by Diane Hester
‘So Adelle was your friend. Your closest friend.’
‘Yes, I admit—’
‘Who drowned when you pushed her into a dam.’
Instead of the loud denial he’d expected, Lindsay simply stared at him speechless for several moments.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But I may as well have.’
Ikeman rushed forward and took Lindsay’s arm. ‘Don’t say any more. It has nothing to do with the current case. You don’t need to tell him.’
‘Yes, I do. It’s time I admitted where the blame really lies.’ She stepped from his side and turned to face Macklyn.
‘Adelle was at my house the morning of the day she disappeared. It was the last time anyone ever saw her alive.’ A shudder rocked her and Ikeman reached out. She refused his hand.
‘Her mother was going to pick her up when she finished work.’ She smiled bleakly. ‘Her mother always picked her up. She babied Adelle because of her epilepsy. Adelle hated that.’ The smile faded. ‘But Adelle left early that day and walked home alone.’
‘Why?’ Mac said, hating the job that demanded he ask. Hating himself for pressing the issue when he could see so clearly it was causing her pain. ‘If she’d already arranged for her mother to get her—’
‘We had a fight. Something stupid; I can’t even remember what it was about. Adelle got upset and left. And I didn’t stop her.’ She swallowed hard. ‘She cut through a paddock and went past the dam. Right on its edge she had a seizure, slid in and drowned.’
‘How do you know she had a seizure?’
‘Because that’s what I saw in my dream.’
‘The police report said she had cuts on her face and head when they found her.’
‘From falling down the rocky embankment. But naturally, because I knew where the body was they tried to prove it was more than that. That I’d hit her and pushed her in unconscious. They couldn’t prove it. Because I was home with my family from the time Adelle left our house till the following morning. I never went out.’ She looked down. ‘And still …’
Mac waited, almost hoping she wouldn’t go on. ‘Still?’
When she looked up, tears shone bright in her eyes. ‘Don’t you see. It was my fault. If I’d had a dream earlier, showing me what was going to happen I could’ve prevented it. If I’d had my spell before she left, or even straight after …’
She shook her head. ‘It’s just like what’s been happening now. I see where the bodies of these women are dumped but nothing that can identify the killer. Nothing that can save his next victim. What good is a gift that never lets you help anyone? It’s worse than useless, it’s a bloody curse!’
The trill of his phone cut the silence that followed. Mac reluctantly pulled it from his pocket as Ikeman moved in to comfort Lindsay.
‘Mac, it’s Sam. I’m at Lindsay’s flat following up on that student who failed to come back last night. We’ve accounted for Cavenaugh being in hospital and we’re still one short. I repeat, the missing girl isn’t Lindsay, it’s someone else.’
***
Watching Mac walk away to take his call, Lindsay balled her hands into fists, feeling the knife-bite of her stitches. She welcomed the pain—it just might keep her from toppling headlong into the emotional abyss on which she teetered.
Ikeman was once again at her side, offering comfort she didn’t want. Something in his touch made her want to recoil but she smothered the urge—hardly his fault it was someone else’s touch she craved.
‘Lindsay, sit down, I have something to tell you.’
The man seemed excited. She allowed herself to be led to a chair and sat down before him.
‘Hearing your story has given me an insight,’ he began. ‘It seems clear to me now that your friend’s death is the traumatic event that’s caused you to block your psychic abilities all these years.’
She frowned at his words. ‘My spells did stop around the same time Adelle died. But if that was the reason …’
‘And it was only an equally traumatic event that caused your visions to start up again,’ he said in answer to her unfinished question.
‘The murders of those women.’
He nodded then paused, giving her a chance to absorb the idea.
At the end of the table, Mac turned back from taking his call.
‘There’s more.’ Ikeman lifted her hand. ‘I think I know why this is happening to you. These and the other injuries you manifested, the wounds of the victims … It’s more than just sympathy at work. It’s guilt.’
