“Is that right?”
They were becoming loud; others around the room were staring.
“You throw up a smoke screen of predictions and clairvoyant visions, virtually all vague and self-fulfilling prophecies any high-IQ Mensa type might count on to come true, and you squeeze all you can from these so-called pre—”
“You mean like when I named Lennox and his killer?”
“Give me a break, lady. Odds-on guesswork, the significance of which is only colored in later by gullible cops, ESP advocates and a public only too willing to believe. In this case Stephens and Meade and that clown from the mayor's office.”
“Funny you don't include your captain in that group.”
He sat in stony silence.
“Naturally,” she continued, “we all have a built-in wish to believe, fed by the media, which has a tendency to exaggerate psychic claims.” She sounded as if she agreed with him and this threw his timing off.
“Yeah, right, the press so sensationalizes you people that you're made saints, heroes, because sensational sells. You think the NOPD hasn't used psychics in the past? In every department in the country there's at least one cop wasting his time and the taxpayers' money by remaining in touch with a psychic... ahhh...” He hesitated.
“Go on!”
“A psychic dick.”
“Maybe I need you to talk to my...” She stopped herself from saying boss, angry she'd almost revealed the fact she was working for Paul Zanek. “My shrink.”
“That's a good one, a psychic who goes to a shrink.”
“Just like cops,” she said coyly. “Psychics have problems in their relationships too.” Her eyes were beautiful, lustrous, and they glistened even as they bore into him like two small harpoons. “I know how important this case is to you, that it's consumed your life, your every waking moment, not to mention your subconscious.”
She saw him tense before she felt the rising wall around him come back up like an ascending shield or cloaking device. She'd come a little too close in her assessment of Alex Sincebaugh, and this understandably made him uneasy. Any normal person would be a bit paranoid as a result, but a cop was doubly so. A cop was trained to reveal deceit, and who could blame him. She tried to counter what she'd said by adding, “All cops can be obsessive; it's the nature of the beast, isn't it?”
“You're smooth; I'll give you that much, Dr. Desinor.”
“Check with Miami-Dade. I was once a cop myself before I became a professional psychic. Check my record. Ask about the Hughes case. I knew the killer—a failed medical student— had cut off the little boy's ears after the boy was dead and that his kidnap ransom request would only yield a corpse. Ask about how I pinpointed the identity of the mad doctor who kidnapped the kid, not for ransom but for vengeance against his father, who'd been chiefly responsible for keeping the killer out of medical practice.”
“All hits an ordinary cop like myself could have made, no doubt.”
“No doubt...” She took in a deep breath of air. “All right, okay... agreed, but none of the other cops made the connections.”
“So, now you take yourself seriously, and you figure there's more money in being a psychic consultant than in being a cop. I get it. Now, if you don't mind—”
“Do you have some hang-up against making money?”
“Only when it corrupts.”
“Cops... you're all alike.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Stubby came to the table and asked, “Alex, you going to buy somethin' for the lady or what?”
Sincebaugh asked her what she'd like.
“Tea, if you have any.”
“Tea... lady, this is a bar.”
“Glass of chablis, then.”
Stubby nodded, jotted down the item on a notepad as if it were the U.S. Constitution he was putting down and finally stepped away.
As soon as he left, she leaned in over the table and said to Alex, “When a psychic succeeds, you guys are unwilling to admit that any psychic guidance is responsible, but the moment a psychic fails, you abuse her with ridicule and blame.”
“Oh, I'm sorry if I've offended your delicate sensibilities, Doctor.” He laughed a bit mirthlessly at his own response.
She bit back her anger and let his sarcasm pass. “As for quitting Miami-Dade, well, that's a long story.”
“I've got time and Stubby's going to take all day with that wine you ordered.”
“All right. My leaving had to do with Florida's gung-ho, fundamentalist-Christian, hell-and-brimstone state's attorney, Don Q. Weaver—Weavil, we called him. Guy announced his own personal belief regarding psychic powers and denounced them as coming from the Evil One.”
