Conduit

by Angie Martin

  David held up his hand. “You don’t have to pay me a dime. That’s what we do out here, help those in need.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you came along to save this damsel in distress. Your generosity is appreciated.”

  “Don’t mention it.” David looked at their cars sitting in front of the rest stop. He didn’t want her car anywhere near his ranch. Though his ranch was private, he couldn’t take a chance someone would see her. If she drove there, she might also remember how to get back someday.

  “Why don’t you leave your car here?” he asked. “I can drive you back in the morning, as soon as the roads are clear and safe. There’s no point in us both driving out there. You’ll have to double back anyway in the morning, so you should save the gas since you’re on a budget.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “I understand if you want to drive also. We just met and I am a stranger. You may feel safer having your own car. You can follow me and I’ll go slowly so you I won’t lose you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Julie said. “I trust you. Besides, if we go too slow the storm will catch up to us.”

  David smiled. “We better get going then before this storm hits.” He followed her to his car, wondering how his ruse to get her back to his ranch worked out so well. He only planned to spend more time with this woman, to figure out why she affected his gift. Beyond that he had no idea what he was going to do.

  After several drinks at his ranch, David succumbed to her seduction. Even with the occasional tryst, he had not been with many women. He relied on his fantasies to satisfy him, rather than sexual exploits. Julie preferred the lights to remain on, a rough vixen who encouraged him to be forceful with her.

  The longer their encounter continued, the more his thoughts wandered to his fantasies. Images of blood and death mixed with sweat and skin, and David’s hand traveled up to her neck, an autonomous limb obeying its own will. Delight filled her eyes with the slight squeeze, but then terror replaced her ecstasy, and her life started slipping away.

  The petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes fueled his desire to end her life, but then he intercepted a flourish of thoughts from her mind. The sudden twist with his gift changed his mind about killing her too fast. He loosened his grip on her neck just enough so she sucked in a few breaths to prolong her life. Then he tightened his grip again. He repeated this same pattern over and over, so he could extend the experience while she flailed beneath him, attacking him with sharp fingernails and throwing thoughts his way.

  And then she died. David let go of her limp neck and climbed off her lifeless body. He sat on the bed beside her for hours, much as he had with his mother, studying her like an eager child completing an experiment for the science fair. Other than missing the blood he craved, her murder trumped every one of his fantasies.

  He replayed the night in his mind until he came to an answer that made sense: terror. Combined with terror, the extreme emotion he had tapped into with his mother escalated his ability to connect to others and hear their thoughts. Sex was just another extreme emotion, a vehicle to ignite his psychic gift.

  If he could read every thought of his victim in those last moments of life using just terror and emotion, then pain was the next logical step in expanding his abilities. With pain, he could reach out to others like him and communicate with them. He just needed more women—conduits—who amplified his gift.

  Women like Jillian Waters. In the decade since Julie showed him his life’s meaning, he found many women who met the standards he required, but none like Jillian. A conduit with an aptitude far above most other women, she was the key to removing the time delay in his communication with Emily. If he accomplished that, he would be another step closer to leading Emily straight to him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emily had only attended one funeral in her life, the one for Aunt Susan. Seeing Aunt Susan lifeless in a coffin had rendered Emily inconsolable. There were times even today when she could close her eyes and envision Aunt Susan in her casket, wearing her favorite dress, her neck adorned with the pearls Emily gave her on the birthday before her unexpected death from an undiagnosed aneurysm.

  Losing her aunt had the same effect on Emily as if she had lost her mother, and yet her true biological mom refused to go to the services for her only sister. Since there was no other family to help, Emily handled all the arrangements on her own, with the assistance of Aunt Susan’s dear friend, Marta Mendez. When Emily left her house for the funeral, her mom let loose a barrage of insults directed at both her and Aunt Susan. Ten years later, she had not run out of mean things to say about either one of them.

  Emily wiped away the images from that painful time of her life. The tears in her eyes would help her look like a mourner for Diane Murphy, but she didn’t want to be overcome by grief and overdo the act. She needed people to trust and open up to her, not console her.

  With Cassie on her heels, Emily pulled open one of the heavy, ornate church doors. A young priest directed them to the sign-in sheet to their left. Cassie walked over to the sign-in sheet while Emily scanned the lobby. Crammed into the small space, mourners spilled out into the hall that circled the interior of the round building.

  “There are a lot of names on the list so far,” Cassie whispered when she rejoined Emily. “I think some people are here out of curiosity rather than true mourners.”

  “This could be more difficult than we anticipated,” Emily said. “I’ll go to the photo table to see what I can find. Maybe you can head into the chapel and start some conversation. We’ll meet up when the service starts.”

  Cassie nodded and walked toward the chapel, stopping to shake hands and chat with an elderly couple near the doors.

  Emily moved to the photograph table against the wall. She had committed to memory the pictures of the other victims and hoped she would spot one of them in the mass of photos of Diane Murphy. If anything, she might be able to pick up on an emotion of someone near the table and engage them in conversation to probe further.

