Better Read Than Dead Page 9

  “Rick?” came a female voice from the bedroom. “Rick, what’s going on?”

  Hmm, apparently it could.

  A moment later the owner of the voice appeared when a naked and equally greasy woman came running out of the bedroom past me. “Rick? Who is this guy?”

  “How could you?!” Kendal screeched in a voice so shrill my mother would have envied it.

  “It was just an experiment! A onetime thing, I swear! It doesn’t mean anything! I still love you!” Rick pleaded.

  “Hold on here!” the naked woman yelled stepping between the two men and pointing an accusing finger at Rick. “You mean you’re gay?”

  Oh, boy. Time for me to leave. As unobtrusively as possible I edged out of the room and through the door. I walked to my car as the argument continued from inside the small house, and without a backward glance I got in and pulled out of the driveway.

  As I drove home I felt numb from head to toe. The past two days had been horrible, and I wondered when the pattern was going to break. I felt melancholy and sad, and without realizing it I pointed my car toward Dutch’s house. Suddenly I didn’t want to break up with him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for being so jealous and petty. I wanted to curl up next to him and hold on for a long, long time. And I figured I could tell him about the mob hit man while I was at it, and he would have the perfect solution. I stepped on the gas and hurried my pace.

  When I got to his house, however, the place was completely dark, and Dutch’s car was gone. I parked in the street and walked up his driveway anyway, needing to double-check. I rang his doorbell twice, but no one answered. He must have left early for his assignment. “Crap,” I said, summing up the night.

  With a tired sigh I got back into my car and went home. After I let myself in I scooped up Eggy and climbed the stairs two at a time. I got ready for bed, exhausted and spent, deciding to worry about the hit man in the morning. With another heavy sigh I turned out the light and went quickly to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  My alarm went off at seven, but I’d already been up for a couple of hours. I’d had a rough night’s sleep. I kept waking up and picturing a masked man shooting me with a gun, and where the bullet hit me a rose cummerbund appeared to squeeze me until I couldn’t breathe. With a heavy hand I shut off the alarm, but continued to lie there. I didn’t need to be at work until after lunch, because weeks ago I’d anticipated that this morning would involve lounging in bed with Dutch, munching on croissants and coffee, and I’d rearranged several of my appointments to accommodate the expected postcoital breakfast.

  As I lay there in a well of self-pity, feeling extremely sorry for the fact that I’d bungled yet another relationship, my phone rang.

  I almost let it go to voice mail, but the idea that someone was calling so early made me rethink that decision. Nothing mundane ever happens before nine a.m. “Hello?” I asked tiredly.

  “Abby?” came a voice I didn’t recognize.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m really sorry to call you so early, but have you by any chance seen Kendal?”

  I shook my head, trying very hard to place the voice, wondering who could be asking me about Kendal. “Uh, no. I’m sorry; who’s this?”

  There was an embarrassed laugh, then: “My apologies; this is Rick . . . uh . . . Kendal’s partner. I’m really sorry that you had to witness our little spat last night. I had no idea you guys were coming home so early.”

  “Obviously,” I said flatly, annoyed that Rick was trying to butter me up.

  “Yeah, well, Kendal and I talked most of the night, and I thought we were going to try to work things out this morning. He slept in the other bedroom, but when I got up this morning to make breakfast he was gone.”

  I sat up in bed and scratched my head. “Gone?”

  “Yeah. His car’s missing too. I’m not sure if he just went somewhere to cool down, or if he’s taken off somewhere. . . .”

  I didn’t know what Rick was fishing for, so I remained silent, waiting him out.

  “Anyway, I was just wondering if maybe you could tune in for me and possibly tell me where he’s gone?”

  One of my eyebrows lifted as my mouth thinned into a flat line. There was no way in hell I was going to help this guy. The arrogance of the question! Assuming I would betray my friend’s confidence by giving Rick an indication where Kendal had gone was absurd. I remembered the night before, when he had been tutoring me, that I’d mentioned he would be traveling down south, to Florida, but there was no way I was going to tell Rick that. “Sorry, Rick, can’t help you.”

