Deadly Readings

by Laura Bradford

  He couldn’t ignore the discrepancy he saw. The majority of the fortune-teller’s clients seemed to be tourists, yet each and every murder victim was a resident of Ocean Point.

  He heard whistling and looked up. A balding, heavy-set guy in his mid-thirties walked out of Madame Mariah’s, whistling. A smug smile pulled at the man’s lips. Whatever had happened with the fortune-teller had apparently made his night. Mitch took a few gulps of his second Yoo-hoo and watched curiously as the man walked by. The tune he whistled was familiar.

  Mitch strained to pick out the music. After a few more notes, he figured it out—“We’re in the Money.”

  He watched the man walk down the Second Street steps until he disappeared out of sight. Mitch shrugged and turned his gaze back on Madame Mariah’s door.

  11:05 p.m.

  “What a night,” Scott Levine said under his breath as he pulled his car key out of his pocket and inserted it into the car door.

  He wiggled the key and swore loudly. Wrong one. He held the ring up and tried to identify the correct key in the darkened alley. A noise from behind made him spin around.

  He saw the angry face, the arms raised in the air, the wooden object clutched in the tightened fist. Trying to duck out of the way, he tripped on the cola bottle beside his car.

  He struggled to his feet and looked up just as the piece of dark wood headed straight for his head. The pain he felt next was excruciating and he moaned in agony as he took his final breath.

  11:15 p.m.

  Standing over Scott Levine’s body, he could feel the overwhelming satisfaction that came with accomplishment. It had to be done. There was no other way.

  He bent down and pulled the piece of wood from the man’s forehead. He wiped off the wood with a wet cloth and looked around the deserted alley to make sure he had not been seen. Once he was certain he was safe, he bent down once again. With careful precision he extended the man’s index finger before placing the motionless hand back down on the pavement.

  11:50 p.m.

  Mitch grabbed his food wrapper and headed for the trash can on the other side of the boardwalk. He felt like a fool for wasting so much time. He had learned nothing, absolutely nothing.

  Except that bad publicity doesn’t always hurt one’s business.

  The sound of his cellular phone caught him off guard. He’d completely forgotten he even had it with him. He fumbled for the phone he had tucked away in the pocket of his shorts and flipped it open.

  “Detective Burns.”

  It was like a bad movie that wouldn’t stop. The now familiar words on the other end of the line were like a punch in the gut.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Tuesday, June 29

  9:25 a.m.

  She placed the bag of donuts on Sam’s desk and sat down. In her wildest dreams she could never have imagined the kind of upheaval she had witnessed at the police department that morning.

  “Good morning, Elise. To what do I owe this honor?”

  She looked up at her boss and shrugged.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

  “There’s been another murder.”

  Sam’s mouth dropped open, disbelief in his eyes. “When? Where?”

  “Last night. A few blocks from the boardwalk,” she said. “They found him lying next to his car.”

  She watched as Sam sat down and rested his head in his hands. He looked so tired and sad. She opened the bag of donuts in front of her and offered him one.

  “For me?” Sam asked.

  “Yup. I figured you could use a surprise. I’m just sorry it had to come with such horrible news.”

  “So am I.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a chocolate-covered donut. “Who’s the victim?”

  “His name is Scott Levine and he’s from Ocean Point.” She reached into the bag on the floor by her chair and pulled out a tall cup of coffee for Sam and a cup of hot chocolate for herself.

  “Scott? Man, I know him,” Sam said in disbelief. “He’s in my critique group.”

  “He was a writer too?”

  “Yeah, he was almost done with a mystery novel he’s been working on for over a year. He was positive it was going to be the one that made him famous.”

  She studied her boss as he spoke, trying to get a read on how close the two had been.

  “I’m sorry, Sam.”

  “It’s okay. We were in the same group but we didn’t really hang out together. Scott was kind of a tightwad.” He wiped a drop of coffee off his lip and continued. “He was one of those guys obsessed with money.”

  She was glad to hear they weren’t close. Somehow, the thought that Sam had been directly affected was more than she could handle right now. She took a quick sip of hot chocolate and selected a glazed donut for herself.

  “Hot chocolate?” Sam asked with a grin.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s almost July, Elise.”

  “Chocolate is never out of season.”

  They both sat in silence for a few moments, each deep in thought. Sam finally broke the quiet.

  “So how’d you find out about Scott?”

  “I stopped in at the police station this morning before I picked up the donuts,” Elise said. “I wanted to check the police logs so that I wouldn’t have to worry about them on deadline day.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Anyway, the station was just crazy. Everyone seemed to be in a panic, not knowing what to do or where to start. I pulled one of the interns aside and that’s when I found out about the victim. Apparently the medical examiner’s preliminary report indicates that the same type of weapon was used on Scott as the other three murder victims.”

