Through Her Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 4)

by Deborah Camp

  “I’ll always be a student. I don’t mind popping in on the Roundtable when I’m in Tulsa, but not as someone special.”

  “Levi does.”

  “Right, but Levi is –.” She stopped herself from saying special because she knew that would spark an argument. “—Levi.” He’s never been part of the Roundtable, so he’s never been on the same level as us.”

  “That’s right, but you are certainly a graduate student now and the others in the Roundtable will be most delighted to talk to you and ask you about the cases you’ve worked on in the past six months.”

  She closed her eyes and Quintara’s voice grew distant as a whirring sound filled her head. The fogginess covering her vision cleared with a suddenness that made her jerk. The whirring stopped and she stared at a grinding machine and the shiny, sharp blade of a knife.

  Perfect. That’s just right. This will slice right through muscle and tendon with no prob.

  He ran the blade across his arm, shaving off hairs. A thrill made him shudder a little. He looked inside the pet taxi at the neighbor’s cat.

  I’d rather have that sweet piece of ass I saw walking near Preservation Hall this morning, but we’re not ready for that again yet. So, I’ll practice on you.

  He opened the metal door and grabbed the tuxedo cat by the scruff. With an economy of movement, he slit the cat open from throat to belly.

  The animal’s shriek pierced Trudy’s eardrums and her eyes popped open. Her stomach muscles contracted violently, sending a gush of hot liquid up into her mouth. With a garbled sob, Trudy wrenched open the car door and vomited onto the pavement.

  “Dear? Trudy? Oh, my! Sweet girl. What can I do?” Quintara patted her back. “Here. Take these napkins.”

  Trudy reached for them and wiped her mouth. Her stomach and diaphragm hitched again, but she managed to keep from retching. She dabbed at her lips and drank some of the Dr Pepper to wash the sour taste from her mouth. Closing the car door, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes as she took a few deep breaths to settle her jangled nerves and stomach.

  “What just happened?” Quintara asked as she ran a cool hand along the side of Trudy’s hot face.

  “I saw something terrible,” Trudy said, managing only a hoarse whisper. “A man gutted a cat.” She opened her eyes to slits to see Quintara’s wince of repugnance. “He was sharpening a knife and he wished he could use it on a person, but the cat would have to do for now.”

  Quintara ran her fingers through Trudy’s short, spiky bangs in a motherly gesture. “Do you think it could have something to do with the salvage yard murders?”

  “Probably.” Trudy sat up and switched on the car ignition. She wanted to put more distance between her and the salvage yard. “That’s usually how it goes.”

  “You should tell Levi about it.”

  “Oh, I will.” She backed out of the parking spot and drove onto the city street.

  “You two could stop this monster from taking more lives.”

  “Possibly.” Trudy took another long drink from the straw and felt Quintara’s questioning gaze. “Hopefully, we can help, but I’m not looking forward to this one.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She tried to nail down the feelings swirling inside. “There’s something particularly evil about it. It feels like it will be a long, hard battle of wits.”

  “The man you saw . . . was he in a wheelchair?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him, Quintara. I was in his head.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s right. You saw what he saw, felt what he felt.”

  “It didn’t feel like I was in a wheelchair.”

  Quintara patted her arm. “You and Levi will sort it all out, dear. I have every confidence in you.”

  Trudy tried to smile. Darling Quintara. Cheerleader, patient teacher, super fan, and faithful friend. Her support never faltered. But even the strength of her unadulterated optimism couldn’t silence the auditory memory of a screaming, tortured cat or the glee it had evoked in the man wielding the knife.

  ###

  Stacking the sheaf of papers, Levi Wolfe placed them back into the folder and set it aside. The man across the desk from him sat straighter and cleared his throat.

  “Well, that’s that. I hope we can do business with you, Mr. Wolfe. Your company has a great reputation in Atlanta. Like you, I really enjoy giving older buildings new life and I’m especially interested in turning that old factory into apartments.”

  Levi patted the papers that contained Nelson’s construction company’s plans for the project. “It looks promising, Mr. Nelson. I’ll turn your bid over to my construction and re-fabrication VP Jason Abraham. I believe you’ve met him.”