‘Guilt?’
‘Each woman’s death forces you to relive that past ordeal. Adelle, your dearest and only friend, died—in your mind—because you couldn’t save her. Now the same thing is happening again. Women are dying and, because you can’t see who the killer is, you feel responsible. You can’t help the victims, so to punish yourself you take on their suffering.’ He indicated the cuts on her hands.
She took a moment then shook her head. ‘It doesn’t change anything.’
‘Actually it might change a great deal. Now that you’ve faced your repressed feelings you may find your psychic block has been lifted.’
‘You mean there’s a chance I’ll start seeing more?’
‘It’s possible, yes. But it’s also possible you might start to gain some control of your gift. Learn to direct it instead of letting it overwhelm you.’
Mac stepped closer, suddenly intent on what they were saying. ‘Doctor, you once mentioned that, in helping police with their cases, psychics use a technique that involves handling objects belonging to the victims.’
Ikeman sighed. ‘It’s called psychometry—receiving impressions from inanimate objects. It’s what would’ve happened when Lindsay handled the first victim’s earring in the library.’
‘What if we tried that now? With something belonging to one of the other—’
‘When I said Lindsay might one day learn to control her gift I wasn’t suggesting she start right away. She’s under tremendous strain at the moment as you can see. In time perhaps—’
‘Two girls are dead and another two missing. We don’t have time.’
Lindsay looked up. ‘Two girls are missing?’
Ikeman smirked. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in this nonsense, detective.’
‘This would certainly be a way to prove me wrong, wouldn’t it.’
She pushed to her feet, a sudden cold certainty knifing her heart. ‘What do you mean, two girls are missing?’
Mac looked down and took a deep breath. ‘Lindsay, I’m sorry.’
She drew back. ‘No.’
‘Shaunwyn never returned to your apartment last night after leaving the hospital.’
Chapter 37
Light coming through the ceiling-high windows burnished the lab in a coppery glow, indicating a passage of time to which Lindsay had been largely oblivious.
While Mac had left to retrieve the items needed to conduct their unusual experiment, Ikeman had tried to get her to rest, or at least force down a little food. She’d declined on both counts, too distraught over Shaunwyn’s disappearance to do anything but anticipate her role in finding her.
By the time Mac returned several hours later, having been held up in a meeting with Sam over recent developments, Lindsay had worked herself into a desperate state. She’d snatched from him the items he’d brought—pieces of jewellery belonging to the victims as well as Shaunwyn and Jen Dawson—and retreated with Ikeman into his office, where their hushed and purposeful gestures since had at times taken on the aspect of ritual.
From his vantage point in the office doorway, Mac stood watching the pair on the couch. Lindsay sat with her lips tightly pursed, brow furrowed, gently turning a bracelet in her bandaged hands.
She’d been at it for over an hour now, holding the objects one by one, trying to absorb what impressions she could of their owners’ whereabouts.
Whether he believed in her gift or not, Mac had to acknowledge the courage it took for her to
attempt this. No matter what he or anyone else thought, the bottom line was she believed it and must be aware of what it could do to her. Despite Ikeman’s repeated warnings, she’d insisted on doing everything in her power to help her friend.
Yet with little result from her efforts thus far, the strain was clearly starting to show. As he watched, a tear beaded in the corner of one eye and slid down her cheek.
She lowered the bracelet and bowed her head.
Ikeman leaned closer. ‘Anything?’
‘No. Not a thing.’ She looked at him pleadingly. ‘You said my psychic block would be lifted. So why can’t I see? Why isn’t this working?’
The pain in her voice made Mac’s chest ache. It was Shaunwyn’s bracelet she was holding.
‘It could be all the pressure you’re putting on yourself.’ Ikeman glared up at him. ‘All the pressure others are putting on you.’ He patted her arm then pushed to his feet. ‘Just rest for a moment.’
