Through His Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 1)

by Deborah Camp

Watch out for the jaybird. Levi stared at Sinclair, excitement making him jittery and full of nervous energy as it always did when he knew – when he knew he was right. “I’ve identified him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Jay Yardley.”

  “Jay . . . the AP reporter?”

  Levi nodded. “It’s him. You need to bring him in for questioning. Search his place and you’ll find evidence.”

  “Let’s get back to the station and you can run this up the flagpole for Captain Phillips,” Sinclair said, his eyes wide and his movements suddenly jerky. “Yardley? Really? Hot damn. If this pans out . . .”

  “It will,” Levi said, his heartbeat returning to normal and certainty bringing him blessed peace. “Find him and arrest the son-of-a-bitch before he can kill another woman.”

  “Right. Come on. You can ride back with me.”

  Following him through the house and out to a black Camero Coupe, Levi folded himself into the passenger seat and glanced around the interior. The car smelled new. He grinned at Sinclair.

  “Nice ride.”

  “I’ve only had her two weeks.”

  “How does she handle?”

  “Like she’s on rails.” He gunned the engine.

  “Sounds good.”

  “What’s your chariot of choice?”

  “I’m driving a Jag right now. Leased. In Atlanta, I have a couple of cars. A fully restored 1937 Cord 812 SC Sportsman and a new Corvette Stingray.”

  Sinclair whistled. “You take your rides seriously, my man.”

  Levi grinned. “You gotta take something seriously. Why not cars?”

  Sinclair chuckled and gave the car the gas, smashing the speed limit and zipping around slower traffic because he was a cop and he could.

  Automatically, Levi reached into his inside pocket for his cell phone. He had to text Trudy and tell her . . . Check your cell phone. Gregory’s remembered directive sent a sliver of terror through him . . . almost like the kiss of a knife blade. The cell phone screen lit up. He had a text message. His finger shook slightly as he tapped the screen. It was from Trudy.

  You’re not here yet. Jay Yardley’s going to buy me a beer. Be back in a few.

  It felt like the blood in his veins ground to a halt. For a few seconds, he saw double and then his heart kicked and lodged in his throat. “Oh, no. Oh, Jesus, no.”

  “What?” Sinclair glanced at him with a worried scowl. “Goddamn, Wolfe! What’s wrong?”

  A sticky sweat coated him and his gut knotted. “Trudy is with Jay Yardley.”

  “She’s what? How? Where?”

  “Hell, I don’t know!” Then his fingers tightened on the phone. “Wait . . . wait. We can trace her through her cell! The GPS is switched on.” What the fuck was he doing talking cars and acting cocky when Trudy was . . . was . . . oh, Jesus. He had known something bad was going to happen . . . he’d felt it . . . and ignored it . . . and if she was with that sick fucker . . . oh, Jesus God no. “Let’s go, Sinclair! Floor this bitch!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Conch Queen Bar and Grill was dark inside and Trudy couldn’t see well enough to navigate, so she stopped just inside the door. Jay Yardley bumped into her. “Oh, sorry.” His hands came up to grip her shoulders and keep her from stumbling forward.

  “I’m blind, coming in here from the bright sunlight.” Trudy gave a short laugh. “I think there’s an empty booth over there.”

  “I see it.” Jay’s hands moved down her arms. He stepped to her side, gripped one of her hands, and pulled her toward the booth. He waited for her to slip onto the padded bench before he sat in the seat opposite her.

  Trudy released her pent-up breath, realizing only then that she’d been holding it as she’d waited to see if Jay would try to sit next to her or across from her. His hands brushing down her arms had sent a little alarm through her. For a few moments, she’d wondered if Levi had been right about Jay wanting to get her horizontal. But he’d done the right thing by giving her some personal space and she was relieved. She placed her shopping bags and purse beside her. A waitress came forward, arching her penciled brows.

  “What can I get y’all?” she asked.

  “Do you have Guiness?” Jay asked.

  “Sure do.”

  “I’ll have one of those.”

  “Make that two,” Trudy said. “It’s been years since I’ve had a Guiness.”