  “Hey, call me Troy, and yes, I’ve met your VP. Pete introduced me to him earlier.” He glanced at Pete “Gonzo” Gonzoles who sat to the right of him in the other wingback.

  “I hear you’re a transplant like me,” Levi said. “How long have you lived in Atlanta?”

  “We moved here two years ago from Denton, Texas and I’ve been building my business slowly but surely. My wife’s brother lives here. He’s a realtor. There is a lot of construction going on in these parts, but it’s a tough market to break into.” He reached over and gripped Gonzo’s shoulder. “I met Pete here when we went to police academy together in Dallas ten years ago. He graduated, but I dropped out. My bum knee kept me from passing the physical.”

  Levi nodded, although the man’s words were fading, blasted away by a voice in Levi’s head that grew louder with every passing second. In his mind’s eye, he could see the source. A young man, barely out of his teens, with long, shaggy blond hair, gangly limbs, big dark eyes, dressed in ripped jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a Dallas Cowboys ball cap. He couldn’t hear every word the man was saying, but he heard enough. My dad. He’s my dad! The words reverberated in Levi’s head, bouncing around inside his skull until his temples pounded. Levi drew in a deep breath and tried to concentrate on what Troy Nelson and Gonzo were saying. When they both looked at him as if waiting for a reply, he realized he couldn’t fake his attentiveness any longer.

  “I’m sorry. This is irregular.” He glanced at Gonzo. His friend could read him well and knew something odd was going down. “Mr. Nelson . . . Troy, I suppose that you’re aware of my other work outside of my construction business?”

  Nelson’s brown eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat again – obviously, a nervous tic of his. “Uh . . . you mean the ESP stuff?”

  Levi could feel Nelson’s suspicion and wariness coming across the desk at him in waves. Something was up with him. This had something to do with him. “I pride myself in keeping my paranormal work separated from my normal work. But someone is determined to be heard. Do you mind if I give him a listen and see if I can get him to go away?”

  Nelson looked at Gonzo and Gonzo gave Levi a what-the-fucking-hell glare. Levi shrugged.

  A deep frown settled on Nelson’s face and his stare became hard and damning. “Go ahead.”

  Yes, Levi thought. He’d definitely struck a nerve. Curious as to how this little melodrama would play itself out, Levi settled more comfortably in his leather executive chair and closed his eyes to focus on the intruder. The stranger identified himself and Levi nodded. Yes, yes. It made sense now. “He’s your son. Clayton or Clay? Nelson.” At the choked sound, Levi opened his eyes to see that Troy Nelson had gone chalky white, but his eyes still called him everything except honest. “He was murdered in Louisiana.”

  Nelson nodded and his lips thinned into a straight line. Levi knew the game. Nelson wasn’t going to give any information because he thought Levi had researched him online and was trying to pull a fast one.

  “Your son’s energy is powerful.” The image in Levi’s head changed and he found himself looking at a compass. The young man held it in his palm and pointed at the N. Trepidation chilled Levi’s heart and it was his turn to clear his throat of nerves. North. True north. A personal and private reference
to Trudy. Okay. So, the kid had his full attention. Now what?

  “You know who killed him?” Nelson gripped the chair arms and leaned forward, his eyes shining with hope.

  “No.” Levi reached for a pad and pen and offered them to the man. “Your son is showing me things and you might want to write them down. You can hand it over to the New Orleans police and they can decide to file it in the round file or their case file.”

  Nelson took the notepad, glanced at Gonzo again, and then clicked the pen, ready for action.

  “Here’s how this works,” Levi said, settling back in the chair. “I’m going to give myself over to your son’s energy, which means I’ll step into his memories. No matter what’s happening, don’t be alarmed. Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine.” He looked at Gonzo and received a steady, assuring nod from his friend. “Good. Here goes.” He leaned his head back against the chair rest and closed his eyes.

  Scenes and blurred images sped through his mind like a film on fast-forward and he winced as pressure grew in his temples. “Okay. Okay! Slow down.” He felt the weird looks from the other two men, but dismissed them. He was used to it. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated solely on Clayton Nelson. “Take it easy, Clay. I’m only mortal. Now, show me.”