Coming out the door, he drew Mac aside. ‘Now do you understand my reluctance? This was exactly what I was worried about. All these years Lindsay has blamed herself for a friend’s death. If she fails to deliver on this occasion, what do you think it’s going to do to her?’
‘No worse than what will happen to them.’
Ikeman shook his head. ‘A pity your concern doesn’t extend to your suspects.’ He turned and went back into the office. ‘All right, Lindsay, I’m calling it a day. You’ve had enough.’ He took the bracelet and handed it to Mac.
‘No, please, just let me try one more time.’
‘Lindsay, you’re exhausted,’ the man insisted. ‘You can’t keep your eyes open. Go home and get some rest. Tomorrow, if you still feel you must, we’ll try again.’
Accepting his words, she lifted her desolate gaze to Mac. ‘I did see a few things. It wasn’t a total waste of effort, was it?’
‘No.’ He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the snippets she’d glimpsed from each victim’s past weren’t going to help police find the killer. ‘But for once I agree with the doctor. You’re totally done in. Come on, I’ll take you back to your flat.’
***
Mac unlocked the door to Lindsay’s flat and pushed it open.
She stood at his side, refusing to enter. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘There’ll be an officer down at the desk all night.’
‘That’s not what I mean. Half of me’s afraid we won’t find her in time and the other half …’ She shuddered. ‘What if I touch something in there and see that Shaunwyn’s already …’
He lifted his arm to put it around her, but she straightened and walked forward on her own.
‘Guess I’ll just have to take that chance.’ She flicked on a light and gazed about the living room as though its contents were wired to explode. ‘If anything can give me an impression of where she is, it’ll be in this flat.’
‘But no more tonight.’ Mac closed the door. ‘You’re here to get some rest, remember.’
Starting towards her, he spotted the stains on the rug near the table—blood from her recent psychic episode. He rolled up the rug, set it aside, then proceeded to the window and drew the curtains.
When he turned back, she was staring at a sheet of paper as though it were written in hieroglyphs—the instructions the doctor had given him at the hospital. ‘How am I supposed to take a shower if I can’t get these wet?’ She held up her bandaged hands.
‘What about a bath? You can rest your arms on the edge of the tub.’ At the prospect of which he should probably leave. But she looked so vulnerable, so utterly lost … ‘Point me to the bathroom and I’ll run the water for you.’
She took off his jacket and handed it to him. ‘Don’t you have important detective matters to attend to?’
He studied her lips, her half-closed eyes. There was certainly plenty he could do at the station. Not to mention errands at home.
He laid the jacket over a chair. ‘Like you, I’m off duty until tomorrow.’
***
The room was fragrant and misty with steam, a froth of bubbles floating atop the tub full of water. Mac turned the tap off and stepped aside as Lindsay came in wearing a bathrobe. He looked away while she climbed in the bath then retreated to the door.
With a sigh Lindsay slid down into the bubbles, rested her head back and closed her eyes, at the same time keeping her hands held high. The water was perfect, its perfumed warmth immediately starting to work its magic on her aching muscles and knots of tension. If she could somehow manage to block out her thoughts, she might actually be able to sleep that night.
‘I’ll stick around till you’re out of there in case you have a fainting spell.’
‘Macklyn, that’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard for trying to get a look at a naked woman.’ She opened one eye to catch his slight smile. ‘You could make yourself useful at least.’ She nodded to the bottle of shampoo on the ledge.
After but a second’s hesitation Mac straightened and rolled up his sleeves. He picked up her robe, folded it twice and dropped it on the floor at the end the tub.
Shampoo in hand, he knelt down behind her. ‘Dunk your head.’
The water surged in over her face as she sank beneath it, another dose of soothing warmth to further relax her. How peaceful it would be to simply stay this way. Floating. Adrift in this buffering sea. Totally removed from fear and danger and accusations and …
She pushed herself up.
The world rushed back.