  Sam set his coffee cup down and leaned forward in his chair.

  “I imagine the F.B.I. will be getting involved here soon. Four murders in as many weeks is usually the work of a serial killer. And it won’t be long after that before the big national news magazines start working our turf.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. The last thing she wanted was for a big-name magazine to come in and show them up.

  “Is there something that—”

  A knock at Sam’s door prevented the conversation from going any further. Debbie, the receptionist, stood in the doorway.

  “Yes, Debbie?”

  “There’s a call for Elise on line three. The guy says he’s the one who found the body last night.”

  Sam pushed his phone toward Elise and motioned for her to take the call there.

  “I’ll be right here if you need me,” he said reassuringly.

  She was glad Sam was there. Sitting in a classroom listening to a teacher talk about situations like this was not the same as actually being in the middle of it. She hoped his presence would keep her from screwing it up somehow.

  She picked up the phone and pressed line three.

  “This is Elise Jenkins. I understand you found the murder victim’s body last night, is that right?” Elise asked, smiling gratefully at Sam as he pushed a notebook and pen in front of her.

  She listened carefully to the voice on the other end of the telephone. The young man was obviously on a high, pumped up by the firsthand information he had.

  “You found him at eleven thirty . . . four blocks from the boardwalk . . . head wound . . .”

  She wrote quickly, trying to keep up with everything she was hearing.

  “His finger was what? Where were you when the police made that remark?”

  She saw Sam’s quizzical look and knew her last few comments had caught his attention.

  “Thanks so much for calling. Can I have your name and number in case I think of any further questions?” She jotted down the man’s information then looked up at Sam quickly. She mouthed a “wow” and rolled her eyes upward.

  “What did you get?” Sam asked as she returned the phone to its cradle.

  “This guy, Mark, said he found the body last night around eleven thirty. He was
out walking his dog at the time. He said the victim had a massive wound to his forehead. What’s interesting is he noticed that the victim’s right index finger was extended outward, as if he were pointing at something.

  “When the police arrived on the scene, he overheard one of them commenting specifically about the finger. Apparently the odd position of Scott Levine’s finger was exactly the way they found each of the other three victims.”

  “Wow is right.”

  “I just don’t understand why Detective Burns never mentioned the finger similarity after the other murders,” Elise said curiously.

  “More than likely they are holding that piece of evidence back as a way to weed out the real killer.”

  “Maybe. But now that I know, I’m going to ask Mitch about it and see what he says.” She stood and headed for the door. “If he asks me to keep it quiet though, I think we should honor that request.”

  “Absolutely. I want to see this nutcase caught as much as the next guy and I’ve been around the block enough times in my career to know that what we do can impact a case significantly. I want it to be in a positive way.”

  She marveled at his calmness. Most editors would be screaming at everyone to get out there and get the story. But Sam was a human first, an editor second. And it was why she had clicked with him immediately. “Well, I’m gonna get back to work now.”

  “Hey, Elise, thanks for the coffee and donuts,” Sam said. “I’m really glad you came here. You’re doing a great job.”

  When she returned to her desk she picked up the telephone and dialed the Ocean Point Police Department. She asked for Detective Burns and then waited.

  “Detective Burns.” His voice sounded distracted. He was under so much stress right now and she could hear it in his voice.

  “Hi, Mitch. It’s Elise. How are you holding up?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to catch this creep before another person has to die.”

  “I just got a call from the guy who found the body last night. He told me the man’s right index finger appeared to be pointing outward.”

  “Damn!”

  “He said he overheard someone in the department commenting that it was just like the other victims.”

  “Damn it!”

  “I take it that wasn’t meant for anyone else’s ears?”

  “No, it wasn’t . . .”

  “Don’t worry, Mitch, I won’t print it.”

  She could hear the audible sigh of relief from the other end of the telephone.

  “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, Elise. You’re truly a class act, you know that?”

  She could feel her face beginning to warm. “What could he have been pointing to?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve looked at the crime scene photographs over and over again trying to figure out what each of the victims could’ve been pointing to and it’s different in every case.”

  “Could the killer be posing their finger like that?” Elise asked. She moved her index finger around while they spoke.

  “I’ve thought of that. Maybe it’s a calling card,” Mitch said. “Very often serial killers leave a kind of calling card behind.”

  She stared at her finger as she stretched it straight out over and over. Maybe they weren’t pointing at all.

  “I’m looking at my finger right now. Maybe they aren’t pointing but rather using their finger to indicate the number one.”

  The complete silence that followed made her wonder if they had been disconnected. But just as she prepared to hang up she heard the sound of life on the other end.

  “This whole time I’ve been beating myself up over what each victim could have been pointing to, and never once did I consider that possibility.”