  Images flashed behind his eyes like photographs, one after the other in rapid succession. He pieced them together and then they started to flow as he slipped inside Clay’s skin and found himself walking beside a highway. Cars and trucks whizzed by. And then one slowed and pulled over, out of the traffic lanes.

  “I feel that we’re near New Orleans, but I’m not sure of the highway. A guy in a red Dodge double-cab pickup has stopped. He lets Clay get into the cab. Air-conditioning. Thank God. It’s sticky hot outside. The man is middle-aged. He’s wearing Wrangler jeans, a black Polo shirt, a black baseball cap with a white Nike logo on it, and Ray-Bans. Mr. Brands.” Levi chuckled along with Clay. “He asks if Clay knows anything about truck engines. Nope, sure don’t. Not a fuckinʼ thing, Clay tells him. Mr. Brand says the truck’s brakes are spongy and a light is blinking on the dashboard. He pulls over and gets out to raise the hood. Comes back and gets a wrench from behind the seat. He works on the truck a minute and then asks Clay to give him a hand. He wants Clay to reach down where some wires are and see if he feels any that are disconnected. Clay does and the man hits him over the head with the wrench – once, twice.” Levi sucked in a breath as the pain in his head exploded, sending hot tears to his eyes. He realized he was gripping the chair arms so tightly that his knuckles popped.

  Concentrating on slow, steady breaths, Levi waited for the pain to subside before he continued. “Now we’re in a basement. Concrete floor. A big drain. Clay’s hands are cuffed behind him and his ankles are shackled. He’s naked and terrified. Mr. Brands is there, standing in front of him, smiling. He grabs Clay by the hair and spits in his face.”

  The terror and pain overwhelmed him for a few moments, making it impossible to speak. The scene being transmitted to him grew dark and ugly – and horrifically painful as Mr. Brands sodomized him with a fireplace poker. Levi shifted and squirmed in the chair as Clay’s screams of agony crashed over him. In a reflexive bid for self-preservation, Levi mentally shoved the images away from him – back, back, back to a dark corner – and swallowed a sob as tears leaked from his eyes.

  “That’s enough.” Levi spoke to Clay and his voice was rough with emotion. He squinted at Nelson and Gonzo. They both leaned forward in their chairs, their eyes wide and mouths slack. “Give me a minute, please.”

  “Is there more?” Nelson asked.

  “Yes.” Levi massaged his temples. “I just need . . .” He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. “It’s traumatic. For you and for me.” He shoved back from the desk and went across the spacious office to the sideboard where he kept bottled water and soft drinks in a mini-fridge. “Would either of you care for something to drink?” He glanced over his shoulder to catch their refusals. “I’m having some water.” He uncapped the bottle and tipped it up, letting the cool liquid soothe his burning throat and wash away the taste of blood, vomit, and semen that had coated Clay’s mouth.

  After another sip, he felt calm enough to resume as he sat down behind his desk again. “I don’t know how much you were told about Clay’s murder, Troy.”

  “We know some of it from his remains. Tell me what you think you know.”

  Levi fashioned a half-smile at the man’s wording. Still a skeptic, but who could blame him? He’d come here to bid on a project, not discuss his son’s murder. “Clay was raped with a poker and then his skull was bashed in with a sledge hammer. He was orally raped while he was dying.” He said the words quickly, but they still were like knife slashes in his head and on his heart. He could only imagine how devastating they must be for Clay’s father. “He’s one of the victims of the salvage yard serial killer.”

  Nelson’s lower lip trembled and tears shimmered in his eyes as he nodded once. He cleared his throat again. “We were never told what instruments were used on him.”

  “It’s highly likely that the medical examiner and police weren’t sure. I am sure. The murderer called him names,” Levi continued, wanting to get it over with and unburden himself of the information Clayton Nelson had given him. “Hobo, bum, barfly, beggar, street trash, homeless homo. Things like that, which tells me that he’s picking up people he believes to be homeless, out of work, or transient.” Levi straightened the knot of his dark blue tie and jerked at the lapels of his navy suit jacket in a vain attempt to dispel the mental and emotional residue of witnessing a brutal murder. “I’ll tell you what I surmise as a psychologist.” Levi noticed Nelson’s confused scowl. “I have a master’s degree in psychology.”