  “Then it’s high time for another,” Jay said, smiling to show off his dimples. “I’m glad we ran into each other. You’ve been shopping?”

  “Yes. I grabbed a few things. I was actually hanging around the police station waiting for Levi when I spotted you.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At the latest crime scene.”

  “Oh? I was at the station getting some info on that.” He shrugged. “The cops couldn’t tell me much. They’re no closer to catching the guy.”

  “Not so! I think they’re getting really close to making an arrest.”

  “Oh, yeah?” His arched brows rose and his hazel eyes gleamed with surprise. “From what I heard, they’re completely stumped.”

  She shrugged off his impression and leaned back to allow the waitress to set two beers on the table. A group of five or six people left the bar, all laughing and poking at each other.

  “Anything else?” the waitress asked, also leaving a bowl of peanuts in the shell for them to share.

  “That’s all for now. Thanks.” Jay looked at the woman from head to toe as she walked away and frowned slightly. He took a sip of the dark brew. “Seems like this guy you’re tracking is always one or two steps ahead of you and the police.”

  “It might seem that way from the outside, but the reality is different,” Trudy assured him. “We’re right on his heels. Get ready to write an article about his arrest, Jay.” The strong, cold beer reminded her of her college days when Guiness had flowed between her and her small circle of friends. Realizing that it was much quieter, she glanced around. Only two or three other people were in the bar now.

  Jay drank half of his beer in a few long gulps. Setting the glass down with a flourish, he pinned her with his hazel eyes. “So, you speak to the dead?”

  “No, that’s Levi’s territory.”

  “Well, that’s odd, because Dad said that you speak to my dear, departed mother.” His expression shamed her, calling her a liar.

  She bit her lower lip to keep from telling him to go to hell. “True, but that’s unusual for me. I’m normally in touch with the pervs.”

  “The what?” He craned his head closer to catch her words over the wail of Reba McEntire on the sound system. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

  “Pervs. Perverts.”

  He fell back in the booth and stared at her for a few seconds before taking another long drink of beer. “That’s what you call them?”

  “Yes, among other things.” She grinned and took a swig of the ale. “I share their thoughts and sometimes I see through their eyes when they – well, when they murder their victims.”

  He averted his gaze from her to stare thoughtfully into the Guiness glass. “That must be fascinating. Like watching a film.”

  Fascinating? A cold finger slicked up her spine. “A snuff film – and it’s gross to the max, believe me.”

  He examined his fingernails in the low light. “If you can see all of this, why haven’t you identified him?” His tone was pointedly bland as if he were trying hard not to sound too interested or . . . too smug? She rarely heard actual voices in her head – she heard words in her own voice or a modified version of her voice. But the cadence . . .his cadence set off alarms in her and amplified the heightened tension she’d felt all day.

  Trudy’s sixth sense quivered to life. Something had changed in Jay’s demeanor . . . something almost imperceptible, but her keen senses had caught it. Whose side was he on? This conversation was pissing him off, making him do a slow burn. She took note of the sheen of perspiration on his brow even a
s her own skin dampened under her arms and between her breasts. Yes, a storm was brewing and danger quivered in the air between them. She regulated her breathing and told herself to navigate carefully.

  “I can’t identify him unless he looks in a mirror or in some other reflective surface,” she explained. “I see what he sees – his hands . . .” Her gaze moved of its own accord to Jay’s hands and . . . yes, they were familiar. A sick feeling corkscrewed in her stomach. She swallowed the knot that formed in her throat as she forced her eyes back up. “Mostly I see the victims because that’s who he’s looking at.”

  “You see through his eyes,” Jay said, softly, pensively. “And you know what’s going on in his mind.”

  “Yes.”

  “That must be amazing.”

  Trudy sipped the beer, stalling as she decided how to respond to him. At first, she thought the lights had dimmed even more in the bar, but then she realized the dimness was internal. Someone was trying to delve into her thoughts. Was it Jay? Was he testing her? She resisted, needing to focus on the odd turn of conversation. Looking at him, she didn’t like the supercilious grin on his lips.