  “But what could number one mean?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll let you know when I come up with something.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks for the call. It feels good to talk to someone about this and you may have really helped me out with this whole finger thing.”

  She hoped so. He obviously needed a break.

  “You’re going to solve this, Mitch. I just know it,” she said softly. “Take care, okay? And I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “I hope so.”

  10:35 a.m.

  “One . . . one . . . one.” He looked down at his own finger and repeated Elise’s suggestion over and over to himself.

  It was funny how each body shot looked so different to him now. Finally free of the pointing idea, he could consider everything in a completely new light. He grabbed his recorder and turned it on.

  “Maybe the victims were trying to give some sort of clue as to who did this.” He grabbed the full body shot of the first victim, Susie Carlson. “But she was facedown. The medical examiner was certain she had not seen her attacker. And if he was right about that as I’m sure he was, then the victim would have been unable to leave a clue.”

  He pulled the list of suspects out of his wallet and unfolded it. His eyes lingered over each name.

  “I can cross Madame Mariah off the list because she never left her booth last night,” he said, lining through the psychic’s name. But just because she didn’t do it herself didn’t mean she couldn’t have hired someone else to do her dirty work. He rewrote the psychic’s name.

  The next person on his list was Daniel Johnson. He had seen him at the boardwalk last night. But so was the last person on his list—Chief Maynard.

  “He’s gotten his extra cops, so the motive would have to be wrong,” he muttered quietly under his breath. “But there’s still the humiliation he suffered at the hands of a psychic.”

  He crossed out the original motive and replaced it with a single word: Revenge.

  Elise’s voice raced through his mind, his words echoing hers. “One . . . one . . . one.” He looked again at his finger as he spoke, envisioned what he would mean if he used a gesture like that.

  “Oh, my God. Could it mean first? As in first pier?”

  It was as if he had been hit with a bucket of cold water. The file on Johnson and Associates he had requested sat on his desk, untouched. He flipped it open and began reading in earnest.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Wednesday, June 30

  8:15 p.m.

  It was hopeless. There was absolutely nothing worth watching on television. Sighing, Elise pushed the off button on the remote and watched the picture vanish into blackness.

  She was bored. And it was driving her crazy.

  She rested her head on the back of the couch and looked around the small family room. A painting of some sort would look so good to the left of the door, she thought. But she needed to go slowly, save a little money first. Unfortunately, patience had never been her strong suit.

  The large stuffed dog perched in the corner of the entryway brought an instant smile to her lips. The way Mitch had broken the plates one after the other was impressive. And in three quick throws, the stuffed dog had become her prized possession. It was a reminder of a happy time, and a hope for something special in the future with a very nice guy.

  She grabbed the paperback sitting beside her on the couch and willed herself to read it. Just because they had gone on the boardwalk together for a few hours did not mean anything was going to come out of it in terms of a relationship. She flipped open the book and began to read.

  Two pages into the first chapter the telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Elise?”

  “Yes?” she asked, straining to hear the hushed voice.

  “Elise, this is Madame Mariah.”

  Shocked by the identity of her caller, Elise dropped her book and sat straight up on the couch. Why was Madame Mariah calling her?

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I don’t know what to do. I’m very scared for my clients.”

  “Because of the three murder victims who had consulted you prior to their deaths?”

  “Four murder vi
ctims.”

  Elise tightened her grip on the phone and swallowed over the lump that appeared instantly in her throat.

  “Four? You mean you saw Scott Levine before he died too?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Tell me what happened,” she said. She wanted to know more, yet was fearful of what she would hear.

  “I tried to warn him that he was in danger. But he thought it was a joke, talked only about the money he had spent on the reading.”

  “Madame Mariah? Do you really see these things when you do a reading?” She knew her voice sounded childlike when she asked the question. But she had to know. It couldn’t be a coincidence any longer.

  “I have a gift of seeing the past, the present, and the future. In the vast majority of my readings I see good things . . . happy things. But these four people had such darkness about them that I feared for their safety. Sadly I was right.”

  The genuine sadness and concern in the woman’s voice was undeniable. She was obviously no more responsible for these murders than Elise was. Or else Elise was as naïve as her mother always said.

  “The police are working on this case around the clock and I really believe they will find the person responsible for these crimes,” Elise said, trying hard to inject as much reassurance into her voice as she possibly could.

  “I just feel so awful because they were all punished for their visit to me,” whispered the psychic.

  There she goes again, Elise thought. Why did she have to be so cryptic, so strange?

  “I don’t know what you mean when you say that,” she pleaded.

  “That is all I can see. I must go now.”

  “Thank you for calling, Madame Mariah.”

  She stared at the wall for a few moments, the receiver still in her hand. Everything was just so messed up. She hated not having any answers. She hated the fact that so many innocent people were suffering. But there was nothing she could do.