Through Her Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 4)

by Deborah Camp

  She turned her cheek to rub it against him. “You’re talking about Forté slipping inside my head.”

  “That and your ability to summon A.J.’s consciousness when you wanted to and when you knew that wedding ring Forté showed us at the séance belonged to Rodie Dupree. I’m the one who has psychometry. But it seems that you’re able to touch things and derive information from them, too.” He ran a hand over her hair, his fingertips combing through her bangs. “How long have you been able to do this, Trudy?”

  “I can do it sometimes. Mostly with mugs shots. I get mental flashes of what the people in the photos have done. That’s why I’m no good at looking at pages and pages of mug shots. Those people all did something bad and it all runs together for me. Makes my head feel like it’s going to explode. It’s better if I’m given a few and try to figure out who did what.” She shrugged. “Anyway, when I held that ring, I got an image of the detective. It was just an instant, you know? So, I didn’t dwell on it. Didn’t even recall it happening until I noticed that Dupree’s ring finger had a pale line where a wedding ring used to be.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “Spooky.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back so that he could meet her gaze. “Quit being afraid of yourself. You’re gifted, baby. Incredibly, wonderfully gifted. Don’t run from it. Learn from it.” He bent his knees a little to be level with her eyeline. “That’s why I was determined to go to England and enroll at Findlay. I wanted to know what I could do and how to master it. Your fear comes from not understanding what’s inside that fantastic mind of yours.”

  His belief in her was staggering and it made her heart quiver. It was time, she thought. Time to let him show her how to fully confront the mind’s eye within her that kept opening wider and wider to allow her to see more and to do more.

  “I’ve been playing tug-of-war with myself over the whole Forté-taking-over-your-thoughts thing,” he said. “I’ve never come across that before.”

  “You haven’t?” Alarm shot through her. If Levi had never heard of anyone having such an experience – Levi Wolfe, with his master’s in psychology and his degree in parapsychology – didn’t that make her a true oddity?

  “No.” He gave her a little shake. “Stop looking as if I’ve told you that you’re going to grow an extra head in a few days. I’m not saying you’re unique. I just haven’t known anyone personally who experienced it. Part of me – a big part, I might add – wants you to shut the bastard out of your head if he tries it again. But, the academic and detective part of me thinks it might be useful because he could inadvertently show you something that can help us.”

  “I don’t want him butting into my brain, either, but I see your point.”

  “Let’s go to the salvage yard tomorrow and see if we can’t pick up some psychic vibes there.”

  “Psychic vibes?” She grinned at him. “Is that a professional term?” When he grinned back at her, she sighed, glad to see that the storm clouds had left his eyes and he was back to being her Levi again. She captured his hands and started walking backward to the bedroom, pulling him along with her.

  “What about the pizza or pasta?” he asked.

  “Let’s go to bed. We can always eat later.”

  He made a lunge for her and she squealed. They were laughing when they both tumbled onto the canopied bed.

  Chapter 17

  The sun was still shining, but a dark bank of clouds hung on the horizon and distant thunder rumbled occasionally as Trudy followed behind Levi along the sidewalk that fronted J.S. Salvage Yard. He reminded her of a bloodhound, alert and searching, using every sense. They’d already been inside the yard and had examined the area where the bodies had been and now they were scouting outside it.

  Her thoughts eased away from bodies and murder and focused on Levi’s sexy stride. He walked like the confident man that he was. Straight-shouldered, limber-hipped with long strides. He carried a black folded-up umbrella in one hand. The breeze, which was picking up, had ruffled the black waves of his hair. It was a good look with his black jeans, black t-shirt, and black leather jacket. His boots were black, too – naturally. When he wore black, he was in his element.

  He was a sharp and stylish dresser, but when it came to color, he gravitated to shades of black and dark blue. Period. She’d teased him that his color choices matched her pet name for him – Mr. Moody Blues. He’d replied that black, gray, and dark blue were serious colors, and before she’d entered his life, his world had been mostly business and monochromatic.