“Satan?”
“Weaver almost single-handedly pushed through an order to prohibit all law enforcement in the state to refrain from doing the Devil's work, forbidding any future consultation with psychic detectives.”
He'd been trying not to laugh, holding it back as Stubby arrived with the wine. “Anything on the menu you'd like, miss?” Stubby asked.
“No, nothing for now... thank you.”
The greasy little man ambled away with a pronounced limp, and she continued. “Anyway, Weaver started to invoke scripture, since he was a part-time Baptist minister.”
“You're kidding. The state's attorney was a part-time minister?”
“Baptist. And in his faxes to the department, he began quoting from Deuteronomy eighteen, verses ten and eleven. To paraphrase: God's followers are forbidden from using divination, or an observer of times—that's me—or an enchanter, or a witch, a charmer, a consulter with familiar spirits or a wizard or necromancer.”
“Maybe the Reverend Weaver was right. You do have an enchanting way about you. Doctor.”
“Are you kidding? He went on to tell us we shouldn't be dabblin' or experimentin' or doin' nothin' on the fringe of occult powers. 'Ultimately nothin' good ever came of it,' he said.”
Alex laughed, and his smile was infectious.
She smiled in return, sipping at her wine. “Weaver finished his fax with, 'I feel the success of my office in the courtrooms across this fair state of ours is the direct result of the Holy Spirit working His word through me, and I don't want any other spirits to undo that good work.' “
“You quit being a cop on account of that double-talking bozo?”
“Not exactly, and I'm glad you don't object to me on religious or moral grounds. You see, Weaver had heard about me. Some of the other cops called me the psychic cop; you know, good record, strangely successful, all that, not unlike you, Alex. Anyway, Weaver made it a vendetta to get rid of me.”
“Jesus, sounds like a hard-ass.”
“More to the point, he was a real prick,” she corrected him. “Anyway, he went so far as to contact the Committee for Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal.”
“Yeah, I've heard of them. Somewhere in Ohio?”
She hesitated. It wasn't everyone who knew of the infamous committee. “Buffalo, New York, but they have centers all over, and they don't take any claims of the paranormal lightly. They're a dogmatic Scientism group that some call the New Inquisition. They made life hell for me. Still do from time to time. Imagine, a fundamentalist in the Bible Belt calls on a Yankee science group to sic them on a lone psychic—me.”
“I guess it comes with the territory if you're going to make supernatural gestures like hanging out a shingle that tells people you can speak to the dead, Doctor.”
“Supernatural is a theological term; refers to all those miraculous intrusions into the material world: deities, spirits, ail that. Paranormal is processes and laws observable in nature, but which have not yet been scientifically explained.”
“There's a significant difference?” He did find her fascinating and beautiful to look at.
“Damn straight there's a difference. The paranormal is no more scientifically unexplainable than a certain disease or area of the brain we lack knowledge of. The fa
ct we can't explain something doesn't mean that it's invalid.”
“So far I'm with you, Doctor, but remember you are dealing with a cop, so let's take it slow.”
“Psychic functioning is merely an unexplained biological sense, rather than necessarily a communication with a spirit world, you see.”
“Aha, I think. Does it go something like this? A psychic doesn't perform miracles, she just does the miraculous?”
She frowned but went on. “Critics and people like Weaver, and perhaps you, have intentionally blurred the distinction between what is truly supernatural and what is purely paranormal.”
“I see,” he said without conviction, sipping at a light beer.
“Anyway, I returned to school, got my degree in psychology, parapsychology, and psychic research—some call it psi.” She pronounced the word like sigh, and his thoughts lingered over her lovely intonations.
“And I'm presently a member of the Parapsychological Association of Amer—”
“So you've since legitimized your telepathy, your clairvoyance and your precognition through the accumulation of doctorates... I see.”
She let the remark go by, sipping again at her wine while he finished his beer.
