Through Her Heart (Mind's Eye Book 6)

by Deborah Camp

  She tried not to seem too surprised, but she was. She hadn’t expected the detective to seek her input. Just because he’d agreed to bring them in on the case, didn’t equate to any actual sharing of evidence. It was a relief that he was one of the rare officers who was actually open to using her unique abilities. Blocking out everything around her, she studied the notes.

  “Yes, this is thorough.”

  “Good. Harper seems to be on the ball.”

  Trudy turned her attention to the photographs. Touching each one, she closed her eyes and tiny sparks of energy sizzled on her fingertips, sending messages to her brain. Since each man had been on the wrong side of the law at some point in his life, she immediately sensed the darker aspects of their personalities. They lay like shadows on her mind. Slowly, she touched each photo again and concentrated on any glimmer of difference from one to the other. Nothing much from that one . . . this one is wrestling with his need to molest females . . . and the third one. The third one. An acrid odor accosted her and sticky liquid seemed to coat her fingertips. A bolt of alarm zapped through her and her eyes popped open.

  The mug shot was of a man with a lean, almost skeletal face. His deeply-socketed eyes and protruding cheekbones gave him a gaunt appearance. He possessed a headful of dark blond hair that grew lushly to his collar. His beak-like nose cast a shadow over his wide, thin-lipped mouth, which was surrounded by a walrus mustache and short beard. His eyes were flinty; his facial expression noxious. He was a cocked revolver, a coiled rattlesnake, a lit fuse.

  She read the information below the photo. Ike Lincoln. Fulton County Jail. Public Nuisance. Resisting Arrest. 52 years old. Five feet ten inches. 168 lbs. Gap between front teeth. Tattoo of upside down cross between his shoulder blades and a skull and crossbones on his right shoulder.

  “This reads like a bad guy cliché.”

  “Let me see . . .” Myers glanced through some notes. “Oh, yeah. Lincoln. He served thirty days in jail and was fined two hundred and fifty dollars for damage he did to the bar where he was arrested. But that was two years ago. He’s stayed out of trouble ever since. Do you recognize him from somewhere?”

  “No. There’s just something about him . . .” She needed more to go on. She needed to be sure before she pointed the finger at any one suspect.

  Myers examined the photo again. “There was something about this guy that didn’t sit well with me.” He tapped the picture with his finger. “He had all the right answers, but there was something in his eyes. Or something not in his eyes. Had a cold glint to them. And he smiled a lot. I don’t trust guys I’m questioning who smile a lot.” He dropped the photo onto the table and sat back, took a drink of coffee, and hooked a thumb into his belt. “He stands out for you? How come? How does it work?”

  Trudy sipped her coffee, stalling for time to find the right words to describe feelings she had trouble defining for herself. “Levi is better at tactile ESP. That’s what this is. Touching objects and sensing or knowing things about the person who owned them or are pictured in the photos. Levi uses it to get in touch with people who have crossed over. I can’t do that. But I can discern information about the living. I could sense from each photo that the men had all engaged in criminal activity, but that one . . .” She nodded to Ike Lincoln’s photo. “He’s harboring deep anger and I smelled blood and I felt it on my hands. Fresh blood.” She wiped her hands on her pants legs, trying to rid herself of the odd sensations.

  The detective watched her with eyes narrowed to slits. “Guess that translates to you think he’s our murderer.”

  “No. I wish I could say that, but no.” She took a few moments to think about the man who had been in her head before. “He’s capable of murder. That’s what I know.”

  Myers shrugged and glanced around the small coffee bar. It was busy with people standing two deep at the counter and all the chairs and tables were occupied.

  “Looks like this is a popular place,” Trudy noted, taking another drink of her café au lait.

  “Yeah. I know all the best coffee houses.” He grinned at her. “And, yeah, I know where you can buy a mean doughnut, too.”

  She laughed under her breath because that was exactly where her thoughts had taken her. Thunder rumbled outside followed by a loud crack of lightning. Then rain pelted the front windows of the shop.