  Boring and dull. That’s how it sounded to her. It was her mission to add more color to his life – both literally and figuratively.

  They’d pulled even with the area where the bodies had been buried and Levi stopped and stared at the place inside the fence. A lot of the salvaged cars and other items had been removed from the yard. The place was under new ownership. Sadness stole through her as she recalled photos of the victims and the pain their loved ones had endured. How horrible for someone’s remains to float free . . . she sucked in a breath as a realization sizzled through her like the lightning on the horizon.

  “What?” Levi asked, turning to face her.

  “We’re stupid.”

  “We?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, feeling like a buffoon. “We’ve been thinking about this like people who are used to living in Oklahoma and Georgia.”

  He arched a brow, waiting for the rest.

  “But we’re in New Orleans where they bury their loved ones above ground because the water table is high here. I mean, we’re standing on top of a swamp.” She cocked her head to one side and enjoyed seeing the light bulbs flicker on in his blue eyes.

  “No basements.”

  She nodded. “No basements in New Orleans. The place they took them might look like a basement, but it couldn’t be.”

  He tipped his head back and stared at the scudding clouds, then he glanced around. “Right, some places have street-level garages with room attachments that act as basements. Then the second floor is the entrance to the house. I know there is a drain in the floor and the ceiling had beams.”

  “But there was a bed or cot in it, right?”

  “Yes. A bed. It was sturdy. Bed frame and mattress and springs. There are other things there. A couple of ladder-backed chairs. A post in the middle of the room. Some of the victims were handcuffed to it.” He turned in a circle. “I just feel that it’s nearby. Convenient. That’s why they buried the bodies here.”

  “Okay. Let’s walk and see if we sense anything. Pick up any trail at all.” She linked her arm in his and started to walk. They set off at a slow pace. “We’re going to get rained on in a few minutes.”

  “Not to worry. I have the umbrella. You won’t melt, sugar.”

  She sent him a quick smile before narrowing her focus to catching any echo in the atmosphere of desperation, stealth, death, or twisted, manic satisfaction. They walked one block and then two before the first raindrops splashed on them. Levi opened the umbrella and positioned it so that it covered all of her and most of him. By the fifth block, the rain came in sheets, and Levi slowed their pace until they were at a standstill.

  Leaning forward a little, Trudy peered at him. His eyes had darkened to almost black and his brows formed a deep V above them. Intensity radiated from him and the air seemed to grow more turbulent, bristling with static electricity. She looked around, trying to catch whatever he was sensing. Faintly, something acrimonious slid through her like a treacherous germ left over from an epidemic disease. Her stomach clenched, rejecting it, even as her mind grasped it.

  “We’re near . . . something,” she whispered.

  His hand covered hers on his arm and gave it a squeeze. His skin was hot – like he had a fever. She realized that, what she’d thought were raindrops, were actually beads of perspiration that had formed on his forehead and upper lip. He was in a fever, all right. A clairvoyant one. He narrowed his eye
s until his lower lashes kissed his upper ones and gazed into the distance. Everything around them seemed to still for a few moments – even the rain and the crack of lightning – and then it all broke loose again. Rain pounded the umbrella, mixed with small pellets of hail, and bright lightning scarred the sky.

  “This way,” Levi said, and pulled her with him in a jog.

  Clamping both hands around his bicep, she just managed to keep up, taking two or three steps to his one. Her boots splashed in puddles, dousing her lime leggings with dirty water all the way to the knees. Wind blew the rain diagonally, sending it right at them under the umbrella and her lime, gray, and yellow printed blouse clung to her skin. If Levi felt the soaking rain and stinging hail, he paid it no attention. His sole focus was on something up ahead. He skidded to a stop in front of a waist-high, chain-link fence. Trudy pressed her body close to him and under the umbrella he still held aloft, even though the wind was trying to rip it from his grip and the rain was sneaking underneath it.