  There was a pause, then: “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Won’t,” I said, my voice hard.

  “Okay, sorry to have disturbed you. Good-bye,” he said, then hung up the phone.

  I replaced the receiver and went back to staring at the ceiling. My feeling was that Kendal had left town to get some distance from Rick and think about their relationship before committing to working things out. From what I knew of Rick, that was a very wise move. I’d met him a total of three times, including last night’s streak fest, and I’d never really liked him much.

  Kendal made a good living, working longer hours than I did. In fact, he’d worked six days a week steadily for years, building up his clientele, traveling long distances to perform at psychic parties, sacrificing sleep, personal time, and much of his social life to build a career.

  On the other hand, from what I knew about Rick, he didn’t do much of anything. He’d had stints as a golf caddy, a waiter and a shampoo tech for a hair salon, but mostly he sponged off of Kendal.

  Also puzzling was that, compared to Kendal, Rick wasn’t all that much to look at. He was overweight, stocky and going bald. Kendal was a definite “shazam!” so personally I couldn’t understand the attraction. I reminded myself that this was Kendal’s relationship, not mine, so he’d have to figure it out. If he wanted to get away and think about things for a while, then more power to him.

  I lay back down and scooted further under my down comforter. My room was freezing now that most of the insulation had been pulled out of the attic. I was just closing my eyes when my phone rang again. Now what?

  “Hello?” I asked, letting annoyance creep into my greeting.

  “Abby?”

  “Milo?” I asked, recognizing the voice and sitting up again.

  “Yes. Listen, there’s been a development in the rape case. Can you come down to the station this morning?”

  “Sure. Give me half an hour,” I said, already swinging my legs off the bed. The thing I realized I needed most right now was a distraction, and Milo’s case was perfect for that. I also figured I could ask his advice about the hit man I’d read the night before. I’d have to be subtle; I didn’t want him to grill me for details and then force me into some kind of witness protection program or anything.

  I threw on some jeans and a thick sweatshirt, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, quickly slapped on some mascara and blush, then headed downstairs to feed Eggy and scarf down a pumpernickel bagel with peanut butter.

  Exactly thirty minutes later I was at the Royal Oak police station sitting at Milo’s desk waiting for him to come out of his captain’s office. My knee bounced up and down as I metered out the minutes. To kill time, I looked around the Detectives’ Unit, watching the other investigators as they typed on their computers and made phone calls. Being the nosy-Nelly type, I listened in on a few conversations I probably shouldn’t have, getting the scoop on a local anchorman who’d been picked up for being drunk and disorderly the night before.

  Finally Milo came out and flashed me his famous smile, adding a wink for my patience. “Thanks for hanging out. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Not a problem; I have a light morning ahead. So whatcha got for me?”

  “We arrested Jeffrey Zimmer this morning, and we’re holding him on suspicion of rape in the Schultz case.”

  “Jeffrey Zimmer,” I said, trying to recall the name.
“Oh, yeah! He’s the neighbor guy. The one that Cathy caught peeking through her fence.”

  Milo nodded. “Yep. We got a search warrant yesterday and found his computer full of hidden-camera shots of Cathy. He had nearly a hundred of them, all taken through her window when she wasn’t looking. He’s been doing this peeping-Tom thing for a year or so, judging by the photos. Plus he’s got no alibi for the night of her rape, or those of any of the other victims. He claims he was sitting home alone watching television, but when we talked to him this morning he can’t remember what he was watching.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, nodding my head in a “By Jove, Watson, I think you’re on to something” way.

  Milo rearranged some files on his desk as he added, “Oh, and we also found a bunch of ski equipment in his basement.”

  “Did you find the mask?”

  “No, not yet, but we’re still looking.”

  I checked in with my crew, tossing the name “Jeffrey Zimmer” around in my head, waiting for something to feel “on” about it. Nothing was forthcoming so I asked, “So why am I here?”

