Текст книги "Dream Eyes"

Автор книги: Jayne Krentz

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Thirty-two

Max’s soft meow alerted Judson when he emerged from the bathroom after his own morning shower. The cat was in Gwen’s room.

A faint trickle of energy shifted in the atmosphere, reminding Judson of the light current of the underground river that had guided him out of the flooded cave. He heard soft footsteps out in the hall and checked the time. It was just going on seven.

He heard the muffled sound of the stairwell door closing outside in the hall.

Max meowed again, more urgently.

Judson took a clean shirt out of the closet and went to the doorway between the two rooms. On the far side of the big bed he saw Max crouched in front of the hall door of Gwen’s room.

Gwen came out of the dressing room area, fastening the waistband of her jeans.

“What’s Max complaining about?” Judson asked.

“I don’t know.” Gwen looked toward the door. “He just started making noise a couple of minutes ago while you were in the shower. He’s probably hungry. I’ll feed him before we go downstairs to breakfast.”

Max abruptly lost interest in whatever had attracted him to the door. He rose and trotted across the room to greet Gwen with a demanding purr. She reached down and scratched him behind the ears.

“He heard someone out in the hall a moment ago,” Judson said.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I heard someone, too. Whoever it was went down the emergency stairs at the back of the inn.”

Gwen straightened. “Probably a guest going out for an early morning run.”

“Maybe. I’m going to take a look.”

Judson turned, crossed his room, opened the door and went out into the hall. The wall sconces lit the scene in a warm, golden glow. He glanced at the muddy footprints on the floor and then he followed them to the stairwell door.

He opened the emergency door just in time to hear the first floor door open and close at the bottom of the stairwell.

He went back along the hall and let himself into his own room. Gwen was waiting.

“Well?” she asked.

“Our visitor came from outside. She left a little mud on the carpet and the stairs.”

Gwen was impressed. “Did your para-senses tell you that the person was a woman?”

“No, I cheated and used my normal senses. The footprints belong to a woman. She came up the emergency stairwell, went to your door and then turned around and went back down the same stairs. Let’s take a look in your room.”

He went through the connecting doorway and walked around the bed to take a closer look at the place where Max had been crouched earlier. From that angle, he could see what had not been visible from the other side of the room.

An envelope lay on the floor.

He picked it up.

“Looks like she left a message,” he said.

“Probably the bill for room charges here at the inn,” Gwen said. “I’ll take care of it at breakfast.”

“It’s not the bill for the room.” There was no name or address on the outside of the envelope, but he could sense the anxiety that stained the paper.

He slit the seal and took out the photograph.

Gwen came to stand beside him.

“It’s a copy of the same group shot that I found on the floor near Evelyn’s body,” she said. “The picture of the seven research study subjects.” She took a closer look. “Someone drew a circle around my face.”

Judson turned the picture over and read the scrawled message on the back aloud. “You are next. ”

Thirty-three

“You’re sure about this?” Gwen asked.

“Almost positive,” Judson said.

Gwen opened her senses a little and watched his aura as he shut down the SUV’s engine. He was definitely running hot with a mix of adrenaline and psi—he had been ever since he had opened the envelope that contained the unpleasantly marked-up photo. But, as usual, he was fully in control.

He sat quietly for a moment studying the thick stand of mist-shrouded trees that stood between the vehicle and the rear door of Hudson Floral Design.

In the backseat, Max glowered through the recently repaired door of his carrier.

It had stopped raining, but an early morning fog had rolled in off the river, muffling sound and limiting visibility. At least, Gwen thought, the fog had that effect on those like her who possessed merely normal hearing and vision.

“What do you see?” she asked Judson.

“What?” He glanced at her. His eyes glowed with a low level of psi.

“Just wondered if you could see through the fog.”

“Sometimes I forget that you see things differently than I do. Don’t worry, I won’t blunder into a tree and brain myself.”