“Actually, I'm primarily into retro-cognition, dredging up images out of the past, although I get flashes of the future, and PK and psychometric observa—”
“Peee Kayyy,” he said, repeating the letters. “Don't tell me. Psychokinesis.”
“That's right.”
“What State's Attorney Weaver would call laying on of hands?”
She laughed now, and he enjoyed her smile, allowing his eyes to linger.
She felt a definite attraction for him, and what now seemed a permanent half-smile or cocky snicker on the parted hps seemed both natural and boyish. She sensed his interest in her was growing.
“Tell me this,” he said. “How do you know when you're actually seeing some so-called truth come out of this fifth dimension you people speak of, and when you're just maybe reading the mind of the cop or the M.E. who's standing alongside you? You know that Wardlaw and Jessica Coran were already thinking the Lennox man was no victim of the Bleeding Heart killer, same as me, and it may well be that Frank or Dr. Coran knew of the disappearance of a man named Lennox long before you arrived here. Maybe, Doctor, you'd better leave for home while the gettin' is good. We po' boys in the NOPD may not be's dumb as them what's in Dade County, Miami.”
“Either way, whether I read the M.E.'s thoughts or was truly clairvoyant in that room, Lieutenant, I got it right, and that's what's bothering you, isn't it?”
“I know it's got to bother Frank, and for that I'd pay your fee out of pocket, but going for the real killer isn't going to be fun and parlor games, Doctor. I know New Orleans, and when the collective they find out what you really are, you'll be looking at an old-fashioned witch hunt. Superstitions die hard here.”
“I know all about New Orleans, and as for going home, Lieutenant... well, I am home. I grew up not far from here.”
He was momentarily taken aback by this. “Really?”
“That's right.”
Now he saw the Cajun blood clearly, and he wondered why he'd missed it before. She'd done a great deal to conceal it, he now realized. Maybe there was more to her than he'd previously thought.
“Where'd you attend school?”
She recognized it as the prying cop question it was. “None of your damned business.”
“Okay.” He guessed it to be St. Luke's or Mark's, where the parish was made up of the poor. She didn't want to be reminded of it, he mentally noted. That was her business, as she said, but if it had a bearing on her being here with her nose in his case, it was his business as well, and maybe he'd look into it on his own time.
She seemed to be reading his thoughts, so he superstitiously cut them off, asking if she'd like another glass of wine.
“Oh, no, no, thank you. One's sufficient for this time of day, and having had no lunch, well...”
“No lunch? We'll have to remedy that. Stubby!” he called. “A menu, please.”
“No, please, it's a bit late to eat anyway, and I really have to be going.”
She got up, preparing to leave, and he politely stood across from her now. “I'm sorry if I come on strong. Dr. Desinor, but that's the only way I know how. Landry's going to regret ever calling your hotline. They're already calling him Captain of the Kook Squad, and you're already front-page news, and by tomorrow who knows what the press'll be saying about you, me, the Department. Either way, when the circus comes to town, the media is first at the center ring.”
“I didn't expect to remain hidden here.”
“Well, no, I should expect you'd want all the publicity you could get, right alongside Dr. Coran. I heard about her press conference through the grapevine. Another reason I was against you and her... your coming in on the case, rather. More publicity is one thing this case doesn't need, despite the arguments you no doubt have heard on the other side, that the public should be warned. Hell, the public has been warned!”
“I think you should know we're conducting an exhumation of the Surette body at dawn.”
“What? Whose idea was this?”
She bit her lip. “I'm not a hundred percent on who first suggested it, but I'd hazard a guess it was your Captain Landry. The P.C., Meade and Fouintenac were reluctant, but Jessica and Landry pushed hard for it and got their way.”
“And what about Frank?”
“Dr. Wardlaw left somewhat abruptly when the discussion turned to exhuming Surette. As I said, Chief Meade wasn't too keen on the idea either, but your Captain Landry fought for it. Said your investigation keeps leading back to Surette, that is. He gave you due credit.”