  Normally reserved for announcements and bulletins during Sunday mass, the table held photographs from all stages of Diane Murphy’s life, arranged in chronological order. Mourners came and lingered at the table for a few moments to take in the images, and then left to talk with others or move into the chapel.

  Emily scoured each photograph for anything that could help. She started with the photographs of a smiling baby on her daddy’s knee, then a proud kindergartner on the first day of school, all the way through high school and college graduation. She moved to the end of the table, to more recent pictures of Diane. Photographs of her with family, friends, and coworkers revealed a happy soul, successful and content with life. None of the faces in the large arrangement of photographs were those of other victims.

  At the very end of the table, a petite woman stood in front of a blown-up photo of Diane. Emily realized the woman had been there since she and Cassie first entered the lobby. The woman must have been close to Diane to have spent so much time in front of the photograph, but Emily didn’t recognize the woman’s heart-shaped face and stick-straight auburn hair in any of the photographs. The woman glanced up from the picture and smiled at Emily.

  Emily returned the smile and said a quiet hello. She started to turn away when the woman’s voice stopped her.

  “How did you know Diane?” the woman asked.

  Emily moistened her lips and prepared for the lie. “We went to high school together.”

  The woman’s breath shook in her throat and her large brown eyes welled with tears. “She was such a good student. Straight A’s all through high school. Valedictorian her senior year. So smart.” She lifted her hand and gestured at Emily. “Of course, you know all this since you went to high school with her.”

  “I haven’t stayed in touch with her as much as I should have after high school.” Guilt gnawed at her for lying, but she pushed forward with hopes that her story could extract some information about Diane and her ki
ller. “I’m Emily Monroe,” she said, and held out her hand.

  “Tara Murphy,” the woman said, and she shook Emily’s hand.

  “You’re related to Diane,” Emily said with surprise. The woman was not in the chapel with the rest of the family as she would have expected at such a sad event.

  “Her aunt,” Tara said. “Her dad is my oldest brother.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Emily said. “Such a tragedy.”

  “Thank you.” Tara looked back at the large photograph. “Diane was a wonderful girl. She never hurt a fly. She didn’t deserve this.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Emily said. She wanted to probe further, curious why Tara didn’t appear in any of the photographs on the table. “Were you close to Diane?” she asked.

  “Very,” Tara said. “Out of all my family, we were the closest. Her parents weren’t really fond of our relationship or of me in general, but we still spent a lot of time together. We even had dinner the night before she went missing.”

  With Tara’s words, Emily understood her absence from the photos, but she needed to dig a little deeper. She had always been able to get others to reveal personal information to her, things they normally would not share with strangers. Her ability to extract information had nothing to do with being psychic, but was part of her personality.

  “Did you have a falling out with her parents?” Emily asked.

  “I don’t know if I could categorize it as a falling out. Her dad and I were never close, but not by my choice. I’m considered the crazy one in the family, the one nobody wants to admit they’re related to. Except Diane, that is. She loved me for who I am and never judged me.”

  “I couldn’t imagine anyone would treat you badly, especially family.”

  “Oh, I know I seem normal, but they treat me like a pariah, almost like I’m evil or something.” Tara held Emily’s eyes and lowered her voice. “See, I’m a psychic of sorts.”

  Emily flinched. Tara’s confession was the last thing she expected to hear.

  “I don’t know why I just told you that,” Tara said. “I’m sure you also think I’m crazy.”

  Emily placed her hand on Tara’s arm. “I don’t think that at all,” she said. She didn’t want Tara leaving at such a critical moment in the conversation, but more than that, she understood Tara’s plight and wanted to provide some comfort. “You said you’re a psychic of sorts. What do you mean?”

  “I can’t explain it exactly. It’s not like those people on television who say they can see the future or talk to dead people. They’re really just out to take money from people. I get glimpses of things every now and then. Diane was the only one in the whole family who understood me and wasn’t ashamed of my abilities.”

  Emily dropped her hand away from Tara’s arm. She wanted to reach out to this woman and tell her she wasn’t alone. Emily knew all too well about being shunned by family members, and having the only family member who understood be taken away by death. Even without being psychic, she sensed Tara’s isolation from the rest of her family and her concerns about how she would cope without Diane in her life.

  But Emily couldn’t reveal her own true nature and admit she had lied about her purpose for being at the memorial service. There were more people here to speak with, and she didn’t want to ruin the opportunity to get to know them better. She also didn’t want to destroy her established rapport with Tara, in case she needed to speak with her again.

  “I know it doesn’t mean much,” Emily said, “but I am really sorry about Diane. Even though it’s under horrible circumstances, maybe this tragedy will help bring you and your family back together.”

  Tara tilted her head. “I didn’t think about that before, but you might be right. I guess all I can do is hope for the best.”

  “I should probably get into the chapel before the service starts.”

  “I’m going to stay here for a little longer,” Tara said.

  “It was really nice to meet you, Tara.”

  “Likewise.” Tara shifted her eyes back to the photograph of Diane, lost in her memories of better times.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Lucy Kim’s preliminary tox screen is back.”

