Stealing Shadows

by Kay Hooper

  “What happens if you go too deep?”

  Cassie smiled faintly. “I don’t come back.”

  Ben looked at Matt, who lifted an eyebrow silently, then back at her. “Okay. What do I do?”

  Cassie reached for the bag. “Just keep talking to me. If I make a connection, don’t let go.”

  Her trust disturbed him, but Ben nodded.

  Either seeing or sensing his uneasiness, she said reassuringly, “I’ll make the connection as shallow as I can this time, just to find out if there’s anything there. If this coin didn’t belong to him or wasn’t in his possession for a while, there may not be much I can get.”

  Ben watched as she opened the bag and slid the coin out onto her palm.

  Her head bent and her eyes closed as she began turning the coin in her fingers. It was what someone would do when she was trying to identify something by touch alone, probing the shape and texture of a thing.

  “Cassie?” Ben said when he thought the silence had lasted too long.

  Her face turned a little toward him in a clear and instant response to his voice. She was even more pale than she had been before, so much so that it startled Ben.

  But her voice was steady when she slowly said, “This was his. It was part of a… collection. And he has more. Laid out in a row. There was a place for the dollar, but now that’s empty. There was… a set. He still has a fifty-cent piece, a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny.”

  “Does he mean to use them all?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know.” She winced. “It’s difficult to touch his mind. He’s tired, drained. He’s looking at the coins, but I don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling.”

  Matt spoke then, his voice low and filled with the fascinated suspicion of a man unwillingly impressed by the show but still searching for the wizard behind the curtain. “Can she see what’s around him?”

  “Cassie? Can you see what’s around him? Can you describe where he is?”

  “Not really. It’s dark. He likes the dark. His head doesn’t hurt so much in the dark.”

  “Is it a room?”

  “I think so. But… I don’t see any furniture. Just the coins laid out in a row. Black velvet behind them. All his attention is focused on them. It’s like he’s… mesmerized. Almost in a trance.”

  Cassie shook her head suddenly and opened her eyes. “That’s all. That’s all I get.” She slid the coin back into its bag and pushed it across the desk to Matt. “I should try again in a day or two. Right now he’s… too distant. Too drained.”

  Matt glanced down at the notes he’d made on a legal pad. “Part of a collection. Do you think he collects coins?”

  “Could be. The ones he had laid out before him are definitely important to him, I know that.” She sounded tired.

  “Are you all right?” Ben asked her.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “But are you all right now?”

  She looked at him, and he felt the difference. The warmth of that direct gaze was less than it had been, as though some furnace of energy inside her had used up too much fuel and now burned dangerously low.

  “It’s draining. But I’ll be fine.” To Matt she said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. This time.”

  Matt looked up from the legal pad, his face grim. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him? Anything at all?”

  “Just what I’d already told you and Judge—you and Ben. I don’t believe he’s killed before, but I think he will again. He has the taste of it now. And he likes it.” She paused. “There’s something young about his mind, about the way he thinks. Guessing, I’d say he’s still in his twenties.”

  Cassie shrugged. “And then there’s what a profiler would probably tell you. White male between twenty-four and thirty-two. Probably single and unlikely to be involved with a woman. Probably came from an abusive background and undoubtedly had at least one domineering parent—probably his mother. Sexual problems—possibly impotence. He’s found a way to achieve sexual gratification, and that’s important to him. The ritual worked. The way she was posed, the coin in her hand—those are things you’ll find at the next scene. His M.O., in that way, is probably established.”

  “What about the weapon?” Matt asked. “We didn’t find the knife. Will he use it again?”

  “It’s a guess… but I don’t think how they die is as important to him as how they’re found. He may not use the same means next time.” She gestured wearily. “But I’m not sure.”

  “Come on,” Ben said, rising. “I need to get you home.” He had to fight the instinct to reach out and offer his hand.

  Cassie got up. “I’ll wait outside. The sheriff wants to talk to you.”

  “Stop doing that,” Matt said as he also got to his feet.

  “I’m sorry—you were thinking loudly again.” She offered him a small smile, then left the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “Well?” Ben said.

  Matt shook his head. “I still don’t know if I buy any of this.”

  “She’s reading you like a book.”

  “Yeah, yeah. And a fake fortune teller can read a total stranger pretty well just with body language. It’s a skill, Ben. And not a paranormal one.”

  “Did your body language tell her about Abby Montgomery? It sure as hell never told me. And be careful with that, will you?”

  Matt ignored the warning. “I don’t know how she knew about me and Abby. But I’m still not convinced. My investigation of this murder is going by the book. Most murder victims know their killers, so family and friends have to be checked out. Coworkers, classmates. The usual drill. We’ll look for witnesses who might have seen Becky talking to somebody in the last day or two. We’ll check out her background and recent history, look for connections, for motives. What we will not do is start thinking we’ve got a serial killer on the basis of one crime.”

  “I can’t tell you how to do your job.”

  Matt grunted. “Why stop now?”

  Ben smiled but said, “What have you told Eric?” Eric Stephens published the local daily newspaper.