  “Oh.” Nelson’s blond brows shot up in surprise. “I would have thought you’d have a business or engineering degree.”

  Levi nodded. “That would make more sense, but as you can plainly see now, I’m not one for conformity. From the glimpses I had of the killer, he feels superior to most people. He thinks that drug abusers and transients serve no useful purpose and litter the streets, taking up space, making cities dirty and more dangerous. And they won’t be missed when he kills them. Of course, he’s a psychopath, but he probably has narcissistic tendencies, too. I saw what Clay saw and the man is in his late forties to early fifties. He wore a baseball cap and glasses so that Clay couldn’t see much of his face. He had a black mustache – a fake one. He was disguised. I saw no tattoos or distinguishing scars. All I know is that he has brown body hair, he’s about five feet-eight-inches tall and weighs around one-eighty. Had a spare tire around his middle. His voice was resonant and his speech was cultured. He’s well-educated. Probably a professional of some kind. He drove a late model Dodge double-cab truck. Red.”

  Nelson looked up from writing on the pad. He’d filled four pages of it. “That’s a lot of information. I’m definitely giving this to the police. Do you mind if they call you?”

  “No, but I doubt if they will.” Massaging his throbbing temples again, he closed his eyes and saw Clay. A smiling, waving Clay. He couldn’t hear him, but he read the young man’s lips. “Clay is fading . . . but he wanted me to tell you that he loves you and his mother and his sister Courtney. Did you have a dog? A Beagle mixed mutt?”

  “Yes! Snoopy. We got her when she was a pup. She was Clay’s first dog and he named her. She died at Christmas time last year.”

  “She’s with Clay.”

  “Huh?”

  “The dog is with your son.” Levi held his hands out, palms up, in a helpless gesture. “It happens. Animals we loved here join us there.”

  “Where? In heaven?” Nelson asked, his eyes now glittering with unshed tears instead of suspicion.

  “I suppose. Wherever he is, he’s at peace and he’s glad to be there. He’s smiling. Laughing, even. Goofing around with the dog.” Suddenly, like a switch being flipped, Clay’s energy was gone. Levi drank more of the water and wa
s glad the session had ended. For now, anyway. “As I said, this is highly irregular for me, but your son wouldn’t be ignored.”

  “He had a strong will,” Nelson said. He tore the pages from the notepad and then placed it and the pen back on Levi’s desk. “I don’t know what to think about this, but thanks. Clay was my only son. He started taking drugs when he was in high school. He played in a band and barely graduated. Two weeks after graduation, he told us he was going to travel with his band and play in different cities. We saw him one time after that. He came home at Easter three years ago and he didn’t look good. He’d lost weight and he said the band had broken up. We tried to get him to stay home with us, but he lit out again in the middle of the night.” His bottom lip trembled again and he ran his hand across his mouth.

  Levi nodded, recalling how he’d read about the discovery of the salvage yard murders around Christmas and had mentioned it to Trudy. Maybe that had been a premonition.

  Troy Nelson got to his feet and extended his hand. “Thanks. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Do you usually get money when you do a – would you call it a reading or séance?”

  It was Levi’s turn to be uncomfortable. “A visitation and, yes, I am usually paid, but not for how this just happened and not when I’m consulting with law enforcement.” He shook the man’s hand quickly. “You’ll hear from Jason Alexander about the bidding process.”

  “Oh. Right. Thanks.”

  After Gonzo walked Troy Nelson to the elevator, he returned to Levi’s office, which is what Levi had expected him to do.

  “Jesus, Wolfe! That was total animal crackers!” He plopped back down into the wing chair again, his big, muscled body completely filling it. He sent Levi a round-eyed look of disbelief. “I’m shocked as shit that Troy took it as well as he did.”

  Levi rubbed his forehead, wearily. “And just what the fuck was I supposed to do? The kid was stomping around in my head. I couldn’t hear a damned thing except for him yelling! I tried to shut him up, but he was going to be heard.” He blew out a breath and finished off the bottle of water. “I wish it wasn’t the middle of the day and I didn’t have more meetings this afternoon. I could go for a whiskey, straight.”