She sighed heavily and said, “She’s dead and she really wanted you to know that.”
A small tear glistened in Claire’s right eye. “I…I thought as much…but I wasn’t sure.” She stared at a space in front of her and tried hard to fight off any more tears.
Lynn reached over and grabbed Claire’s hand, “She wants you to find her…and something else she wants.” Lynn stopped talking.
Claire squeezed her hand, encouraging her to proceed.
“She wants you to find her killer.”
* * * * *
Trent Newman held on tightly to the steering wheel of his truck. His thoughts were jangled and fierce. Nightmares had been invading his sleep for too many nights lately. Fighting off sleep he struggled to maintain his composure and concentrate on what he needed to do.
I have to get this delivery made so I’ll have my alibi. I’ll just tell them when I left Landry this morning, everything was fine. I already had my paperwork, so I didn’t even go into the office; no one but me around; no witnesses. Besides, he justified, what motive would I have?
He smiled, thinking about it, so easy.
But then, his smile faded, but I need to decide what I’m going to do about Claire. She knows too much…and she’s getting too close to the truth.
Trent nodded his head approvingly as he formulated a plan.
First I make the delivery…and then I’ll go see Claire. When I get home, I’ll follow her wherever she goes. Maybe she’ll lead me to what she knows. And if she does, I’ll make sure she doesn’t tell anyone else…my sweet Claire. He shook his head sadly and then quickly his expression changed. Frowning, and if Jim Hoppes is with her, I’ll have to take care of both of them.
Trent glared menacingly at the road ahead, He knows too much about me already…and he doesn’t need to know any more…because if he finds out who I really am, he’ll put the whole puzzle together. Shaking his head, No, can’t allow that to happen. It’s been a secret for too long.
* * * * *
George Stanley and Marvin Hennessey sat across from each other in the break room at the state police office. Sipping coffee, George asked, “So, are you going home soon, or should Mary file a missing person report on you?”
“Cute, George,” Chief Hennessey replied. He took another drink of coffee before adding, “I called her earlier and said I would be home in time for supper.”
George raised his eyes in response and said, “And she believed that?”
Laughing, “No, she knows me too well.”
“She probably wonders why we even gave you a retirement party if you had no intention of retiring.”
“Do you want your money back, George?” Marvin smiled at him.
The door to the lounge opened and Trooper Clark Tomlinson spoke to both of them, “Got the results on the fingerprints. We got a match.”
Both men pushed away from the table and stood up hurriedly.
“What do you wanna bet he’ll be involved in other crimes?” Talking over his shoulder to Marvin, George walked down the hall quickly, eager to see the outcome.
“No bets,” Marvin responded quietly, rushing to keep up with the two younger men.
“Do you think it’s the same guy?” Officer Tomlinson asked both of his superior officers, turning from one to the other.
George shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Just wait. We’ll see soon enough.”
George and Clark reached the computer screen before Captain Hennessey and stood there just staring.
Marvin walked up behind them and peered over their shoulders, “What’s the conclusion? Is it our guy?”
George moved over so Chief could stand beside them, “I guess you could say it’s our guy, Marvin, but there’s something else you should see.”
Captain Hennessey moved in closer to read the computer screen, staring at it for the longest time before he said anything. “I see what you mean, George. We have a problem…a big problem.”
Corporal Stanley stood there with his hands on his hips, not talking, only looking at the screen.
Finally Clark Tomlinson broke their silence, “Okay, would you two let me in on this ‘problem’?”
Both men stared at him before Marvin finally responded, “Well, Clark, both George and I saw Trent Newman this morning, and according to the match, we are looking at the fingerprints of a dead man.”
* * * * *
Lynn, Claire and Jim sat around the kitchen table, sipping their coffee, waiting for nightfall. Earlier, Lynn had requested that they have a séance and see if Libby would come and give them more information on what to do next. Jim and Claire readily agreed to stay and participate in the séance.
Claire had already asked Lynn about the fingerprints on the knife and how they could belong to someone who was dead. Lynn explained that spirits had been known to leave what were called ‘imprints’ in the environment. These imprints could possibly include fingerprints, especially if the spirit wanted to leave an impression that she was still around and aware of what was going on in this world.
When asked about the blood on the knife, Lynn surmised that it could also be an example of an imprint. In fact, all of the signs left in the snow could be imprints, especially since they might have been left to symbolize a very traumatic act of violence.
Still digesting these disturbing pieces of information, Claire swirled the remaining coffee around in her cup, gazing down in it as if the pattern it was making would give her clues, like the tea leaves psychics sometimes use.
Lynn watched her and smiled, “Don’t bother, Claire. You can’t get information from coffee grounds.”
Claire looked at her in surprise, “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”
Lynn raised her eyebrows.