  “Amazing?” she repeated, determined to wipe the grin off his face. This wasn’t funny. She wasn’t funny. “No way, no how. They’re all the same, more or less. Sick and twisted, so whatever they’re thinking is totally crazy.”

  Jay’s lips curved into a V shape, but Trudy couldn’t actually call it a smile. There was no pleasure in it. It was more like a clownish sneer. “I’ve read about these men and a lot of them are geniuses.”

  Trudy rolled her eyes and released a sound of contempt. She was baiting him, goading him, she knew. But she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to strike out at him. “I’m sure they think they’re very clever, but they’re delusional. They’re insane, immoral, and depraved.”

  “If they are so delusional and depraved, how can they elude the police, you, and Levi Wolfe so easily?” Jay asked, his voice low and almost sing-song. His gaze flicked to hers and his eyes were expressionless, like a doll’s eyes.

  Shivers of fear licked down Trudy’s spine, making her sit up straighter. His lips pursed and his dimples disappeared as he waited for her to answer him. There wasn’t a shred of friendliness in his expression. Something was off . . . something depraved lurked in this man.

  Trudy cleared her throat. Her skin felt sticky, but she noticed that Jay wasn’t sweating anymore. He looked as cool and as slick as a snake. “They always get caught,” Trudy said, using every bit of her concentration to sound nonchalant. “In fact, I think they want to be stopped. It must be a terrible burden to carry around with them.”

  “Burden? What burden?”

  She lifted her gaze slowly to him, wise to his misstep by asking that question. Only someone with no conscience, no empathy would ask such a thing. “The burden of pure evil and multiple sins, of course.”

  Jay’s burst of distain struck her like a fist and it took everything in her not to flinch. His gaze intensified to the point that his pupils quivered and she felt the pressure of it in her mind. He was doing that! The realization stilled her heart for a moment and then it raced like a frightened, wild thing as she remembered this same feeling at Mallory Square. He had been there. He had been watching.

  “That is a simplistic way to view the world, don’t you think?” Jay asked, smoothly. “Good versus evil? Sin and redemption.” He scoffed. “It’s so childish. Like believing in angels and elves. People are far more complicated than that.”

  She finished the beer and set the empty mug down slowly. She hadn’t been careful enough and had sailed into dangerous territory with Jay Yardley. The boyish, affable man she’d walked into the bar with was gone. Something maniacal and predatory sat opposite her now and the fine hairs on her nape rose and quivered.

  “I believe there are people who are evil to their core,” she said, moving the conversation along on cat feet. “How could someone gouge out another person’s eyes and slit her throat . . . slash her breasts, cut off her nipples . . . and not be totally consumed by sadistic evil?”

  “How, indeed?” Jay flicked his fingers through the side of his hair in a gesture that was decidedly feminine – the way a woman would push back her long hair from her temple, except that Jay wasn’t a woman and his hair was too short to shove back behind his ear or over his shoulder.

  Intrigued, Trudy remembered a few minutes ago when he had held his hand out, examining his nails – not like a man, who would curl his fingers toward his palm. No. Jay had spread out his fingers, palm facing away from him.

  Staring at him in the low light, she imagined him wearing a wig and heavy makeup. He’d be pretty, she thought, her heartbeats increasing as a clamminess coated her skin. She was absolutely certain that she was chatting with Zelda and the Key West serial killer. A cunning, cold, calculating, murdering machine.

  Trudy looked away from him and grappled with her mounting fear. She knew that she was a terrible bluffer. Every emotion she experienced was usually stamped boldly on her face. She wouldn’t be able to camouflage her feelings for long. He would see. He would know.

  Her gaze wandered to the bar entrance. Could she simply stand up and leave? Once outside, would he chase her down or let her go? Or would he allow her to go outside? Did he have a knife or gun that he could draw and make her do his bidding?

  “How many of these men have you helped to put in their graves or behind bars?” Jay asked. He tipped back the mug and finished drinking the dark ale.

  Trudy watched his throat flex as one escape scenario after another played in her mind. She decided that excusing herself to go to the women’s restroom might be best. Once in there, she could call Levi and tell him to bring the police to the bar and arrest Jay. Feeling Jay’s expectant gaze, she realized he was waiting for her to answer him.

