"What'd you do?" Jasi asked.
Jessica briefly closed her eyes. "I called 911. Then I waited. I thought it was just her shed." The girl's voice filled with remorse and her eyes teared. "I had no idea that poor woman and that little girl were inside."
Brandon reached over and patted Jessica's arm. "There was no way for you to know."
Resisting a tug of jealousy, Jasi pulled a clean tissue from her bag and pressed it into the girl's hand. "Even if you had known, Jessica, there's nothing you could have done to save them."
"I almost sold my house after that," the singer admitted hesitantly.
"Because you didn't feel safe?" Jasi asked.
"I thought that whoever had killed Mrs. Foreman might, like, come back here," the girl confessed. "You know, return to the scene of the crime?"
Jasi could understand the girl's fear. Jessica's theory of the killer returning wasn't that farfetched. It was a documented fact that most murderers returned to the scene so that they could relive the crime. Sometimes they slipped into the crowds of curious bystanders who watched while the crime scene was processed.
"That's why the press didn't mention me," Jessica murmured. "I offered them interviews in return for keeping my name out of the papers."
"So that whoever killed Charlotte Foreman wouldn't see you as a threat," Brandon guessed.
The girl stood up suddenly, hugging her arms close.
Then she flicked her head toward the backyard.
"I haven't been able to go out back. You know―that was, like, the second fire here in one month."
Jasi glanced at Brandon. "Two fires in May?"
"Uh-huh. Some kids set fire to a fence a couple of houses down."
"Did the police catch them?"
"Yeah, but then a couple of weeks later…" Jessica's voice trailed away as she nudged her head in the direction of the Foreman's backyard.
"We'll keep your name out of this," Jasi found herself promising.
She felt sorry for the young singer. Despite the sophisticated security system, the girl felt uneasy in her own home. Jessica Marie Taranko was as much a victim now as the three arson victims.
Collateral damage to a murderer.
"The night of the fire, when you looked outside," Brandon said. "Did you see anything suspicious? Someone in the yard…a car driving away?"
The girl shook her head. "Since that night I've tried to remember everything. The only thing I saw was the fire and the firefighters. That's it. Sorry."
Jasi leaned over and picked up her data-com.
"Voice record off."
She cleared her throat, indicating that it was time to leave and Brandon followed her. Jessica trailed behind them, humming softly.
"Hey!" the singer hollered. "Your sister―how old is she?"
"Seventeen," Brandon answered.
"Here, give her this." The girl skipped forward and tucked a cellophane-wrapped MD into Brandon's palm. "It's my latest single."
"I'm sure Sierra will love it."
Jasi gave the girl a nod. "Thanks for your time, Jessica."
"Agent McLellan!" the singer blurted. She gripped Jasi's arm tightly. "Don't let him get away!"
Jasi stiffened, then peered at Brandon. He had his back to her and was waiting at the bottom of the steps.
Don't let him get away?
Nervous, she glanced back at Jessica Taranko, about to ask the girl what she meant.
Then it hit her.
The singer was referring to the arsonist.
"Don't worry," Jasi assured her. "We'll get him."
The girl disappeared into the house, and the groan of locks engaging echoed loudly while Jasi made her way down the steps.
"You'll keep your promise," Brandon said quietly.
Jasi's eyes snared his. "Damn right I will!"
Brandon gawked at her, wanting to say something more. She froze when his heated gaze drifted to her mouth.
Neither of them said a word.
Then her data-com beeped.
Fumbling for it, Jasi stammered, "Y-yeah?"
"I've got nothing with the neighbors," Natassia's voice cut in. "One woman spotted a cable van but that checks out. Repairs on the opposite side of the street left the cable down."
"What about the installer?" Brandon interrupted. "He see anything?"
"Nothing. He was inside the house the entire time, according to the homeowners."
"Okay, Natassia," Jasi said. "Meet us in front of the house. I'm going in."