Claire abruptly recognized the intent of Lynn’s raised eyebrows, and with a wave of her hand, dismissed the question and went back to studying the grounds in the bottom of the cup. Staring hard, she gradually set her cup down on the table and said, “I keep thinking there’s something I’m missing on this case.”
Jim and Lynn sat quietly and waited.
Plunging ahead, Claire explained, “I feel like I should know what it is, but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just out of reach, frustrating me to no end.”
She glanced across at Jim, tapped her fingertips on the table, lowered her head, and fell quiet.
The three of them sat in silence once again until Jim cleared his throat and spoke up, “Actually, Claire, I was thinking the same thing. Have been since earlier today but I can’t figure out what it is either.”
“Maybe it will come through during the séance,” Lynn suggested.
Claire concentrated on the coffee cup again and remarked suddenly, “I think it has something to do with the description of the perpetrator.”
Jim’s cup was halfway to his mouth when she made this pronouncement. Stopping, he put his coffee back on the table and gaped at her. “I’ve been having the same thoughts!”
Lynn watched them both and said encouragingly, “Go on…talk about it…it might help if you compare notes. What is it that’s bothering you?” She waited and watched.
Claire started out slowly, “Well, I have the feeling that I already know this guy.”
She stopped as if thinking through what she wanted to say next.
“I haven’t seen a picture of him yet, but that’s just the feeling I have…that I should know him…,” her voice trailed off while considering the importance of what she had just said.
“Can you come up with any distinguishing characteristics? Do you see anything at all that has to do with his appearance?” Jim leaned in closer to the table and stared, waiting for Claire to respond.
After several agonizing seconds, she just shook her head, “No, nothing that just jumps out at me.”
Jim sighed and took another drink of his coffee, savoring the hot liquid as it soothingly passed through his sore ribs.
Impulsively he spoke up, “I’m thinking it h
as something to do with the last time I was here, Lynn.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I remember you telling me something about the guy that faked his own death in the fire several years ago. Remember that?”
Nodding, she indicated that he should continue.
“Well, I was thinking of that case earlier today when I was explaining to Claire about how you might be able to help us.”
“And…?” Lynn looked at him curiously.
“At that time you explained to me that the man was still alive but that the picture you were seeing was murky. You couldn’t make out any definitive physical details and therefore you couldn’t see where he might be.”
Lynn grew excited and replied, “Yes, I remember now. I knew he was still alive but I couldn’t make out his face.”
“Do you remember why you couldn’t see him clearly?” Jim waited breathlessly for her response.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I sometimes get obscure images and they’re due to a variety of reasons.”
“Like what?” Claire asked, interrupting Lynn, budding interest showing on her face.
“Sometimes I can’t see obvious features because the spirits themselves are not emanating enough energy to materialize.”
“But,” Jim interjected, “You told me the guy was still alive.”
“Yes, yes Jim I remember, but that wasn’t the case in the particular incident you were speaking about,” Lynn chided him. “Claire wanted to know why I might have obstructed views of people during visions and I was giving her some of the reasons.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
Lynn smiled at him and took his hand, “Follow me and let’s see if we can find out why you think it might have something to do with Libby’s murder.”
Claire flinched inwardly at the still-dawning reality of the statement.
Lynn picked up where she had left off, “Sometimes the image is unclear due to the very nature of the individual.”
Jim frowned and asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that sometimes I don’t get a very good picture of a person because he or she might look so much like everyone else that it is hard to see any distinguishing characteristics. Or…,” she hesitated.
“Or what, Lynn?” Jim looked at her expectantly.
Talking low, she responded, “It’s possible that the person could be disguising his or her identity.”
Jim removed his hand from Lynn’s and slapped it hard on the table, “That’s what I was trying to remember! You told me that and I had a picture in my mind of him physically disguising himself!”
“And that’s why it was so hard for me to see where he was at that time,” Lynn explained further. “If he was deliberately changing his identity, it would be difficult to determine his whereabouts as well.”
Claire remained unsettlingly quiet during this exchange, watching the two closely but not intruding into the conversation. Finally she asked, “What do you think this revelation has to do with Libby’s…case?”
She couldn’t bring herself to use the word ‘murder’ just yet even though she now grudgingly admitted to herself that it was true.
Why did I allow myself to get so personally involved! That’s what I was taught from day one—don’t get involved!
“It’s very possible that Libby’s killer is doing the same thing--intentionally hiding his identity through a variety of disguises,” Jim explained.
Claire stared intently and questioned him, “Do you think we might already know the person responsible for whatever happened to Libby?”
Jim gazed back at her for what seemed like an eternity before replying, “I don’t know, Claire, but I hope she plans to share that with us tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“A dead man, what do you mean?” Clark Tomlinson gaped uncomprehendingly at Chief Hennessey.
“The fingerprints belong to a man who has already been declared legally dead,” he explained. Marvin rapidly read through the information on the computer screen.
George Stanley read the same information and remarked, “I wonder how many identities this guy took on after he supposedly died.” He shook his head in disgust.