  “Bare facts. That Becky was murdered. With any luck at all, word won’t get around about how she was found. Or about the coin. I sure as hell don’t expect a copycat killer, not around here, but the less the public knows about the details, the less likely we are to have a panic on our hands.”

  “Maybe they should panic,” Ben said soberly. “Matt, if we do have a serial killer—”

  “If we do, I’ll slap a curfew on this town and have all the girls escorted by family or traveling by twos at all times. I’m not afraid to scare the hell out of them, Ben. I just won’t do it needlessly.”

  “Let’s hope you won’t have to,” Ben said.

  “Hi.”

  Cassie, who had been leaning back against a decorative lamppost on the sidewalk in front of the Sheriff’s Department with her face turned up to the mild February sun, looked around at the greeting and blinked to focus. She found herself being studied by a smiling woman maybe a few years older than herself, a very attractive blue-eyed blonde.

  “Hi.”

  “Excuse me—I didn’t mean to bother you, but you remind me of someone. Alexandra Melton. Any relation?”

  “She was my aunt. I’m Cassie Neill.” Her voice was friendly, but she kept her hands on the post behind her.

  “Ah, that explains the resemblance. I’m Jill Kirkwood. Nice to meet you. I knew your aunt—though not very well, I’m afraid. I own the craft store across the street there, and she came in occasionally.”

  “She must have liked you,” Cassie commented.

  “Because she came in the store?”

  “No.” Cassie smiled. “Because she didn’t do crafts.”

  Jill Kirkwood blinked. “But—she bought things. Supplies. And all kinds of kits.”

  “I know. I found them in her house. In a trunk in a spare room. As far as I can tell, she never even opened any of the kits.”

&n
bsp; After a moment Jill laughed. “I’ll be damned. I figured she had a house full of the stuff by now, even though she never brought anything in to show me, the way most of my customers do.”

  “As I said, she must have liked you.”

  “I know I liked her. She was…”

  “Odd?”

  “Different.” Jill smiled. “She told me once where I could find a ring I’d lost. Said she had a knack for things like that. And she was right. The ring was right where she’d said it would be.”

  Whatever Cassie might have responded to that was prevented by the arrival of Ben, who joined them on the sidewalk.

  “Hi, Jill,” he said.

  “Ben. Have you met—”

  “Yes, Cassie and I have met. As a matter of fact, I’m giving her a ride back to her house.”

  “Oh? Well, then, I won’t keep you.” She smiled at Cassie. “Nice meeting you. Come into the store sometime—if you’re more interested in crafts than Miss Melton was.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” Cassie said with a smile, not committing herself any further.

  “Bye, Ben.”

  “Jill.”

  Cassie walked slightly ahead of him to his Jeep. She didn’t say anything until they were inside and heading down Main Street. Then, mildly, she said, “If you’d come out of the Sheriff’s Department a few minutes later, I might have had a new friend.”

  “What?”

  “Jill Kirkwood. I liked her.”

  Ben shot her a glance. “Good. She’s a nice lady.”

  “Urn. But she doesn’t like me. Not now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of you. Some ex-lovers don’t want to let go. She doesn’t. Other women are a threat—even without reason.”

  Ben was silent for a moment. “Now I know how Matt felt. It’s a little unnerving to be an open book.”

  “You aren’t,” Cassie said. “But Jill Kirkwood is. Her emotions were… strong. They were hard to ignore. Impossible to ignore.”

  Again Ben hesitated before speaking. “Can you read me?”

  She shook her head, then looked at him rather curiously. “Not the way I can some, without even trying.”

  “Could you if you touched me?” Instantly he could feel her tense, almost draw in on herself.

  “Probably. Usually. It’s a rare person—a very rare nonpsychic—who is able to shield thoughts and emotions, especially well enough to withstand physical contact. For most people there was never a reason to learn, so they didn’t.”

  Ben held a hand out palm up between them. “Care to put it to the test?”

  She looked at his hand, then met his eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.” Her voice was very steady.

  He put his hand back on the wheel. “I’ll try not to take it personally.”

  “Please don’t. You noticed right away—I avoid touching people. All people. It’s… simpler for me. Their mental voices don’t slip through my walls so easily. Think of what it’s like to be in the center of a huge room filled with people. All of them talking.”

  “The noise can be overwhelming,” he agreed.

  “Not just the noise of thought. The… jagged edges of emotions. The dark flashes of fantasy. The secrets they don’t even tell themselves.” She shrugged. “It’s just much less painful and distracting if I shield myself as much as possible. That means doing my best to keep my walls up—and avoiding touch.”

  “It’s all right, Cassie. I really didn’t take it personally.”

  “Good.”

  A silence fell, and neither of them broke it until Ben turned the Jeep into the long driveway at the Melton place. “I’ll have to start thinking of this as your place rather than the Melton place,” he said absently.

  “It doesn’t feel like my place yet.”

  “You said you’d been here only a few months?”

  “Since the end of August.”

  He glanced at her. “We had a lot of snow in December. It must have been lonely out here.”

  “There’s lonely… and then there’s lonely. Believe me, the peace and quiet was wonderful. Being alone was just what I needed.” As he stopped the Jeep near the walkway, she added, “You don’t have to get out.”

