You do know what you’re doing, right?”
“Mr. Rake, you’ve heard about my psychic abilities.” I pause, thinking he’ll have something to say about them, but he doesn’t. “I think they’re the reason why you insisted I stay away from your wife’s murder investigation. I think you were scared by the fact that I knew of Janet’s affair with Tony Trevino.”
“Don’t
say a word,” Mr. Keenan advises. “I didn’t hear a question anywhere in there. Can we please move this along?”
“Why did you lie about your whereabouts?” I ask.
“My client didn’t lie. He was away on business. You can check with his employer.”
“We did. They confirmed Mr. Rake arrived in Virginia the Friday before Tony Trevino was killed.”
“Well, there you have it.” Mr. Keenan claps his hands as if we’re finished.
“The funny thing is,” Mitchell continues, “when we asked Mr. Rake’s employer if he could verify Nelson’s presence in Virginia Monday through Wednesday morning, he couldn’t do so. In fact, none of Mr. Rake’s coworkers could. How do you explain that, Mr. Rake?” Mitchell folds his hands on the table, completely at ease.
Mr. Keenan laughs. “It was a business trip, not a social gathering. Mr. Rake was busy with clients. I’m sure that’s why his coworkers didn’t see him.”
“Okay. All Mr. Rake needs to do is provide us with the names of the clients he met with on those days so we can confirm his alibi.” Mitchell leans back. “That should be easy enough for you to do, right, Mr. Rake?”
Nelson turns away, looking at the mirror on the wall.
“Is there a problem?” I ask. “Are you wondering if someone is on the other side of that mirror? Someone who told us you were in town when you were supposed to be in Virginia?”
“No.”
“I need a moment with my client,” Mr. Keenan says.
“I can save you the trouble, Mr. Keenan. I know exactly how your conversation will go. You’ll ask Mr. Rake which clients he met with, and he won’t be able to give you any names because he wasn’t in Virginia this past week. He returned Sunday evening, I’d guess.” I stare at Nelson. “You suspected your wife was having an affair, didn’t you?”
“I said I need a moment alone with my client.” Marvin Keenan’s face is completely red.
Mitchell stands up. “Sure. You can have a minute.” He gestures for me to follow.
I stand up, staring Nelson down in the process. He fidgets with his hands, drawing my attention to his wedding band. His silver wedding band. “Mr. Rake, why is your wedding band silver when your wife’s ring was yellow gold?”
His brows pull together, and he looks at his finger. “I hate yellow gold.”
Mitchell and I share a glance.
“What?” Marvin Keenan asks. “I demand you tell me why that’s important.”
Mitchell puts his hand on the small of my back. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, after you’ve had time to talk in private,” he says.
Marvin is still yelling as we exit the room and close the door behind us.
“Whoa,” Officer Wallace says. “What did you two do in there to make him so angry?”
“I might have connected Nelson Rake to a vision I had,” I say.
Officer O’Reilly looks up from her desk but doesn’t say anything.
“You still amaze me, Piper,” Officer Wallace says. “If you guys need Harry or me on this case, let me know.”
“Actually, we might,” Mitchell says. “We still have no idea where Eugene Spicer is. I’m wondering if we should have you and Harry comb some remote locations to see if he’s hiding out anywhere.”
There are tons of mountains with old, abandoned homes. Eugene could easily squat in any one of them.
“Do you have anything with the guy’s scent?”
“No. We have a photo of him we took offline but not much else. Although, his rental car was discovered at the edge of town. Could Harry get a read off it?” Mitchell asks.
Harry’s senses might be better than mine. “He can do it,” I tell Mitchell.
Officer Wallace smiles at me. “Piper’s right. Harry can get his scent from the car. We’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks, Wallace.”
He walks away, and Mitchell turns back to me. “So, do you really think the silver you saw in your vision is Nelson’s wedding band?”
“It’s silver jewelry, so it’s possible.”
Officer O’Reilly stands up from her desk, a file folder in her hand. “A lot of people wear silver jewelry. Including you and me.” She holds up her right hand where a Celtic band wraps around her middle finger. “According to that logic, the killer could be you or me.”
“The killer is male,” I say.
She hugs the file folder to her chest. “Evidence suggesting that?”
I’ve had enough of this. There’s only one way to make her believe me. I hold out my hand.
Officer O’Reilly just stares at it. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“She wants you to take her hand,” Mitchell says.
“For what reason?”