“One thing’s for sure, George, Mary’s not going to keep my dinner warm.”
Laughing, he responded, “Do you want me to give her a call and explain your absence on the first day of your retirement…save you from getting too much flak.”
“I appreciate it, buddy, but that’s my job. Your job is to start working backwards on Trent Newman until we find out where he’s been since he ‘died’ and what identities he’s been using in the meantime.”
Officer Tomlinson continued to watch the interplay between the two senior officers before offering “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can help me, Clark,” George replied, “I defer to your experience on computers and I’m sure you can speed the process along for us.”
“No problem, sir,” he answered, “I’ll get started right away.” Clark left the two men standing in front of the screen to answer the phone which was ringing in the background.
Chief stood in front of the desk, mesmerized by the information on the computer, “I’m still puzzled by one thing, George.”
“What’s that, Marvin?”
Chief Hennessey thought about the ramifications before replying, “Why did this guy put down Claire’s name on his resume as a character reference?”
Officer Stanley just gazed at the screen in response. He started to answer but was interrupted by Clark Tomlinson. “Didn’t you two just come back from Landry Trucking off highway 46?”
Marvin and George stared at him curiously before nodding in agreement.
“Did you talk to a man named Art Cane who works there?”
Again, the two nodded in unison.
“Well, his wife is on the phone and he hasn’t come home yet. She tried calling and no one answered at the office. She called us because she was afraid he might have been involved in an accident on his way home, and the sheriff had already told her there were no accidents reported in his jurisdiction.”
The two superior officers looked at each other.
“Ordinarily I would just tell her to wait until later before worrying, but since you were there today, I thought one of you might want to talk to her first.”
George pushed by Clark and quickly picked up the phone. He introduced himself and asked Mrs. Cane what he could do for her.
Listening to her story, he got a sick feeling in his stomach when he realized that her husband was a man of strict habits—he woke up at the same time every day, ate breakfast, went to work, arriving at 8:00 a.m. sharp, and never went anywhere after work without first calling his wife. Alarm bells started going off but he assured Mrs. Cane that they would check at the office and let her know as soon as they could.
Hanging up the phone, he glanced over and saw both Chief Hennessey and Officer Tomlinson staring at him.
“Something tells me this isn’t good.”
“Do you want me to dispatch an officer to Landry Trucking?” Clark Tomlinson asked and waited for an answer.
“No, Clark, let us handle it. Chief and I will go to the trucking company and check it out, but you can help us by continuing to dig into Trent Newman’s past—also delve into the dead man’s past and try to come up with more information that will tie the two together. It looks like they are one and the same since their fingerprints match, but we will still need all the evidence we can get our hands on to link them.”
Marvin grabbed his Glock, 9mm. and badge off his desk before walking out to a patrol car with George.
“You only thought you were done with those”
“Yeah and something tells me this is going to be a long night.”
* * * * *
In the small house in the middle of the woods, candlelight flickered in the front window, illuminating the darkness only enough for three shadowy figures to be seen seated
around a table.
“To our higher being, the one we call our God, I offer a prayer that You protect us from evil spirits. Do not allow them to come in; only allow those, whom we want to communicate with, to join us,” Lynn spoke aloud with hands open-palmed, lying flat on the table.
Claire and Jim sat on either side of her, their hands open too, resting gently on the table. They remained as still and quiet as possible, but both fought the urge to shift uncomfortably in their chairs, a reaction to the unfamiliar situation and the prayer recited by Lynn.
After several minutes of silence, Claire glanced over at Lynn and watched as her fingers started to move, first slowly, and then picking up speed, drumming a rhythm against the tabletop. Jim noticed the movement too and looked in astonishment as she raised her hands off the table and began making movements in the air.
They sat hushed as Lynn’s fingers flew. Finally Claire reacted and said, “Slow down, Libby, or better yet, can you talk to us while you sign?”
Jim just stared at Claire, amazed at her quick reaction and understanding.
Through Lynn, Libby responded in a halting, almost child-like voice, slightly nasal in quality, “Yes, I am Libby.”
“We are here to help you. What do you want from us?” Jim asked earnestly.
“Find me,” Lynn made the sign for ‘find’ and pointed to her chest to indicate she was talking in the first person.
“Where are you, Libby?” Jim and Claire both spoke in unison.
Fingers flew as the answer appeared.
Jim put up his hand and requested, “Please slow down. Tell us where you are.”
Again, fingers spelled out an answer to the question.
“P-i-n-e L-a-k-e, Pine Lake?” Jim asked intently.
“Pine Lake,” Libby meekly responded.
“Are you buried there?” Claire leaned forward, eagerly awaiting her reply.
Lynn’s hand went up and down in a movement for the word ‘yes’.
Saddened, Claire put her head down. Jim took her hand in his and said, “I promise you, Libby. We’ll find you.”
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