When she reached the sidewalk edging the Foreman house, Jasi took a hit of OxyBlast and waited patiently next to the For Sale sign on the lawn.
Natassia arrived five minutes later. "I ran. Didn't want you going in alone."
Jasi noticed Brandon's eyebrow wing up.
Natassia grinned, catching Brandon's eye.
"I know you're here, Chief Walsh, but Jasi doesn't go on scene without me."
Jasi saw Brandon shrug, then head for the backyard.
"Voice record on!" she barked, hurrying after him.
The Foreman's backyard was like everyone else's. Except it was devoid of life. In the shadows, a tire swing hung from a tree, motionless. Weedy flowerpots and a picnic table rested on a concrete base. In the far right corner an overgrown garden wilted in abandonment.
The left corner of the yard was a different story. An empty blackened pad, where the shed had been, reminded Jasi that two people had died here. Most of the loose wood had been cleared, but enough residue remained behind to trigger her brain.
"Let's do it."
Brandon hesitated. "Should I wait here?"
Jasi examined him thoughtfully, then released a slow breath and gestured for him to follow.
Natassia raised one eyebrow, surprised.
"It's okay," Jasi assured her, clipping on the nosepiece. Then she glanced at the shed pad. "It's shake 'n bake time."
Taking a few steps forward, she felt the irresistible draw of psychic energy beckoning her closer.
Within two minutes, she was in.
And inside the mind of a serial killer.
15
The pungent odor of death, of scorching flesh, hung heavily in the humid night air. Inhaling slowly, savoring every delicate nuance of human scent, I raised my hood-covered face to the stormy heavens, arms outstretched in glory. Turning slowly, I closed my eyes while thunderous clouds rolled and churned above me.
Death was such a release.
How could the old woman have been so blind, so easily manipulated?
I knew how. She had been arrogant, secure in her own little life. She had preyed upon the innocent, stalking them with her own evil. And all the while, I had carefully stalked her.
The hunter had become the hunted.
Peering through night-vision binoculars, I had recorded her movements, her every gesture and habit. I had witnessed her erratic behavior and seen her lash out violently at the children entrusted in her care.
Shrouded in darkness inside the musty utility shed, I waited patiently, calming my rapidly beating heart while I checked out my hiding place. Cobwebs hung from the corner of the door and a sliver of sunlight captured a bulbous black spider effortlessly spinning its web.
When my eyesight finally adjusted to the dark, I noticed an assortment of rusted garden tools scattered haphazardly across the surface of the wooden workbench. Along the plank-board wall behind my head, a variety of shovels, brooms and hedge clippers hung suspended from antique iron hooks. I shuddered when I saw the sharpened metal ends.
I wondered how long I would have to wait until I hooked her.
Blindly searching the shelves, I came across the large roll of yellow rope.
How long before she came for a piece of that?
I was answered by the sound of the screen door squeaking rebelliously. Then I heard her footsteps coming closer and I knew that my wait was over.
When the woman opened the door to the shed and stepped inside, I relished the startled expression on her fa
ce. Without a second thought, I smashed a heavy shovel into the side of her head. I watched her eyes flicker with shock while blood seeped from her scalp.
Then I waited in silence while she collapsed to the floor.
"Please!" the old woman begged pitifully when she regained consciousness.
With one hand raised to protect her bloodied face, she scrambled along the floor of the shed, searching for escape, clawing at the rough cedar planks below her.
"Please, let me go! I've done nothing!"
Crouching down with a piece of yellow rope grasped firmly between my hands, I stared at her. She reminded me of a deer, caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
Removing the hood from my head, I smiled.
Her eyes widened with recognition and terror.
I carefully tied her feet together and pushed her to a sitting position. Then I wrapped the stiff rope around her neck. Yanking her toward the wooden workbench, I heard her gasping for air, her short legs jerking spasmodically beneath her.
I leaned down and asked her one important question.