  Lionel looked up as Shawn walked into their shared office waving paperwork around in his hand. “Let me guess,” Lionel said. “It’s negative for everything.”

  “And Detective Edwards wins the prize,” Shawn said. He dropped down into the chair behind his desk. “We have Perry’s autopsy report also. Outside of the info he already gave us, there’s nothing we didn’t expect.”

  “Aurelio and Timmons finished the family interviews,” Lionel said. “The principal of the school where she worked called me back, which is a near miracle being that it’s Sunday. Nothing there to go on, outside of a potential suitor. We can interview him tomorrow at the school, but I doubt he’s our guy.”

  “Have you been able to narrow down when and where she was taken?” Shawn asked.

  Lionel walked over to the whiteboard against the wall. With black erasable marker, he had detailed a timeline of the places where they knew the victim had been in the hours leading up to her disappearance. In red, he circled the block of time where he thought she might have crossed paths with her killer.

  Pointing to the board, Lionel said, “Last Thursday, Lucy taught her kindergarten class in the morning. On Thursdays she always leaves right after the morning class so she can go to Wichita State University, where she’s pursuing her Ph.D.”

  “Every Thursday is the same?” Shawn asked.

  “Every Thursday. She showed up at WSU for her class, and then studied in the library until it closed at eight, just like she does every Thursday. The students working the closing shift that night remember her because she was the last person to leave and is a frequent visitor to the library at that time of night. They said she was so engrossed in her studies on Thursday night that they practically had to kick her out. Friday morning, she didn’t show up to teach her class.”

  “What time does kindergarten start?”

  “Nine-fifteen, but the principal said she’s usually there around seven with coffee for her and the male teacher the principal suspects she had a crush on. The principal said when she didn’t show for class, his secretary called her house and nothing. Went straight to voicemail. That’s when the principal called her father, who is listed as her emergency contact.”

  Shawn kicked his chair back and put his feet up on his desk. “I bet he was no help when you talked to him.”

  “Not at all. He said he sees her every other Friday for family dinner at his house, but never outside of that. They talk on the phone maybe once a week, but only for about ten minutes. The only reason he knew to report her as missing is because her work called him.”

  Shawn looked up at the board. “So we have a span of time from eight Thursday night until seven Friday morning.”

  “I think we can narrow it down a bit more. I’m willing to bet she was taken at the library.”

  “It’s a good thought, since she was the last person out the door. Did anyone walk out with her?”

  “She left alone. The students who were working stayed until eight-thirty to close the library. According to her dad, she didn’t own a car, but took the city bus everywhere. Timmons talked to the bus driver for that route. He doesn’t remember her getting on the bus at the library, but he did have a few people get on at different stops around the campus.”

  “Unfortunately that doesn’t mean she didn’t get on the bus at the library. He may have forgotten seeing her since other kids got on the bus at the campus, but at least it’s a start. How well lit is the parking lot at night?”

  “Glad you asked, because you get to find out tonight. You have a meeting with Dean Sheila Reynolds at seven. She’ll answer questions and escort you to the library parking lot.”

  Shawn groaned. “I’m going to get remarried just so I get a night off every now and then.”

  Lionel frowned and walked t
o Shawn’s desk. “Better be careful who hears you say things like that. Barbara keeps threatening to set you up with one of her single friends.” He swiped Perry’s reports off Shawn’s desk and pointed them at Shawn. “I’m going to tell her to do it so you’ll shut up for once about being single.”

  “I’m not complaining,” Shawn said. “Remember, I have golf clubs in my trunk just waiting for me. Being single has its perks.”

  “So does being married,” Lionel said. He sat down behind his own desk. “That’s why you’re checking out the library tonight with Aurelio and Timmons. I’ll be at home reading through the family interviews. You know Barbara absolutely hates me working from home more than when I log late hours at the office.”

  Shawn’s eyebrows shot up with a victory smile. “You’re right about that. I’d much rather be at the library with some stuffy dean.” He grabbed his coffee mug off his desk and left the office for a refill.

  Staring at the autopsy report in his hand, Lionel’s vision blurred over. If either of them had a better chance at finding something on the killer tonight, it was Shawn. The family interviews wouldn’t give him any information that would lead straight to the killer. Hopefully Barbara wouldn’t be too upset with him bringing death and destruction into their bed to read while she watched her favorite television shows or read a book.

  His fingers touched the framed picture on his desk of Barbara and Cassie on either side of him at El Dorado Lake on the Fourth of July last year. It had been a great weekend, with hotdogs and hamburgers cooked on his little Hibachi grill and beautiful fireworks that lit up the lake.

  Emily had driven out the morning of the Fourth to join them for the rest of their camping weekend. Lionel rented a pontoon boat and they floated on the still waters with a cooler filled to the brim with ice cold beer. Before they lost daylight, Emily snapped the picture of them standing at the back of the boat with alcohol-induced laughter. Then they finished off the cooler of beer while watching fireworks explode over their heads.