  He did anyway, and then opened the passenger door for her. “I was raised right. Always walk a lady to her front door.”

  Cassie didn’t protest again. On the front porch, she dug in her jacket pocket for keys. “I guess I didn’t have to lock the door, but habit dies hard.”

  Ben frowned. “Keep the door locked. And if you don’t have a security system or a big dog around, get both. Soon. A week ago I would have said it hardly mattered, but after what happened to Becky, and what you said about her killer, this town doesn’t feel safe anymore.”

  “That really bothers you.”

  “Of course it does.”

  “No—I mean that’s something you do take personally. Why? Because your family founded the town?”

  “Maybe. And I’m an elected official, very much concerned with the safety of the people of Salem County.” He knew he was being deliberately offhand, that he did, in fact, take this threat very personally, but since he didn’t have a ready answer and in any case wasn’t given to explaining his emotions to anyone, it wasn’t something he was willing to talk about.

  Cassie unlocked her front door. “Understandable. I’ll try the coin again in a day or two. In the meantime, if I pick up anything else about the killer, I’ll give you or Sheriff Dunbar a call.”

  “Do that.”

  She stepped into the house and turned back to face him. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome. Cassie…”

  “Yes?”

  Ben heard himself say, “Jill and I, we broke up last summer. A long time ago.”

  “I see.” Neither her face nor her voice revealed anything other than polite interest.

  “I just wanted you to know. It’s been over for months.”

  “All right,” Cassie said.

  Since there was no graceful way out of it, Ben just said, “See you later,” and went back to his Jeep.

  He wished he could have believed that Cassie watched him leave, but he was reasonably sure she had not.

  Putting the Jeep into gear, he muttered, “Jackass.”

  FEBRUARY 19, 1999

  Matt Dunbar wanted to throw something across his office but contented himself with glaring at Cain Munro, who had the misfortune of being Salem County’s medical examiner.

  “So, in other words,” the sheriff said, “you can’t tell me a fucking thing I didn’t already know.”

  Dr. Munro wasn’t about to take that attitude from somebody he’d delivered with his own hands. “Watch your language, Matthew. I did you the courtesy of coming down here to report instead of calling you to the hospital, and I’d appreciate a little respect in return.”

  Matt sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Right. Sorry, Doc. I’m just a little tense about this.”

  Somewhat mollified, the doctor said, “I can understand that. Murder is never pretty, but this one was especially bad. Especially cruel. He nicked the artery first, let her bleed for a while before he finished the job.”

  “Do you know what kind of knife he used?”

  “A sharp one.” Dr. Munro grimaced. “Fairly short blade. Could have been a pocket knife.”

  “Great. That’s just great. I figure most of the male population over the age of twelve has at least one pocket knife.”

  “I figure you’re right. Sorry, Matt, I wish I could be more help. If you want to get a forensics expert in from Charlotte, you won’t put my nose out of joint. But the girl’s family has already called twice asking when they can bury her.”

  The sheriff hesitated. “No ego here, Doc, I need the truth. Do you think a forensics expert could find something you might have missed?”

  Munro pursed his lips for a moment in thought but finally shook his head. “I’d have to say no. We went over her body with a
magnifying glass, Matt. Sent samples of her blood off for a toxicology report, but I’ll be surprised if it comes back positive for anything. No alcohol, no drugs. Still, I’d say she never got a chance to struggle, or was too scared to. Sure as hell never fought him. No skin or tissue under her nails, no defensive wounds. She sat there with her hands bound behind her, probably with a belt, as I told you, and he cut her throat—and she died.”

  “But not in the woods.”

  “No, there wasn’t enough blood there.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “Nope. Have you checked her house?”

  “Of course. Her parents never heard a sound, and the family dog, being old and deaf, never barked. We didn’t find a sign of forced entry, but her folks say she usually slept with the window open even in winter.”

  “So you’re thinking he just climbed in the window and persuaded her to get dressed and go with him?”

  Matt scowled. “Maybe. But I don’t really like that possibility. You say time of death was around two o’clock Thursday morning?”

  “About that.”

  “Then, there’s a chance he was waiting for her at her house when she came in late Wednesday night, and got her before she could unlock the front door. Her bed wasn’t made, but her mother said she often didn’t make it, so we have no way of knowing if she actually came in and went to bed.”

  “Who was she out with?”

  “A group of friends. They all left that club out on the highway just after midnight and headed home in their individual cars. Becky was alone when she drove off in hers.”

  “I’ve kept her clothes as evidence, of course, in case you want her friends to take a look and say if it was what she was wearing when she was with them.”

  Matt grimaced. “Yeah, okay. But it wouldn’t be conclusive, since she could have gotten up out of bed and put on the clothes she’d worn earlier.”

  Doc Munro got to his feet. “So what do I tell her folks?”

  Matt pushed the warning of a psychic out of his mind. “Let them schedule the funeral.”

  “Okay. I’ll send my report along tomorrow. Get one of your boys to come over and collect her clothes and the bits of grass and leaves we found on her.”