“You don’t believe in my abilities, so you shouldn’t be worried about me reading you. You don’t think I actually can.” It’s a challenge, yes. And if she really stands behind her insistence that psychics don’t exist, she shouldn’t be afraid to prove it.
She huffs. “Okay, if this will put the issue to rest, I’m all for it.” She places her left hand on top of mine.
I close my eyes.
“How can a great detective like Thomas Ashwell buy into the idea of psychic abilities? Piper could follow in his footsteps and be a well-respected private investigator. Now, she’ll end up just like Leo Padavano.
I let go of Officer O’Reilly’s hand and meet her gaze. I’m a little surprised what I saw was her thoughts and not anything she’s done since coming here, but that might work to my advantage since she can’t claim I witnessed anything to know this information.
She cocks her head at me, and I realize she thinks I didn’t see anything. “It’s alright, Piper. I didn’t expect you to—”
“Who is Leo Padavano, and why do you think I’ll end up just like him?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mitchell smile.
“I told you she’s the real deal,” he says.
Officer O’Reilly doesn’t look fazed at all. “Ms. Ashwell, anyone who has researched my background knows that I used to work for a police department that sometimes utilized the help of a psychic.”
What? She’s basing my abilities on her experience with another psychic? “I wasn’t aware of that,” I say.
“Come on, Piper. Let’s level with each other. Even if we don’t go about things in the same way, we are colleagues. We should have enough respect for each other to at least tell the truth.”
“I’ve been nothing but honest with you.”
“So you’re telling me you don’t know who Robert Webber is.” She crosses her arms.
“No, I don’t.”
She lowers her arms again, and a look of almost pain crosses her face. “He’s a criminal who never got convicted because the only evidence was discovered by a man who called himself a psychic.”
“Leo Padavano,” I say.
Officer O’Reilly nods. “The defense attorney ate him up on the stand. He couldn’t prove anything, and in the end the lack of evidence allowed a brutal killer to go free.”
“That’s the police department’s fault,” Mitchell says. “Piper gets me leads all the time using her abilities. Then it’s my job to find the evidence to back that up. If you want to blame anyone for that killer not getting convicted, blame the members of the force who didn’t do their jobs.”
Officer O’Reilly turns stark white. The emotions rolling off her in waves cause me to step back. “You were part of the team,” I say.
“I worked long and hard to put that case behind me. And I’m sure you can see why I’ll never allow that to happen again. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She turns and walks back to her desk.
Chief Johansen clears his throat behind me. “And now you know,” he says.
“You partnered her with Mitchell so she’d be forced to work with me,” I say.
He nods. “She was only a rookie when that happened. If you ask me, the experience made her a better cop, but if she wants to become a detective, she needs to know that you
aren’t Leo Padavano.”
“Are you saying you won’t allow her to become a detective until she sees that for herself?” She’ll never get the position she wants here then.
“It’s in her hands.” Chief Johansen walks toward the water cooler without another word.
“Well, that was interesting,” Mitchell says.
That was awful. Officer O’Reilly is never going to like me if I’m the reason she won’t become a detective. She’ll transfer, and it will be my fault a fourth member of the WPD leaves the force.
The door to the interrogation room opens, and Marvin Keenan says, “We’re ready for you now.”
“What story do you think they concocted in there?” Mitchell asks.
“I’m not sure, but whatever it is, we’ll disprove it.” Unlike Leo Padavano, I do believe in concrete evidence. It’s been my nemesis on more than one case, but in the end, Mitchell and I always make sure we have enough to convict the person we arrest. If a killer went free because of something I did, I’d never be able to live with it.
As soon as we step into the interrogation room, I can tell the energy in the room has changed. A lot of arguing took place in here. Nelson Rake’s eyes are puffy like he was crying. It’s not something I expected from the large and intimidating man.
Mr. Keenan sits down next to his client and readjusts his tie. “My client would like to make a statement. He believes he can be of assistance to you in this case.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Mitchell asks, sitting down and getting his pen and pad ready.
“It’s not a change of heart. We just needed to confer before deciding the best course of action for Mr. Rake. I’m sure you’re aware of the great amount of turmoil my client has experienced this week with the passing of his wife.”
Mitchell turns to me, and I realize I’m still standing. He motions to the chair beside him.
After reading Officer O’Reilly and confronting the energy in this room, I’m keeping a safe distance from others. I shake my head at Mitchell, letting him know I’d rather remain standing.
“Is something wrong?” Mr. Keenan asks, looking between Mitchell and me. “Did something happen that my client and I should be aware of?”
Fight Fire with Foresight (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Book 12) Page 13