  “Wow.” Trudy leaned sideways to look past him at the windows. “When it rains, it pours, huh?”

  “I hear you’re thinking of fostering the kid.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and she set her paper cup down as a tremble attacked her fingers. “Um, yes. News travels fast. We filled out the papers and we attended an orientation class last night. Dr. McClain put in a good word for us, so things are moving quickly.”

  “What brought this on?”

  “Stuart.” She shrugged, smiling. “He’s a special guy. Levi and I feel close to him.” She dipped her head a fraction to see his eyes better. “You don’t approve?”

  He drank more of the coffee before he answered. “Fostering him will make you more emotionally involved. Emotions have a way of twisting and obscuring your view on things.”

  “Ah, well, I hate to tell you, but I get emotionally involved in every case I work on.”

  He let that soak in for a minute. “Do you think Stuart could ID the man who was in his house in a lineup?”

  “I’m not sure he even saw anyone that night. You should speak to Dr. McClain about that.”

  “You’re assisting her, right?” He ran a hand down his lined face. “It’s frustrating. The kid clams up about what he did or didn’t see that night. I was hoping that a session or two with Dr. McClain would get him to open up, but the doc says he’s still avoiding talking about it.”

  “We know that he hid in his closet,” Trudy ventured. “So, he knew something bad was happening.”

  “But did he see anyone? Did he hear anyone? Sure, sure, he’s experienced trauma, but other kids I’ve worked with in similar situations told us what they remembered or witnessed. He just stares holes in me when I question him.” He sat forward, shoulders hunched, tie askew. “Look, here’s the thing. This case is getting colder by the day. I think it’s great that you and your husband are opening your home and yourselves up for the boy. But what I really need is for you to open him up. We need to know what he knows. And if he doesn’t know anything, okay.” He flung up his big hands in a helpless gesture. “We go with what we have, which isn’t a helluva lot at this point.” Finishing off his coffee, he sat the paper cup down with finality and leaned close as he lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. “I want this bastard caught. He killed that couple in cold blood. The way I figure it, he could have been in and out of there without waking anyone. I get the feeling he kinda wanted to kill the McFarlands and he would have shot Stuart dead, too, if he had found him. That kind of animal shouldn’t be roaming around, you get me? We need to catch him before he gets the itch again to destroy another life, another family. Stuart could be the key witness.”

  She nodded, agreeing with everything he said, but unable to offer anything of substance. She couldn’t gauge whether Stuart was holding information back, if he’d buried important details deep in his subconscious, or if he’d seen nothing, heard nothing more than footsteps. “We’re making headway, right? I’m sure the man is working in maintenance. He very well might be one of those men in the mug shots.” She glanced at them again, her gaze lingering on Ike Lincoln. Was he the one? Was that why she kept staring at his photo? A cold feeling encased her heart. One more time in his mind could be enough for her to know for sure . . .

  “Trudy? Do you know?”

  She blinked, emerging from her own thoughts, and realized she’d tuned out the detective. “I’m sorry. What did you ask?”

  “How soon will it be before Stuart comes to live with you?”

  “Oh. A couple of weeks. We’re required to attend several hours of classes. We were able to skip some of the preliminary steps like recent phys
ical exams and reports about our mental stability.” She grinned at him. “Passed with flying colors, surprisingly.”

  Myers chuckled with her. “Are you two anxious about being parents? Is this a way to see if having a kid is something you really want?”

  She sipped her coffee. It had gone tepid, in contrast to the warm feelings stirring inside of her. “We want children. We’re very fond of Stuart. We want to provide him with some security, some affection. He deserves it. And I think it will help him psychologically, too. He’s scared, Bill. He’s afraid that the man will find him and kill him. He’s dealing with stuff that would be difficult for an adult and he’s only seven!”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s a lot for the little guy.” He ran a hand down his mustache. “I hope you can speed his recovery along, though. Like I said, time isn’t on our side.” He gathered up his papers and shoved them back into his jacket pocket. “You know, Trudy, sometimes you gotta rip off the bandage, even though it’s gonna hurt, so that the wound can be properly treated.” He held out his hand to her. “Keep in touch, yeah?”

