The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3)

by Sophia Martin

  The Plane and the Parade

  Veronica Barry, Book 3

  by Sophia Martin

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2013 Sophia Martin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Veronica Barry put leaflets advertising her French sections in each of the teachers’ boxes at Eleanor Roosevelt High, despite the fact that classes had let out a week before. The teachers would find the leaflets when they came in for the August in-service, and distributing them now meant Veronica could forget about them for the rest of the summer. Students often needed a foreign language, and most thought of Spanish first. She found that advertising with the teachers was one way to get the word out that French was an acceptable option, too.

  “Excuse me?”

  Veronica spun around and saw two police officers standing in the main office, which adjoined the mail room. “Oh,” she said, glancing at the front desk. Sandy wasn’t there—Veronica knew she wasn’t. Sandy had informed her fifteen minutes ago that she had to run an errand. No one else was in the office, actually, and Veronica didn’t know if any other teachers were on campus except for the one who taught summer school. “Um,” she said, stepping into the doorway between the mailroom and the office. She glanced at the desk again, wishing Sandy would somehow materialize. “May I help you?”

  The younger of the two officers, who had a crew cut, stood to the side, gazing at artwork displayed on the wall. His partner, a dark-haired middle aged man with a mustache, faced Veronica. “We need to speak to Principal Krasnova,” he said.

  Veronica grimaced slightly. “Well, she’s not in—I don’t think she’s been here all day, actually. Sorry.”

  “What is your name?” the one with the mustache asked.

  “Veronica Barry.”

  His partner jotted this down on a small pad of paper. “Do you know a student named Ivy Landis?” he asked, peering at her.

  Veronica shook her head. “I can’t say that I do.”

  “We found Miss Landis in the park next door, smoking. She says she’s supposed to be in summer school?” the first said.

  Veronica blinked at him. His tone was scolding. Did he think she was supposed to keep track of students cutting summer school? “Uh, alright…”

  He continued, “Apparently her mother says she’s allowed to come home early if she has a bad headache, but if she’s in the park smoking she doesn’t have a bad headache.”

  Veronica nodded.

  “What do you do when students cut class?” he asked pointedly.

  Veronica shifted on her feet. “Uh, well, I don’t really know—it’s not my area. I think the principal reports them to the SARB board…” Veronica paused as Officer Mustache eyed her. “Listen, I can show you where the summer school is being held—there’s only one teacher, you really should talk to him about this—” She walked past both of them and when she brushed Officer Mustache’s arm, she got an image of him fighting with his wife as he ate a bowl of cereal. Okay, she thought. He started his day off on the wrong foot. I guess he just needs someone to bitch out now. She opened the door that led outside and pointed across the courtyard. “You see that building with the big D on it? Summer school is in there. The teacher is Theo Peyton. Ivy’ll be his student.”

  “Well, we’re not going to follow up on this. You all can decide what to do with her for cutting class and smoking. I just thought someone should know,” Officer Mustache said.

  Officer Crew Cut, who had returned to looking at the pictures on the wall, turned to Veronica. He stood with his hand resting on the holster of his gun. “Are these confiscated pictures?” he asked, jerking the thumb of his other hand towards the wall.

  Veronica looked at the pictures. “No, those are art projects the teacher picked out for display in here.”

  “Well, I’m concerned about the gang colors.”

  Veronica looked at the pictures again. Most had multiple colors, but one was black and red. The officer seemed to be focused on that. “You’d really have to talk to the art teacher about that, and she’s not going to be back until August,” Veronica said. The picture looked like a kind of pinwheel in red and black. It didn’t scream “gang” to her.

  “What do you teach?” Officer Crew Cut asked, jerking his chin a little in her direction. Veronica began to wonder if she was being pranked. She was dating a detective, after all—maybe Daniel would pop out from behind Sandy’s desk in a moment. Still, they had talked about Ivy Landis, and she didn’t think Daniel had the time or the inclination to research the names of students enrolled in summer school.

  “I teach French,” Veronica said.

  Crew Cut glanced at his partner, and the older officer nodded, pursing his lips, the mustache bristling. “Why are you here today? Isn’t school out for the summer?”

  Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and arched her eyebrows. This was getting ridiculous. “I’m doing some prep work for when we get back,” she said, her words crisp.