  Through the watery wall, Trudy stared at a house with a garage on the first floor and a set of steps leading up to a second-story porch and front door. White boards crisscrossed the windows and barred the front door. Grass and weeds grew knee-high. A message had been painted in red across the garage door: Nothing Left Here to Steal, Assholes! A black sign with yellow lettering hung on the gate: No Trespassers. Private Property.

  “This is it.”

  Levi’s voice sounded so strained that her gaze swept to him. His eyes glistened with tears and his breathing was hitched, ragged.

  “I can’t go any further,” he whispered. “It’s . . . too much. Too many souls have been torn away in there.”

  Her stomach churned and her vision blurred to black for an instant before clearing again. Trudy swallowed the coppery taste that invaded her mouth. A bloody taste. Yes. This was it. Evil hung over the place like a shroud. She looked in the direction they’d come, mentally retracing their hurried steps. Nine blocks to the salvage yard. A quick car ride. Hardly anyone around to notice or care. Drive right out of the garage with the body. She looked at the neighboring houses. One was partially burned down and the other was boarded up. No one to see. No one to hear. No one.

  She wrapped her arms around Levi’s waist and pressed her wet cheek against his wet jacket. A chill blew through her that had nothing to do with the weather. His arm came around her back and shoulders.

  “Those souls are the ones attached to Forté now.” She felt him gather in a lungful of air and release it in long sigh.

  “Yes. I suppose so.” He let go of her to unzip his jacket pocket and yank his cellphone from it.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Dupree.” He punched in a number, cleared his throat, and brought the phone flush against his ear. “Hey. Yeah. We’re standing outside a house and I’m as close to certain as I can be that this is the place they brought the victims to torture and murder them. Can you get here now? Okay.” He held Trudy’s gaze as he gave the address to the detective.

  ###

  That morning they’d moved to their new digs. Wanting to stay in the French Quarter, they’d managed to book a place in the Audubon Cottages on Dauphine Street. Cottage #1 was their new hangout. Levi had secured it for two weeks. Being optimistic for a change, he’d said that they would probably not need it for the whole two weeks, but they could use the extra days for a bit of a vacation.

  The unique amenities consisted of seven separate cottages, some with private courtyards and some with shared ones. Theirs was shared with Cottage #7. The cottages surrounded an outdoor, heated, saltwater pool, which the staff said was the oldest in New Orleans.

  Their cottage had a bedroom, bathroom, sitting room, and living room. It was a cozy, upscale place that included a butler for the guests. Levi had taken it all in with the swift nod and a “this will do” of someone accustomed to such amenities. Trudy had “oohed” and “aahed” and profusely thanked Sean, the butler, for everything he did or offered to do, like someone who was not accustomed to such amenities.

  They stumbled into their new abode and peeled off their wet clothes as they headed for the shower. Afterward, they slipped on the complimentary bathrobes that had been hanging in the closet when they’d arrived earlier that morning. Trudy curled her legs under her on the sofa and towel-dried her hair. Levi grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and drank half of it. He checked his watch. Dupree was supposed to call and let them know what, if anything, they found in the house near the salvage yard. After Dupree and a couple of uniformed officers had arrived and did some preliminary checking of the property, Dupree had called for a forensic team while Bonifay ran down the owner of the property and obtained the necessary search warrants. There was nothing Levi and Trudy could do at that point, so they’d trudged back in their sodden clothes to their new “home.”

  “I think there was so much in the house for forensics to gather that it’s taking longer to get back to us,” she said.

  “Even if they were incredibly careful, they must have left some trace evidence.”

  “They’ll find something.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Come here, please. Relax a minute.”

  He set the water bottle on the coffee table and flung himself onto the couch, swinging his legs up onto it and resting his head in her lap. “Good idea.” He closed his eyes. “I have a headache.”

  She massaged his temples. “We’ve already had quite a day, haven’t we? What time is it?”

  He held up his arm to peer at his wristwatch. “Almost one.” He shifted, a frown flitting across his features, and shoved his hand into his trouser pocket for his cellphone. He looked at the small screen. “It’s Dupree.” He answered the call, putting it on speaker. “Hello. Have any good news for us yet?”