Mac’s strong fingers slid through her hair, instantly claiming her full attention. Air filled her lungs, her unwitting response to the slow circles he scribed on her scalp. From temples to crown, brow to neck, he plied his skills, his thumbs grazing the shell of her ears. A manipulation that relaxed certain parts of her while energising others. A massage releasing the last of her tensions yet at the same time rapidly creating new ones.
Slick with lather, his hands coursed down the back of her neck, spread out over the breadth of her shoulders, then met again at the cleft of her throat. Pausing briefly, poised to descend, they rose instead along the line of her throat to cup her chin, caress her jaw.
A whisper of breath stirred in her ear. ‘Lindsay.’ Two syllables husky with need and laden with longing.
She tipped her head, offering access to the pulse in her neck. Mac found the spot with his mouth, nipping gently, sucking harder.
She gasped and vanished beneath the water.
By the time she resurfaced Mac was standing, muttering self-recriminations. She rose to her feet and turned to face him.
Water and bubbles sluiced down her body. Patches of lather caught on her breasts, holding his gaze, stopping his breath.
He stood for a moment then shook himself out of it. ‘I’ll get your robe.’
‘Macklyn.’ She reached out and cupped his cheek. ‘Forget the robe.’
Chapter 38
Mac rolled over, groped for his phone on the bedside table and checked the time. Six fifty-three. Faint morning light barely glowed around the curtains, yet Lindsay’s side of the bed was empty. He threw back the covers, pushed from the sheets and pulled on his jeans.
He found her in Shaunwyn’s bedroom, pawing through a chest of drawers, her back to the door. Items presumably rejected in her search lay strewn across the bed. By the size of the pile she’d been at it for some time.
‘How long have you been up?’
Startled, she turned. ‘Since around four. I couldn’t sleep.’ She turned back to her work. ‘I’ve been going through Shaun’s things, trying to find something that’ll give me an impression.’
‘Anything?’
‘No.’
He scratched his head. What did one say at moments like this? Last night was great? I hope it wasn’t just a one-time thing? I’ve never in my life met anyone like you? Somehow it didn’t seem the best time.
‘Would you like me to fix us some breakfast?’ he said.
‘Help yourself to wh
atever’s in the kitchen, but nothing for me. I can’t eat.’
‘You really should try. You haven’t had anything since—’
She slammed shut the drawer. ‘I’m not bloody hungry.’
He started towards her, hoping to offer a bit of comfort, but she moved to the desk. Intent on her mission or evading his touch? Had last night been just a mere distraction, a way to take her mind off things? Had she already deemed it a huge mistake?
‘I’m sure this is all looking very suspicious to you. Again.’ She opened the desk’s top drawer and peered in. ‘Lindsay Cavenaugh, psychic extraordinaire, unable to get the slightest impression of her missing friend.’
He leaned against the wardrobe and folded his arms. ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but right from the start I never believed you were involved in the killings.’
‘You could’ve fooled me.’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as calling it a hunch but … Well, you could have run away at any stage and you never did.’
She closed the top drawer and started on the second, frantically shoving its contents about. ‘Believe me, I thought about it.’
‘But clearly you had no reason to run.’
‘You don’t think having visions of dead people and police harassing me wasn’t a reason?’ Something caught her eye in the drawer and she stopped. ‘The fact is I very nearly did run away. Got as far as packing my bags, in fact.’
He moved closer to see what she’d found. ‘So what stopped you?’
Slowly, carefully she took out a picture frame and stood staring at the image it contained. ‘Shaunwyn did.’
‘She talked you out of it?’
‘She never even knew I was planning to leave. I stayed because …’ She turned the frame towards him, revealing a photo of a copper-haired woman standing with a smiling little girl. ‘Her mum disappeared when she was a kid.’
‘Disappeared how?’
‘No-one knows. She just vanished one day and was never seen again. As far as I’m aware she’s still listed as a missing person.’
‘That’s rough.’ He looked to the photo. ‘Is that them? Shaun and her mum?’