  “I’d like you to take a look at him and see if you can get a read on him. Maybe pick up another clue as to where we can find the tire iron he used, or the mask he wore.”

  “Don’t you have some kind of physical evidence, Milo? I mean, I’d be more than happy to give it a go, but weren’t there any fibers, or body fluid, or something left at the scene that you can go on without having me get more involved?”

  Milo cocked his head a little, probably curious about why I was apprehensive. “That’s just the thing—the rapist used gloves and a condom, so all we’ve been able to collect so far are a couple of pubic hairs, but it’s going to take several weeks before the forensic lab can make a positive ID on the DNA.”

  I sighed heavily. I didn’t want to see this guy, and I was stalling for a way out. Brutality against women, children and animals is particularly abhorrent to me. I hate violence in all forms, and the methods of this rapist seemed to me to be incredibly cruel. I had a feeling that honing in on this guy’s energy was going to leave me feeling unclean, rather like walking through a smoke-filled room and having the scent of cigarette smoke cling to your clothing long after you’ve left the building.

  Then I reminded myself that I had agreed to assist Milo any way I could. “Fine,” I said, getting up and squaring my shoulders.

  “Great,” Milo said as he stood up and motioned for me to follow him. “Come with me. He’s just down the hall in one of our interrogation rooms.”

  Milo took me down a short hallway and in through a door to an observation room just on the other side of where Jeffrey Zimmer was being held. We walked quietly into the dimly lit room, and through a large window we could observe the young man as he sat with large eyes and one arm handcuffed to a table.

  He was alone in the room, his gaze fixed firmly to the scarred tabletop in front of him. As we watched he barely moved, his thoughts seemingly far away and frightened. He was a young man—I’d say mid-twenties—with wavy dark hair and a prominent nose. His lips were thin, and his chin receded into his neck. He had a severe overbite, and his mouth never quite closed over his protruding teeth. He seemed ruffled, as if he had been startled out of bed, wearing only a dark blue T-shirt with the Detroit Tigers emblem on one sleeve and old raggedy jeans. His brown hair was tousled, and it appeared he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. His breathing was heavy, his face very pale, and I suspected his heart rate was rapid. He didn’t appear like what I’d imagined a rapist would look like: There was no expression of malice about him, no hatred in his eyes, no arrogance for the system. Instead he seemed scared and pathetic, and I wondered whether Milo had indeed found the right man.

  Milo looked at me expectantly. I nodded; then I closed my eyes and prepared myself.

  One of the biggest misconceptions about psychics is that proximity equals accuracy. In other words, people believe that a psychic must be in the same room as a subject in order to obtain information about that person. The truth is that the client could be in outer space and we’d still be able to give just as good a reading.

  For instance, I have clients all over the United States, and two others in London, and when I do readings for them it’s never in my office, but through a phone line. The dimensions of space and time rarely act as interference for us. It’s merely about the connection itself. So I probably could have gotten the same reading back at Milo’s desk as I could standing within view of him but I understood why Milo thought I needed to be near him to read his energy.

  As I stood in front of the one-way mirror I cleared my head of all other thoughts except Jeffrey Zimmer. I gathered my energy much the way a pitcher winds up before a pitch, then beamed my intuitive arrow directly at him. I felt an almost immediate connection and began my assessment. I was finished in under a minute, and pulled my energy back as I opened my eyes. Milo stood in front of me with a small notebook in his hands and a pen poised to take notes. “Well?” he asked.

  “He’s not your man,” I said bluntly.

  “What do you mean?” Milo asked, his face completely taken aback.

  “He’s not the rapist,” I said, pointing to Jeffrey.

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, for one thing he’s about as bold as a hermit crab. The guy’s afraid of his own shadow. He would no more attack a woman than jump off a building. His energy isn’t lying, Milo. He’s scared to death that he’s going to get blamed for something he didn’t do. I’ve scanned his energy twice, and trust me, if he were a violent rapist I’d pick it up.”