  “Forensics is still here. This will take a while. We have prints and hair follicles. Lots of trace evidence to go through. Which means we could be analyzing stuff for weeks.”

  “He wore gloves, so those prints probably belong to his victims.”

  “The house is owned by the city.” Dupree’s chuckle was dry. “Abandoned, so the city took it over and it hasn’t gone up for auction yet. Anyway, I’m on my way to headquarters. Can you meet me there? We have some photos of construction workers we’d like for you to look at.”

  “Yes. We’ll see you there shortly.” He disconnected the call. “The trace evidence will help make the case, but like Dupree said, it will take time to sort through it all. Want to go with me to the police station?”

  “Looking at photos of men in hard hats. How could I possibly resist?”

  “Gives us an excuse to be at the police station anyway. More evidence could come in while we’re there. I’d like to talk with Dupree.”

  “Why? Do you think he’ll be more congenial? More forthcoming now?”

  “Maybe. He has definitely thawed out around us.” Reaching into his jeans pocket, he withdrew the key fob security signal. “Remember this? Where’s yours?”

  “In my purse.”

  His frown was one of censure. “Clip it on the outside of your purse, or better yet, on your belt loop. Things are heating up on the case now. We both need to take precautions. I’m serious about this, Trudy.”

  She knew that look and she knew that tone of voice. He was in his ruff-bristling protective mode, reminding her of his “spirit animal” – the wolf. “Okay. I will clip it onto my belt.”

  He sat up. “I’ve programmed them with our cell phones, Bonifay and Dupree’s numbers, and Gonzo’s number.”

  “Yes, sir!” She pointed a finger at him. “And no more fistfights in alleys! I’m serious about that.” Eyeing the bruises on his jaw and cheek, she frowned at him.

  “I don’t plan on going a round or two with Dupree or Bonifay,” he rejoined, grinning.

  They put on fresh clothes, blow-dried their hair, and Levi downed a couple of aspirin before they headed out. The police station was a short drive from the Audubon Cottages. W
hen they arrived, they were directed to Dupree’s domain – a cluttered desk in the middle of a large room full of cluttered desks. He sat hunched over a keyboard. Clunky eyeglasses aided him as he peered at the computer screen. Sensing their approach, he glanced over his shoulder and removed the glasses. He stood and shook their hands.

  “Hey, thanks for coming by. I know y’all had an upsetting morning. But you did good work. That place is definitely the murder scene.” Shoving the glasses into his shirt pocket, he motioned them to walk with him. “We’ll go to one of the interrogation rooms. Alice will join us in a minute. She’s finishing up a phone call.”

  The gray walls and dark gray tile floor in the small room he led them to were stark and boring. Nothing to see here, so you could focus on the task at hand. Dupree brought with him a red file folder marked “NOPD.” He opened it and patiently arranged ten photos on the table top.

  “Take a gander at these, Wolfe, and tell me if you recognize anyone.”

  Levi didn’t even bother to sit down. He glanced over the photos and immediately tapped one with his forefinger. “That’s him. That’s A.J.”

  “Same guy who you fought in the alley?” Dupree asked.

  “Same one.”

  A knock sounded on the door before it swung open to let Alice Bonifay join them. “What’d I miss?” she asked.

  “Wolfe says this is him.” Dupree picked up the photo from the others and handed it to his partner.

  Trudy looked over Bonifay’s shoulder at the image of a long-faced man in his late twenties or early thirties. It was odd to finally see him after being privy to his thoughts and actions. His black hair stuck out from under his yellow hard hat and curled over his shirt collar. He sported a black mustache and closely cropped beard. The photo had been taken a few feet from the subject. Trudy checked out the others. They’d all been snapped covertly with a telescopic lens so as not to tip off anyone.

  Bonifay flashed a grin. “Bingo. His name is Ashton Jeremy Kind.”

  “A.J.,” Levi said.