With a glimmer of hope in her terrified eyes, she whispered the answer in a small voice.
"No…man. No…man wash―"
"Nana?" a child's voice called from outside the utility shed.
I held my breath and prayed that the child would go away, but when the door opened and a small face peered inside, I knew that I had no other choice.
Grabbing the little girl's arm, I hauled her into the shed.
"You should have stayed inside the house. Now look what you're making me do, you naughty girl."
The child whimpered softly while I tied her tightly to the semi-conscious woman. And then I left them, trussed up like animals, while I made the final preparations.
Outside in the dark stormy night, I inhaled the seductive scent of gasoline and watched the flames creep slowly over the small shed, encompassing it in scorching heat. A crack of thunder echoed overhead and a spear of lightning streaked across the sky.
"Just a bit longer," I murmured.
It was the perfect end…and the perfect beginning.
I glanced at my watch. It was getting late.
Time to get the show on the road.
For the old lady and child trapped within the confines of the burning shed, it was already too late. Nothing could save them. Their screams of terror and agony were lost in the howling of the storm. As the fiery heat and toxic smoke embraced them in death, their bodies were singed together―my masterpiece.
Finally, the storm clouds released their pent-up energy, drenching the land. I watched as the small building collapsed in ruin. Bright furious flames crept higher for a moment, fingers of fire leaping into the sky, and then they diminished quickly, extinguished by fat raindrops. Ten minutes later, the rain subsided into a rhythmic pitter-patter of droplets, pulling soft sizzles of smoke from the wreckage.
Sauntering over to the pile of rubble, I watched the final flame die a silent, sooty death. I breathed in the smoky night air, rubbing my tongue along the roof of my mouth. A cloudy haze lingered thickly, and I drew my hooded jacket over my head, breathing slowly.
Surveying the result of my revenge, I nodded. Kicking aside a smoldering plank of wood, I saw the blackened remains of two hands clenched in death, one with tiny, innocent fingers.
"I release you from your hell," I whispered, my teeth clenched in determination.
I reached into my pocket and withdrew a small item.
Flipping it between my fingers, I examined it carefully…lovingly. Searching the ground, I found the perfect place and dropped the item gently in the grass at my feet.
Then I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and strolled through the opened gate. Heading in the direction of the trees, I followed an invisible path and whistled softly…satisfied.
It is time.
It has finally begun.
Jasi flinched sharply when someone touched her. Her eyes flicked open.
Brandon was hovering over her.
"I can't believe he killed that child," she said in a choked voice. "Poor Samantha. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Let's get outta here," Natassia suggested, leading Jasi to the front of the house. "We've got everything on record."
"Is this far enough away," Brandon asked.
Jasi nodded, detached the nosepiece and then strode over to a small metal patio table near the For Sale sign.
"Give me a second."
Resting her head, she closed her eyes and listened to the rhythmic sound of her own breathing―exhausted beyond comprehension.
Without warning her head jerked up and her eyes flew open.
"Damn!"
"What?" Brandon and Natassia asked in unison.
Jasi tapped a finger on the table. "The arsonist asked the woman something. What did she say?"
She studied Natassia expectantly.
"She said something like 'no man washes'," Natassia joked, grinning to relieve the tension. "Well, something like that. I'd have to replay it."
"No…man. No…man wash―"
Jasi sensed a sharp mind-tug, and then she slipped into a thick fog.
"She's back in," she heard Natassia say. "This happens sometimes…when she's overtired."
A minute later, Jasi emerged from the vision. She saw fear gleaming in Brandon's eyes.
Damn! Brandon Walsh actually cared about her.
Her thoughts made an abrupt detour, steering her toward the vision of Charlotte Foreman.
No…man.
The old woman's words became suddenly clear.
"Wait!" Jasi gasped. "She wasn't saying 'no man'. Charlotte Foreman was saying 'Norman'. Norman Washburn!"
Natassia slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Crap! Of course!"
"But what does that mean?" Brandon asked.