“So what will Dr. Coran be looking for on exhumation?”
“Not her... well, not her alone anyway...”
“Wardlaw?”
“No... me.”
“You?” He stared so hard she felt it like a blow. “You're telling me you've talked those idiots into an exhumation for the purpose of a fuc—a blasted seance?''
“Well, honestly... it really wasn't my idea, and neither is it technically a seance, but rather a psi reading. In a seance—”
“Wasn't your idea? And I suppose it wasn't your idea to psycho-feel and psychobabble your way across Lennox's body either? That you were just an innocent bystander who happened to be drafted by Stephens, Lew Meade and the others to perform?”
“Wait just a minute, Lieutenant! I'm doing my job. And the reason I came looking for you was so that—''
“Yeah, I'm not so clear on that. Why did you come looking for me, and wait just a minute, lady! You're not doing your job. You're trying to do my job.”
“That's nonsense. I wouldn't have your job for the world.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really! Now, if you've got a legitimate complaint or a problem with this exhumation tomorrow morning, take it up with your captain, Lieutenant!”
“Damn straight I will.”
She gracefully turned on her heels and exited, momentarily bathing the place in light as she pushed angrily through the door, muttering a curse under her breath.
Alex started for the door, stopping halfway, and from the corner of his eye he saw Dr. Jessica Coran staring fixedly at him, something smoldering within her which he could not here and now fathom. He realized only now that he'd rushed toward the retreating Dr. Desinor like a schoolboy in pursuit and was left standing in the middle of the room and rooted there for the moment, with everyone's eyes on him, but none so piercing as Dr. Coran's.
“Just who in hell does that woman think she is?” Alex asked Jessica Coran as he approached her darkened booth.
“She's quite amazing, really,” replied Jessica in a calm born of a double whiskey sour. “If you'd stop fighting her long enough to look clearly through to what's right for your— this case, Lieutenant, you'd see that she's far more an asset than a liability. She was right on with the Lenn
ox case, and I've seen amazing footage on her back at Quantico. You hear about the kidnapping and murder of that banker in Decatur, Georgia, name of Sendak?”
“You telling me that Kim Desinor was instrumental in solving the case?”
“And she did it long-distance. Never left her lab...” Jessica hesitated, realizing what she was saying. “In Florida... where she works out of an old, remolded lab...” God, that sounded lame, she thought.
He considered this in silence, sliding into the seat opposite Jessica. “You're a scientist, a reasonable person, Dr. Coran.”
“I like to think so.”
“God. I mean, an exhumation of the Surette corpse, followed by a seance. What the hell's next, Doctor?”
“I don't see that it'd be much different than what went on today.”
“But how can you, a person of science, possibly go for this kind of theatrical display?”
He'd noticed Jessica's ongoing interest in Dr. Desinor, and he wondered if they'd arrived at the bar together, and if so, why Coran hadn't joined them from the outset. Had she been watching their conversation from here, how much Kim Desinor and he had had to drink together, the length of the other woman's stay? Obviously, she'd witnessed the blowup.
Jessica's eyes were sending pinched little darts in his direction, but now her head dropped, and she pretended to have seen and heard nothing. Just like a woman, he thought, wondering if he should not make a hasty retreat back to the false security of his booth.
“Well, are you going to answer me?” he said. “How can you stand aside and allow a body to be exhumed for such purposes?”
“My reasoning's simple enough, Lieutenant. If the body is exhumed, I'll have an opportunity at it as well, and we'll know for certain if this Surette character was in fact our killer's first victim or not. That's where my interest lies, and if getting it done via Kim Desinor works, then so be it.”
“You're smarter than I thought.”
“So's your captain.”
“Landry's running with the foxes at the moment.”
This instantly angered her. “Is it me, Sincebaugh, or does everybody rub you the wrong way lately?”
Pure Instinct (Instinct thriller series) Page 27