  “I’m thinking . . .” she said, stalling again. “I just started working with police on these cases, so I haven’t been involved with that many. I helped locate one other serial killer in Ohio a few months ago.” But this was the first time she’d had a beer with one, she mentally added.

  “An arrest was made?”

  “No. The police were closing in and he killed himself.”

  “I know the one you mean. He took out his wife, then his mother-in-law, his mother, his boss, his sister, and then himself.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Benjamin Andrew Elsworth,” he said, nodding. “I remember him well. But he was easy because he focused on people he knew. Why did the cops need you?”

  “He gave them the slip. I helped them find him again. They surrounded him, but then he shot himself.” She shifted uneasily, perspiration making her skin feel sticky. The air-conditioner was blasting and cooling the bar, but she was perspiring as if she’d been working out – or as if she was discussing murder with a monster. “You find serial killers interesting?” she asked, wanting to keep him talking until she could form a concrete plan.

  “Very interesting.” His smile was close to being inhuman.

  “Then you’ll be interested to know that Levi made himself famous by tracking down Vernon “Bud” Schneider. He murdered women in—.”

  “New York and Maine,” Jay cut in, nodding. “Yes, I read Wolfe’s book about that case. I believe the title was Soul Searching?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I wasn’t impressed. He certainly didn’t cover any new ground.”

  Under the table, she slipped her hand inside her purse and removed her cell phone. It was too big to palm, but she closed one hand around it to conceal it as much as possible.

  “Wolfe communes with the victims,” Jay mused. “That’s not nearly as interesting as what you’re able to do.” He crossed his arms on the table and leaned closer. “To hear their thoughts . . . to understand their purposes . . .”

  “Oh, I don’t understand them,” Trudy said, amazed that she could actually chuckle when her throat and mouth were as dry as dust. “They�
�re cracked and there’s no putting them back together again.” From his scowl, she knew he was growing tired of this game and so was she. Trudy motioned for the waitress and lifted her empty glass. “Another round, please?” She smiled at Jay. “That was so good, I’d love another one. My treat.” Then she glanced around and behind her. “Ah, there’s the restrooms. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” To convince him even more that she was returning and that her trip to the restroom was nothing to be concerned about, she patted her purse and shopping bags on the bench seat beside her. “I’ll leave my things here. Watch them for me, okay?”

  He nodded and she slipped from the booth, holding the cell phone low against her thigh and hoping he wouldn’t see it. Making her way to the corridor that gave access to the restrooms, she willed herself to move unhurriedly and not look back. She breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was a two-stall affair, the toilets to her right and a sink straight ahead of her. Lifting the cell phone, she pushed the button on the side and the screen lit up. She ran a finger over the screen, unlocking the phone, and pressed the “1” key to speed-dial Levi.

  Hurry . . . hurry . . . answer the phone, Levi . . .

  The door at her back was suddenly pushed forward with a force that sent her stumbling into the sink. Her cell phone slipped from her hand and clattered across the tile floor. Whirling, she saw Jay leaning against the closed door. He extended an icy smile.

  “Jay, what the hell are you doing?” Trudy said, managing to sound miffed instead of scared spitless. Her heart thrummed in her throat and her gaze moved of its on accord to Jay’s right hand. His fingers flexed around the hilt of a knife and a long blade flicked out of it with the touch of his thumb against a button. “Why do you have that?”

  “You know why,” he said, his voice soft, almost dreamy, more feminine than male.

  “Get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

  He shook his head and the dimples in his cheeks deepened. “You know what kind of women they were because you were with me, right? Pretty women who were too stupid to know it. They had perfectly fine tits, but they had to get them reshaped and make them bigger. They had good figures, but they wore ugly clothes that swallowed them or god-awful swimsuits they must have bought at Wal-Mart. No makeup or gobs of it. Their hair was tangled or wadded into a haphazard pony tail. Disgusting.” He dipped his chin, his eyes glinting as they took her in. “Do you always buy your clothes at Sears? Don’t you ever want to wear something high fashion . . . a designer’s dream?”