Jasi's voice was cool, clipped. "It means, Chief Walsh, that if the CFBI had been notified of this first murder the day it had been committed, we probably could have prevented Norman Washburn's death."
She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand, wincing at the flicker of pain that sliced through her forehead. Her headaches were becoming increasingly frequent.
Especially when Walsh is around.
She scowled at Brandon's back as he turned away to talk to Natassia. Maybe he was the cause of her headaches. The man was certainly stress provoking.
She tried to resist the urge to stick her tongue out at him. A childish habit, she realized, but who cares?
She did it anyway.
Somewhat vindicated, Jasi closed her mouth and slumped further into the chair. Tucking her head into her arms, she allowed her body to relax. Exhaustion crept through her muscles and bones, and lulled her into a half-sleep.
"Is she okay? I mean, she seems a bit out of it."
Brandon's voice seemed miles away.
"She's just tired," Natassia replied.
"Jasi told me she could control her visions."
Natassia murmured a response that Jasi couldn't hear.
"So?" Brandon asked. "What the heck is going on?"
Jasi heard Natassia sigh. "I'm not sure. It could be residue from the Okanagan fires. It's like she's operating at half her power. I haven't seen her like this before."
Jasi lifted her head, frowned at them.
Then she pinned her eyes on Brandon. "You guys done talking about me?"
"We're just concerned," he admitted.
"I'm much better now," she lied.
His ice blue eyes told her that he didn't believe her.
Natassia's gaze was intense, suspicious. "Jas―"
"Listen―both of you!" Jasi snapped, cutting her off. "All I need is a good night's sleep."
"I think you should let Dr. Evans look at you," Natassia suggested.
"As soon as we get back," Brandon advised.
Jasi watched them both, her eyes narrowing. She wasn't accustomed to all this fuss and bother. It made her squirm.
>
"Well?" Brandon asked, waiting for her reply.
Jasi released an indignant sigh.
"We'll see."
Brandon watched her, annoyed and frustrated.
Damn, the woman was pigheaded!
He suspected that Jasi would see the case to the end before spending one minute in a doctor's office. The woman was being unreasonable. She'd drive herself into the ground at this pace.
"Call the helicopter," he told Natassia. "We need to get back to Kelowna."
"Not yet," Jasi argued. "We still have one more thing to check out here."
She stood up shakily and took a few steps.
"When I was in his mind, I walked the path the arsonist took. Victoria PD never checked the woods that far in. We'll go back to Kelowna after we check it out."
When Brandon caught her eye, she added, "I promise."
Cursing beneath his breath, he watched her move away from the house.
Why did she have to be so damned stubborn?
He recalled her vision. He had seen and heard firsthand her descent into the mind of a killer. The expression on her face earlier had chilled him to the bone. For a moment, he could have sworn that he was with the arsonist. Someone insane―twisted and extremely deadly. In a voice that was hoarse and unrecognizable, she had said, "Now it begins."
Jasi's voice, he reminded himself.
But the words and thoughts of a killer.
"You coming, Walsh?" she hollered.
He accompanied her down an overgrown trail that ran alongside the house. The trail ended where the woods began, about six yards from the back fence. The towering trees, like leafy sentinels, clustered close together, with no obvious path through them.
But Jasi saw a path―the one a murderer had taken.
"This way."
Brandon was right behind Jasi as she led them into the brush. He held his breath as she slipped between the trees and slowly scanned the ground and bushes for clues.
Natassia trailed closely behind them.
"He stood here," Jasi said, pointing to a boot print in the dried earth.
Moving in for a closer inspection, Natassia scanned the print with her data-com. "It's the same as the one we found at Washburn's. Size 11 Thermogard Cruiser."
Brandon crouched down beside Jasi and surveyed the ground. "This confirms the connection between the two cases. There's no room for doubt now. Do you need a cast?"
Divine Intervention (Divine Trilogy) Page 12