Kay Hooper - Sense Of Evil

Shrugging off the question, Emily got in her car and backed it out of the driveway. She knew the way, of course, and hadn’t thought much about it until she was almost there. But by the time she parked her car off the side of the road and got out, she was beginning to feel more than a little uneasy.

She got a flashlight from the glove box and carried it to light her way, feeling a surge of relief when she reached the clearing and the light turned the shadowy outline of a person into someone she knew.

“I don’t understand what I can show you out here,” she said immediately. “And this is creepy, in case you hadn’t realized it. We might not have been close, but still-this is where my sister was murdered.”

“I know, Emily. She was quite a woman. Very intelligent. It’s a pity you aren’t.”

“What?” Emily moved her hand, the flashlight’s beam cutting through the hot, humid night. And that was when she saw the knife.

She tried to scream, but only her killer heard the bloody gurgle that emerged as she was nearly decapitated.

Monday, June 16, 7:00 AM

When the phone rang, he rolled over in bed and had the cordless receiver in his hand even before his eyes opened.

And even before his eyes opened, he smelled it.

“Yeah?”

“We’ve got another one, Chief.” It was Mallory, her voice bleak.

Still holding the receiver to his ear with his left hand, he held out the right one and stared at it in the early-morning light streaming into his bedroom.

His hand was stained with blood.

“Where?” he asked.

“Isabel was right when she said he’d probably start taunting us. He used the same place. As far as I can tell from the report that came in, the victim is exactly where Jamie Brower died. I’m on my way there now.”

“Who is it? Who’s the victim?”

“It’s Emily. Jamie’s sister.”

“Goddammit, where was the patrol watching her?” Rafe demanded, sitting up in bed.

“They were pulled away from her house last night at about eleven-thirty and were only away a couple of hours. A traffic accident with fatalities.”

Rafe drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Which takes precedence over watchdog duty.”

“Yeah. As per standing orders.”

He shoved the covers away and got out of bed, heading for the bathroom. “Have you called Isabel?”

“Not yet. I only took the report instead of you because I went into the office a bit earlier than usual. I couldn’t sleep past six, so I just came in.”

“I thought I ordered you to accept an escort.”

“You suggested, just like you suggested it for Stacy, the only other female detective in the department. We both passed. She’s a black belt, and I can take care of myself. And neither one of us is a blonde. You want me to call Isabel?”

“Yeah. Have them meet us at the scene. I’m on my way.”

“Right.”

He turned off the phone and literally dropped it on the bathroom rug, immediately turning on the water and washing his hands in the hottest water he could stand.

Again.

Jesus Christ, again.

The gnawing fear that had been with him for so long was less acute this time, and he understood why. Because this morning he knew something he hadn’t known all the other mornings.

This morning, he knew there was something new and unfamiliar going on in his brain, and it wasn’t homicidal madness.

It was psychic ability.

You could be calling me rude names in your head or worrying about some deep dark secret you don’t want anybody to know, and I wouldn’t necessarily read that either.

Deep, dark secret. That’s what it had been all this time, a secret fear buried so deep he had almost been able to forget about it during the bright, sane light of day. Almost.

He was no killer. He knew that. He had known that all along, even with the fear that something inside him might have been capable of such acts.

But if he was no killer, then why had he been waking up with blood on his hands for nearly three weeks?

Yesterday morning, he hadn’t had a clue. This morning…

Rafe thought he was beginning to understand what was going on-though he only had a hunch as to why. And he thought he understood why his shield was so strong that it not only enclosed Isabel but also blocked her.

Gripping the sides of the sink, he stared into the mirror at his unshaven face and haunted eyes. “I have to be able to control this,” he murmured.

Because he couldn’t keep blocking Isabel, not even to keep her from knowing his secret fears, his self-doubts and uncertainties, all the demons a man carried inside him if he lived long enough and saw too much. In shutting that away from her, he had both shut her out and imprisoned her.

Imprisoned her abilities, the extra senses that could be all that was standing between her and a killer.

Isabel stood just inside the area blocked off with yellow crime-scene tape, her hands on her hips, grimly studying the clearing.

“Jesus, I don’t know where to start,” T.J. said as she and Dustin arrived with their crime-scene kits.

“Follow procedure,” Isabel advised.

Eyeing the ME, who was examining the body, Dustin said, “Even Doc looks queasy. And he was a state medical examiner, until he got tired of the parade of bodies.”

T.J. murmured, “Bet he’s sorry he chose Hastings to finish out his professional life.”

“I’m having second thoughts myself,” Dustin told her.

“I know what you mean. Come on, let’s get to work.”

Hollis joined Isabel as the two technicians moved away, saying, “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I lost my breakfast the first three times I was called to an early murder scene.”

“I’ll remember that. Next time. I thought I could handle something like this, especially after a couple of weeks of classes at the body farm. But, Christ…”

“Yeah, he made a real mess this time.” Isabel half turned as Mallory joined them. “I’m betting her car’s clean, though.”

Mallory nodded. “Looks like it. It’ll be towed back to the station so T.J. and Dustin can go over it thoroughly, but the only difference I noticed is that she didn’t leave her purse in it.”

Isabel said, “If the doctor confirms that she died around midnight, then she’d have had to leave her house just after the patrol was called away for that accident. Maybe she left in a hurry and didn’t even bring a purse.”

“Had to be to meet someone,” Hollis said. “You’re a twenty-something blonde in a town where twenty-something blondes are being killed, including your own sister, and you go out alone near midnight? She was either very stupid or really trusted whoever she went to meet. Or both, if you ask me.”

Isabel looked at Mallory. “When we were in her home, I didn’t get any sense of a steady boyfriend.”

“Far as I know, she didn’t have one. Dated, but never anybody serious.”

Hollis shook her head. “Who could she possibly trust enough to meet, around midnight, at the scene of her sister’s murder?”

“And why?” Isabel mused, frowning. “The only reason I can think of is that someone must have told her she could help by coming out here so late. That there was something out here she needed to see, and after dark. If that’s true, I can’t see any possible answer as to who called her out here except-”

“-a cop,” Mallory said. “Has to be.”

Hollis looked around at the police technicians and the dozen or so uniformed officers searching the area surrounding the crime scene and in various positions between this clearing and the rest stop at the highway, which had also been roped off, and sighed. “Great. That’s just great.”

“We still can’t rule out some other authority figure,” Isabel reminded them. “For that matter, we can’t rule out a member of the media. Who’s to say some reporter didn’t offer Emily a nice big chunk of cash to meet out here where her sister was killed? And being here well after dark was the only real guarantee a passing patrol wouldn’t see them, since we’ve had all these areas under watch. Her car was well off the road and behind that thicket, so either the killer moved it there afterward or told Emily to park there to avoid being seen by a passing patrol.”