  “Yes, we will.” She shook hands with him, his advice circling her brain. She knew he wanted her and Levi and even Dr. McClain to be more firm with Stuart in finding out what he remembered about the night his parents were killed. But was that wise? “I’ll let you know when I connect with that man again. Hopefully, I’ll be able to give a description of him or find out his name next time.”

  Myers gave her a wink of approval. “Let’s hope so. Of course, Stuart’s recollections will hold more weight. Can’t make an arrest or go to court with a psychic’s recommendations, can we?”

  “No. I guess not.” She watched as he rammed his arms into his trench coat and then parted the sea of people with his hulking presence. A heaviness invaded her as she stared at the gray day and weeping windows. She heard her phone beep as it received a text, so she dug it out of her purse.

  Longing for you in L.A.

  She smiled at Levi’s message as she answered, Just finished the meeting with Bill Myers. He wants us to lean on Stuart more and get him to talk about that night.

  A minute passed before he texted back. That’s Dr. McClain’s territory. Not ours.

  She nodded as if he could see her. Gotcha. I miss you. See you soon.

  His answer – the one she knew he’d send – still tightened her throat with sweet emotion. But not soon enough, baby. Not nearly soon enough.

  Chapter 8

  Sitting with Levi in the back seat of the Lincoln with Stuart McFarland between them, Trudy battled nervous butterflies and stinging worries. Leaving the children’s shelter where they’d collected Stuart and his one piece of luggage and a grocery sack containing a few books, a ball glove, and a couple of photos of his parents, they were on their way back to the apartment. After three weeks of inspections and classes, they’d been approved to foster him and they’d wasted no time in making the transfer.

  Of course, they’d asked him first if he’d like to live with them, and of course, he’d jumped up and down with excitement. Studying him surreptitiously, she didn’t like his slight frown and knitted brows. Something was bothering him, but what?

  They’d been given a detailed report from Dr. McClain and the supervisor at the children’s shelter about Stuart’s behavior and state of mind. Trudy had been alarmed by some of it. Levi had taken it all in stride, having more experience with post-traumatic stress. From her interactions so far with Stuart, she found him to be a well-adjusted child, who was coping admirably with the loss of his parents. However, the reports described a moody boy who had nightmares and “acted out” at times when he didn’t want to follow instructions. Dr. McClain noted that Stuart was fearful of strangers and displayed resentment toward his current situation of being homeless and orphaned. All of this was normal for what he’d gone through, but would require additional sessions with the psychiatrist and understanding and coping from his new foster parents.

  Parents.

  Trudy’s gaze bounced to Levi and he turned his head as if sensing her sudden regard. He lifted one brow in a question. She mouthed, we’re parents now, and stifled a giggle when he made a terrified face. Stuart jiggled his tennis-shoed feet and huffed out a sigh.

  “We’re almost there,” Trudy said, resting one hand lightly on top of his head. “I bet you’re hungry. Wes will have lunch waiting for us. He’s excited about you living with us, too.” She waited for a reply or comment, but he stared at his tennis shoes and that was it. She lifted her gaze to Levi and he gave her a helpless shrug. Guess they’d have to sort through Stuart’s moods, she thought, and luckily, she had a lot of practice at that, being married to Mr. Moody Blues. Like foster-father, like foster-son.

  “Halloween is in a couple of weeks. Do you know what you want to be?” Levi asked.

  He gave a shrug, but then said, “I was Spiderman last year.”

  “Oh, really?” Trudy said. “Do you want to be Spiderman again?”

  “No. Maybe a spaceman.”

  “An astronaut. Good choice,” Levi said. “By the way, where are the rest of your belongings, Stu?” He received another shrug and a protruding lower lip as an answer. “You don’t know or you’re not telling?”

  “Somewhere else,” Stuart said. “In a big room somewhere.”

  “Oh. In storage?” Levi ventured.

  “I guess.”

