Robert Walker - Final Edge

When Jana stopped laughing, she opened the intercom link and asked the polygraph examiner, a young man who looked fresh out of high school, to step outside for a moment. He did so, and she introduced Meredyth and Lucas to Police Force Cadet Peter Markson.

"Peter here is our resident expert on the new brain reader in there," she explained.

"It's a BPR hooked to an IBM imaging computer that prints faster than you can blink," said Markson.

"BPR?" Lucas asked.

"BrainPrint 2232, deluxe model."

The second polygraph inspector joined them, leaving Stokes alone inside, nervously snatching cables from his body and brain. The second operator handled the older polygraph using galvanic skin responses. He introduced himself to Lucas as Earl Harmond and he pumped Lucas's arm, his eyes wide with admiration. "Mr. Stonecoat…Detective… you're a hero and local legend. I–I'm so proud, sir, to be acting as HPD civilian support personnel on one of your cases. I've been a fan since I was a kid."

"Your help is appreciated. What do your machines say about Dwayne Stokes?"

"Rules him out. He's telling the truth."

"No way he could be faking it," added Markson. "The BPR never lies."

"You implying my machine does?" argued Earl.

"I'm saying, Earl, our machines agree, and so can we." Markson led Lucas closer to the one-way mirror and pointed in to where Stokes was taking off the final electrodes.

"See the electrode attachment cap for his head? This technology measures brain-wave patterns as well as galvanic skin response-a perfect blending of old and new technologies. We've got all the bases covered. Unless this guy is Houdini, he gets a pass."

"Then we work on the assumption the abduction took place as he pieced it together from the neighbor," said Lucas, seeing that Earl had reentered the interrogation room, telling Stokes that he had passed with flying colors.

Meredyth said, "We need to get the neighbor back to Houston. Get her to our sketch artist, hypnotize her, whatever it takes to get more details from her."

Jana looked at her watch to punctuate her words. "I'm working on that now, but it's sometimes hard to get citizens to cooperate in an investigation. Too many have seen what happens to witnesses on The Sopranos and Law and Order. Look, I gotta go." She dashed off.

"If the Jamaica connection calls, let us know!" Lucas shouted after Jana. Meredyth dug a heel into his boot.

"Hey, what's that for?" he asked.

"You don't have to be so chummy with Detective North, Lucas."

"Hey, Mere, what the devil're you talking about?"

"Men really are from Mars."

"Why don't we get started on those old case files of yours."

"I told you before, Lucas, confidentiality laws prohibit me from sharing patient information with cops. Haven't I always kept your confidences even though on occasion it meant breaking the law? How'd you like it if I shared what I know about you with, say, IAD? It'd put you behind bars, Lucas. See now why these rules of conduct and ethics need to be in place?"

"All right…you and your intern can go over the shrinkology files, but there's nothing says I can't explore old cases brought to trial by you, me, or the both of us."

"Fine, let's divvy the workload up that way, but I expect to find you up to your elbows in paperwork, not up to your ass in Jana North."

She stormed back toward her office, a handkerchief dabbing at her eyes. He started after her, but stopped and shouted instead. "That's uncalled for, Mere!"

Markson came around a comer with a cup of coffee paused at his lips. "Something wrong?"

Lucas, ignoring the cadet wiz kid, shouted down the corridor at the fleeing Meredyth. "You're doing it again! Push me away! Go ahead! Create excuses out of thin air."

She turned and with her teeth set in a firm jaw, began to speak, but only stammered.

"It's all smoke and mirrors, your little magic show," Lucas shouted, "so you don't have to really deal with us, with what's happened between us over the last two days, Mere!"

But she slipped into the elevator, disappearing from his sight. Lucas was left standing all alone, people around him politely pretending they'd heard nothing, going about their business. Lucas went for the stairwell, deciding the only safe place might be the Cold Room and his desk.

Lauralie Blodgett breathed deeply, taking in the crisp cool morning air, leisurely strolling the woods around the farmhouse, a quaint little white clapboard home. She had convinced Arthur to rent the house and property for their purposes. Although it had a useless fallen-in barn and shed, there was a fenced-in dog run that appealed to Dr. Belkvin's dog-loving nature.

"Hell, out here, you could let your dogs run free," she had told him. "Arthur, it's perfect!"

Arthur said it could be a sign that she wanted some stability in their relationship, indeed, in her life, that she had never enjoyed before, being an orphaned child without security. She hadn't dispelled Arthur's cockeyed notions, but rather allowed them to build in his lightly dusted sandy-haired head.

There were aspects of Arthur's little homey dreams that did appeal to Lauralie, but she had far too many unrealized plans to settle just yet into a life with anyone, much less a four-eyed Dr. Doolittle with a hairy mole on his right cheek.

She shook off any further thought of it, wishing to enjoy the moment amid the freshly watered earth and grasses, the leaves dripping still with last night's cleansing rain. Nature taking a shower, replenishing herself, she thought. It'd been forever since Lauralie had replenished herself, or simply taken some time for herself. Having learned the where-abouts of the woman who had taken her from her mother, Lauralie had spent untold hours researching, following leads, examining clues, exploring evidence, learning, and stalking her prey, planning and deciding how best to destroy her. She didn't want Dr. Meredyth Sanger to die quickly, but rather to suffer a long and torturous harassment, to be made to feel responsible for the deaths of others, and to lose her hold on her sanity, a fittingly ironic end for a professional sanity peddler. After all that, then it might be Dr. Sanger who would spend eighteen years under the control of an institution, told when to get up, when to eat, bathe, take her pills, sleep, get up again, and relentlessly repeat the process without deviation or question. To die inside slowly over years, knowing she was the cause of Lauralie's pain and the death of everyone Meredyth loved.

Birds chased one another among the juniper trees just ahead of Lauralie, catching her fascination, and the morning sun glistened on the still-wet dew. A faraway hawk cried out to its mate, no doubt spotting its prey on the ground. As she high-stepped through the tall grass, a soft murmur of insect activity surrounded Lauralie, creating a cloud of fairylike creatures captured in the morning sunbeams.

The stream that ran along one end of the property trickled in her ear as she examined the leaves on the variety of trees here, every sort of hardwood. It was a bountiful, beautiful location, an oasis of green amid miles of brown and red earth on all sides, and she wondered what had happened to the family that had once farmed here. She imagined the children all grown up, that they had abandoned the life here, going off to the big city, taking jobs in factories and mills, leaving the land. No doubt their grandparents and parents had each in turn died in the old house.

Lauralie fancied that she could feel their spirits in the clapboard farmhouse; she sensed their shock and amazement over her shoulder each time she wrapped and addressed a parcel filled with parts of the Lourdes woman. To anyone else, the old house stood empty and abandoned, but Lauralie knew better. While it had been abandoned by its previous tenants, it had never been completely abandoned by them. Fortunately, the ghosts of the house had no method of contacting the authorities about the use to which Lauralie had put the old place.