  Milo blinked at me for several moments, weighing his belief in me against what he’d seen at Zimmer’s house.

  In the silence I looked back at Jeffrey and let my eyes go unfocused; within seconds I could see his aura. It had gone bright white, and there were beams of brilliant white energy shooting straight up through his energy field toward the ceiling, and I now understood what was whirling around inside his mind: The young man was praying.

  By the look of it, he was probably praying like he’d never prayed before in his life. I blinked and shook my head a little, then turned back to Milo. “I’m telling you, this is not your guy. He’s just some nerdy neighbor who’s a little too obsessed with Cathy and likes to take her picture. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, and right now he’s praying to God and every saint he can think of to get him out of this.”

  “Abby, his hard drive was filled with photos of Cathy,” Milo insisted.

  “Which is the only connection to her you have for him,” I pointed out. “If he’s the rapist, then why did he rape the other two women first?”

  “Practice,” Milo said too quickly. Obviously he’d asked himself the very same question.

  “Okay,” I said, thinking fast. “Then why the violence? Why did he beat her?”

  “Because she ignored him. She blows him off and he wants to teach her a lesson.”

  “So why go to the grocery store? If he is the rapist, why not rape her in her own house? I mean, he could have waited until her boyfriend went to work, then attacked her in the privacy of her own home. Raping her at a grocery store involves a lot more risk. He could have been seen by another shopper or an employee. She could have screamed before he had a chance to knock her out. Plus, it’s cold out. Not to be graphic, but who whips out their dipstick when it’s thirty-five degrees out? Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to get her where he knows the patterns of both Cathy and her boyfriend? Where he’s assured of some privacy and warmth?”

  Milo muttered a curse under his breath at my barrage of questions, then shook his head and said defiantly, “Abby, this is the guy.”

  I threw up my hands and rolled my eyes at him. “Fine, Milo, think what you want. But while you guys are trying to make this case stick another man is out there targeting women, and you’ve only got five more days until he does it again.”

  There was a cold prickle that went up my spine just then, and I shiver
ed in spite of myself. Milo’s brow had darkened, and I could see he was very close to getting snippy with me. With a tightly controlled voice he said, “Okay, thanks for your help. I’ll take that under advisement. Come on; I’ll walk you out.”

  I wanted to yell at him. I hate getting the brush-off. The same thing had happened the last time I’d been asked to assist with an investigation, and the pattern was starting to tick me off.

  We walked in silence back down the hallway and through the second-floor investigative department before stopping at the double doors. Remembering my encounter with the hit man from the night before, I decided, in the interest of gathering information, to play nice. “Sorry I couldn’t help,” I offered.

  Milo looked at me and responded with a tiny grin. “It’s okay. I know you’re trying to be honest with me, and I appreciate that you want to help.”

  I nodded and, seemingly out of the blue, said, “You know, I worked this wedding reception downtown last night. It was really spectacular.”

  Milo looked at me, curious about the sudden change of subject, and said, “Uh-huh?”

  “Yeah. The father of the bride must have blown a wad of money for this thing. It was incredible, no expense spared. . . .”

  Milo was looking at his watch, giving me a not-so-subtle hint that I needed to wrap it up, so I quickly got to the point. “I’ll bet you’ve heard of the family the Kapordelises?”

  Milo snapped his head up and asked, “Kapordelis? As in Andros Kapordelis?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, smiling my relief that he’d heard of them. “He’s the father of the bride. The wedding was held downtown at the Plaza Casino, in Greek Town. I think Andros owns it or something. . . .” My voice trailed off as I watched Milo’s instant reaction. He was looking at me like I’d just said I was a space alien from the planet Zorvox. Defensively I asked, “What? What did I say?”

  “Are you insane, or do you just have a death wish?” we snapped, his voice rising in anger.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, taken aback. I had no idea why Milo had gotten so angry so fast.