  “I’ll ask about that and we can go there for you to get some of your things and put them in your new room.”

  “It’s not really my room.”

  Trudy eyed him, then Levi. His comment gave her an inkling of what might be troubling him. “It will be your room once you put your things into it. Stuart, what’s wrong? I thought you wanted to live with us.” She studied him and felt the turbulence writhing inside him. He was unsettled, unhinged. “We want you to make it your home, too.”

  “For how long?” It was a whisper, barely discernable.

  Trudy exchanged a look of surprise with Levi before she answered, “For as long as you’ll have us, I guess. Or until you find a place you’d rather be.” Even voicing that made her heart ache a little.

  He turned his head and scoured her face with his blue gaze. “They said that foster homes were . . .” He frowned. “Tempo . . . tempolarry.”

  “Temporary?” Trudy offered, and he nodded.

  “I always forget how to say that word,” he grumbled into his chest.

  “Foster homes can be temporary. You might not like living with us. You might meet another couple in whose home you’ll feel more comfortable. We’re hoping that we’ll learn to care for each other and look out for each other.”

  “Why can’t we live in my home? Why can’t I have my bedroom back? Is someone else living there now?”

  “No one is living there right now,” Levi said, resting a hand on the child’s knee. “But that’s not where Trudy and I live.”

  “What will happen to it?”

  “Another family will buy it one day and move in there,” Levi said in a tone that was firm but kind. “You won’t live there again, Stuart. You wouldn’t want to be there without your parents anyway, would you?”

  He stared at the toes of his shoes for a few moments before he shook his head. “Guess not. It’s probably still scary there.”

  Tears burned Trudy’s eyes and she looked away to stare out the car window at nothing. She was a fool to think that this would be a joy ride. She’d imagined that they’d be all smiles on the way to the apartment and would be making plans like going to the park, attending football games, and meeting Stuart’s teachers and some of his classmates. Ha!

  “Try to remember the good times you had there,” Levi said, patting Stuart’s knee. “The bad stuff will try to force its way into your head. That’s just what happens. But you can beat it by recalling the fun you had with your mom and dad.”

  Touched by Levi’s calm and wise advice to a fellow trauma victim, Trudy blinked away her tears as the car turned onto their street. “Her
e we are,” she sang out, her tone sounding much happier than she felt. “Levi, you’ll have to introduce him to the doormen and show him how our weird, talking door works.”

  “The talking door!” Stuart repeated.

  “You remember how I place my hand on a panel and it unlocks the door.”

  He nodded, his expression becoming less gloomy. “And it knows your name.”

  “Right,” Levi said. “It’ll know your name from now on, too.” He shared a grin with the boy. “You want the door to call you Stu, Stewie, or Master Stuart?”

  “Thor! I want it to call me that.”

  Levi laughed as he looked over at Trudy, giving a shake of his head at the child’s request. “Thor, it is. It’ll be nice having Thor in the family, won’t it, Tru?”

  “Should come in handy, I’d think,” she agreed, giggling with Stuart and feeling a little stunned at how quickly his mood could change. Like Levi. So much like Levi. She was in for it, she thought. Two moody males to deal with. Now why did that make her deliriously happy?

  The addition of a school-aged child in their home changed their normal routine. They awakened and went through their usual ministrations except that Trudy added waking up Stuart and making sure he was up and getting ready for school. He tended to be a sleepyhead and needed to be told to “get up, Stewie!” a couple of times before he finally stumbled into the shower. They ate breakfast together. Levi still read the newspaper during his breakfast, but now, in addition to chatting with Wes, Trudy also brought Stuart into the conversation.

  After breakfast, Wes made sure that Stuart had his packed lunch. Trudy kissed Levi and wished him a good day at work before she and Stuart scrambled into the Navigator so that Wes could drive Stuart to school. Trudy sat up front with Wes and Stuart sat in the backseat and watched cartoons along the way. In the afternoon, Wes and Trudy picked Stuart up from school. The trip took anywhere from twenty-five to forty minutes, depending on traffic.