  “Looks like another student’s out of class,” Mustache said, peering out of the office door across the courtyard. Crew Cut brushed past Veronica to have a look for himself, and Veronica’s vision blurred.

  ~~~

  Color rushed around her and then everything dimmed. She was climbing a stairwell a few feet behind Officer Mustache. The hand she placed on the metal bannister was square and hairy, and its arm was clothed in a navy blue, short sleeve with a patch on it. So this was Officer Crew Cut’s memory.

  The two of them exited the stairwell and walked down a grimy hallway periodically interrupted with apartment doors. Veronica’s host leaned in and pressed an ear to the door, giving her a clear sight of the number, 112. The gold coating on the plastic digits was peeling off. Veronica didn’t hear anything and apparently neither did he. He stepped back and gave his partner a shrug. Officer Mustache knocked heavily on the door.

  “Sacramento PD,” he said. “Open up, please.”

  No answer.

  They stood for a moment, then Officer Mustache repeated his knock and his call, adding, “We got a call about a domestic disturbance.”

  A faint sound came from the other side of the door, and the two officers stepped apart a bit, so neither one stood directly in the door’s path. Then came a cry and a thud.

  Officer Mustache gave Veronica a look and then took a few steps back, and Veronica’s host pressed himself against the wall, drawing his gun. “Open up!” he yelled in a deep masculine voice. “Sacramento Police!”

  The knob rattled and the door opened a crack. Veronica could feel her host’s heart pounding in his chest. She caught the brown eyes of a woman peering out of the cracked open door.

  “There’s no problem here,” the woman whispered. “You should go.”

  “Ma’am, I need you to open the door,” Veronica’s host said. “We need to ascertain that the environment is safe before we can leave.”

  The woman’s face crumbled and someone yanked her aside. The door swung inward and loud bangs erupted. Veronica had time to see the face of a Latino with a red bandana tied around his head before everything went black.

  ~~~

  Veronica’s head spun and Officer Mustache had her by the arm when the school office came back into focus. She closed her eyes and opened them again a couple of times, not meeting his gaze or listening to his questions. Things stopped spinning after a minute and she was able to stand up straight.

  “No wond
er you worry about gangs,” she said to Crew Cut. “Did he shoot you?”

  The officer stared at her and then looked at his partner. “Who? Him?”

  Veronica shook her head. “No,” she said. “The guy with the red bandana. In apartment 112. You both went there because of a domestic disturbance and he started shooting—man. Was the woman okay?”

  “What are you talking about?” Mustache asked. “Apartment 112?”

  Veronica nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I guess it was a while ago—you must have both been hurt. How awful.”

  Crew Cut fixed his eyes on her. He took a step closer to his partner. “Are you threatening us, Miss Barry?” His hand rested on his gun again.

  “What? No.” Veronica sighed. Okay, she told herself. You really have screwed up this time. She was getting too comfortable with the visions. Now when she came out of one she almost always had Daniel to talk to and she’d just tell him what she saw without a second thought. “I’m sorry, officers. That must have seemed really strange. I just… I just have…”

  They both stared at her.

  Crew Cut tapped his partner on the elbow. “Doesn’t Jennifer Garza live in 112 in that apartment complex on Broadway?”

  Mustache frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure,” the other said. “Miss Barry, are you referring to Jennifer Garza’s apartment?”

  Veronica widened her eyes. “I don’t know. There was a woman—” She stopped herself.

  Crew Cut raised his eyebrows at her. “A woman? You met this woman? Are you aware that Jennifer Garza has been affiliated with the Sacramento Norteños?”

  Something bothered Veronica about all of this, beyond the fact that she was stuck in this awkward situation. Neither of the men seemed to recognize the scenario she’d described. So that meant that instead of a memory, the spirits had probably shown her Officer Crew Cut’s future. Which was rare, and she figured they intended her to warn him about it. Of course, at this point he probably thought she was a crackpot.

  “Um, Officer…” she said to him.

  “Posey.”

  “Officer Posey,” Veronica said, trying to sound as sane and unthreatening as she could—she was pretty sure she sounded like she was talking to a growling dog, but that couldn’t be helped. “Have you ever been shot in the line of duty?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Again, Miss Barry, is that a threat?”

  “No, of course not. Have you been shot?”

  “No, and I don’t intend to stand here and listen to you imply that I’m going to—”

  “I’m not implying anything,” Veronica said. “Look, you should just call Daniel Seong, okay? The detective? He knows me. He can vouch for me. And for what I need to tell you.”

  Mustache said, “Detective Seong’s been on leave—”

  “Yeah, because he got stabbed,” Veronica said. “I know, I helped get him to the hospital!” They gave each other looks then. “Listen, he’s been back for three weeks, he’s on desk duty for a while but you can call him up right now.” They were still giving each other looks. Veronica wanted to shake them. “He’ll tell you!” she insisted. “You need to believe me. I’ve seen something that concerns you both. You’re both in danger.”

  Their eyes moved to her, and she could see by their faces they were not receptive, but she had to try one more time. “You’ll get a call about a domestic disturbance. You’ll go to this apartment, number 112. When the woman opens the door, she’ll tell you to leave, but you won’t. And then a man will start shooting. I think you get hit, Officer Posey. Maybe your partner, too.”

  “Okay, I say we take her in for questioning,” Mustache said.

  Officer Posey gave a nod.

  “Oh god,” Veronica breathed. “Look, you don’t have to question me at the station, I’ll tell you everything I saw right now.”

  “You saw this, but it hasn’t happened yet,” Posey said, raising his eyebrows. “And you say you’re not threatening us.”

  “I’m trying to warn you.”

  “Warn us?” his partner said. “That’s very noble.”

  Veronica closed her eyes and bowed her head. They were never going to listen.

  “So how exactly do you come by this information, anyway?” Posey asked.

  “Call Daniel Seong. He’ll tell you,” Veronica said, her eyes still closed.

  “Tell us what, exactly?” Posey asked.

  “That I’m psychic.”

  Chapter 2

  For a few minutes Posey and his partner, Donohue, deliberated over whether they should bring her to the station and finally decided to do so. When Veronica walked through the heavy glass doors into the initial waiting area, she was red faced and wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut. She could have talked to Daniel first, and he would have known how to warn the officers. When they passed into the main office area and Detective Lara Felsen, Daniel’s red-haired partner, strode towards them, Veronica willed the earth to open at her feet and swallow her whole.

  “Dispatch gave me your message, Officers,” Felsen said.

  So they had tried to contact Daniel after all. Just Veronica’s luck that the message would find its way into his partner’s hands. Felsen hated Veronica. It was a hatred that grew out of her own guilt—Veronica was the only one who knew for certain that Felsen had falsified evidence in a case some months before. Internal Affairs had even investigated her for it, but they closed the case for lack of proof. Veronica had a vision about it, however, and Felsen knew that she had. She knew that Veronica was psychic, and she wanted nothing more than to discredit her forever.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” Felsen said, gazing at Veronica with her tired hazel eyes. She wore her red hair in a tight twist today. It made her look more severe.

  “Detective Felsen, always a pleasure,” Veronica said. “Where’s Daniel?”

  “He had to run an errand over at the DA’s office,” Felsen said. She turned to the officers. “So what did she do, try to convince you she knew the location of a body or something?”

  Posey glanced at Donohue. “Something like that.”

  Veronica locked Felsen’s eyes with her own. “Detective, I know you and I have our differences. But this is not the time to play the usual games.” Felsen raised her eyebrows at her. “These men are in danger. I saw them get shot at, Detective. I think Officer Posey’s going to be killed.”

  Something moved behind Felsen’s eyes. Veronica watched her. Felsen knew that Veronica was the real thing. She knew that if Veronica said the men were in danger, they really were. Would she discredit Veronica, even though it would mean allowing that danger to unfold?

  Felsen turned her attention to the officers. “Why don’t you two tell me what happened,” she said, leading the three of them to a side room, designated with a sign as Interrogation 2.

  They all sat down around a table. Veronica clasped her hands together in her lap.

  “You know this woman, Detective?” Posey asked Felsen.

  “We’ve met before,” Felsen said, her words clipped. “Miss Barry was hoping to become a police psychic.”

  “That isn’t true. I have never asked to do that. I just—what was I supposed to do, pretend I never saw what I saw? Let someone innocent go to jail for murder?”

  That was a mistake. Felsen’s jaw tightened. Veronica had referred to the exact crime that Felsen falsified evidence for—and her fraud would have put an innocent man in jail for that crime.

  “We went to Eleanor Roosevelt High to talk to the principal about an ongoing investigation,” Donohue said. “But before we got there we did a drive around the park next door—it’s small. We found a student cutting class there…”

  Felsen raised an eyebrow. Donohue’s voice trailed off. Apparently Felsen didn’t think dealing with truant students merited her time.

  “We went to the school office and that’s where we met Miss Barry,” Posey put in.

  “We asked her about the student and then she started
talking about a shooting,” Donohue said.

  Veronica watched Felsen’s face. “What did she say exactly?” Felsen asked.

  “I could tell you myself, I’m right here,” Veronica pointed out.

  Felsen held up a hand and gave the officers a nod.

  “At first it sounded like a threat,” Posey said.

  “Unbelievable,” Veronica said. “I never threatened you.”

  “Miss Barry, please,” Felsen said. To Posey, she said, “Go on.”

  “I thought she was trying to imply that someone she knew would shoot us.”

  “Why would I do that?” Veronica demanded.

  “Miss Barry, please!” Felsen snapped.

  Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and thrust her back into her chair.

  “She said we’d been shot, or something, and something about apartment 112,” Donohue said. “And then after a minute she changed her story. She said we hadn’t been shot yet, and that she was trying to warn us. And that she was psychic.”

  Veronica clenched her jaw. As much as she hated the situation and wanted to slap all three of them, she still didn’t want these two officers to get killed. Why was it so hard for people to just listen to her? When they got the call to respond to a domestic disturbance at apartment 112, what would they do? Would they remember her warning? Maybe all they needed was to proceed with more caution, and maybe if they remembered what she’d said, they would do that. And then all this nonsense would be worth it, she supposed.

  Felsen, meanwhile, was nodding. “I see. So she changed her story midway. Typical con stuff. Adapting to try to better suck you in.”

  Well, if I thought maybe she’d put the officers’ safety above her need to discredit me, this proves me wrong, Veronica thought, eyeing Felsen. Her venom would kill more people than Evander Collins, the man she framed. And for what? Felsen had framed Collins to protect an undercover cop named Jimmy Totero who was investigating the Russian mob. Veronica and Daniel’s investigation exonerated Collins, but just hours after his release both he and Jimmy were dead. IA hadn’t been able to pin anything on Felsen. So why was she still so intent on destroying Veronica’s credibility? Just for revenge? Probably. Was she even considering the possible cost of these men’s lives?