“That possibility never occurred to me.” She turned back around to study the scene. “I have to tell you that knowing that you’re almostpositive you know what we’re doing here is not the most reassuring thing you could say under the circumstances. Remember, she’s got that old rifle.”

“I gave you the option of staying behind at the inn,” Judson reminded her.

She ignored that. “Maybe we should talk to Oxley first.”

“That won’t do any good.”

“Things could get awkward if you get caught.”

“I won’t get caught. But if I do, get on the phone to Dad.”

She almost smiled. “That sounds similar to the advice you gave Nick.”

“Because it’s the best advice under the circumstances.”

“Wow.” She snapped her fingers. “Must be nice to come from a family that can make every little problem go away.”

“The Coppersmiths can’t make every problem go away, but we’re pretty good when it comes to the annoying legal stuff.” He unfastened his seat belt and opened the door. “I won’t be long.”

“Forget it.” Gwen got out, too. “You’re not going in without backup, partner.”

He gave that a few seconds of consideration. Then he nodded once. Decision made.

“Okay,” he said.

“Glad we got that settled,” she said. She told herself that she was pleased that he seemed to be treating her as an equal partner in the investigation.

“All things considered, I’d rather have you where I can keep an eye on you,” Judson added.

So much for the partnership,she thought.

“You do need me, Judson Coppersmith,” she said. “I’m the one who knows this town and the people in it. Without me, you wouldn’t have a clue where to start investigating. What’s more, I’m in charge here. I’m the one paying the bills, remember?”

“Paying the bills doesn’t mean you’re in charge. It makes you the client.”

“Semantics.”

They wove a path through the trees to the narrow strip of paved parking area behind the shop. Gwen waited for Judson to crack the old lock. To her surprise, he knocked on the door instead. The sharp rap of his knuckles on wood gave her a start. But she was even more astonished when he wrapped his hand around the knob and opened the door.

“We know you’re in there, Nicole,” he said calmly.

Gwen glanced at him, startled. It was certainly news to her.

“Uh, Judson, I’m not so sure a confrontation would be wise.”

She stopped talking when she heard reluctant footsteps on the other side of the door.

Nicole appeared in the opening. She was dressed in faded jeans, a long-sleeved denim shirt and a light down vest. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail.

“I should have known you’d figure out that I was the one who left the photo under Gwen’s door,” Nicole said. Her mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “You’re both psychic, after all. Me, I’m just a fool who was dumb enough to fall for one of your kind. Don’t worry, I learned my lesson.”

A chill whispered through Gwen. She remembered something Evelyn had said once, long ago. The risk in proving to others that the paranormal is real is that there will be those who will view people of talent not only as different but also as dangerous. And what people fear, they try to control, isolate or even destroy. Remember the Salem witch trials.

“Zander Taylor was not one of our kind,” Gwen said quietly. “He was a monster.”

“No shit,” Nicole said. “I finally figured that out for myself yesterday.”

“It’s time to talk,” Judson said.

“Yeah, sure.” Nicole turned on her heel and walked away into the shadows. “Guess it doesn’t matter much anymore.”

Judson moved through the doorway. Gwen knew from the shiver of energy in the atmosphere that he had kicked up his talent. She followed him into the back room of the shop. A dark, earthy perfume of freshly cut flowers, potted plants and decaying foliage assailed her senses.

Rows of decorative vases lined the shelves of the back room. Dried floral materials stood in large metal containers. A glass-fronted refrigerator hummed quietly in one corner. Several pairs of gardening shears and an assortment of other tools were neatly arranged on a nearby workbench.

Nicole went into the front of the shop. Large pots filled with chrysanthemums, orchids, daisies and lilies loomed in the shadows. Baskets of herbs and flowering plants hung from the ceiling.

Nicole moved behind the counter and opened the door of a small office. She flipped a light switch on the wall, illuminating the interior.

Gwen looked at the photos that covered the walls and shuddered. Trisha Montgomery’s description was right. The small space was a shrine to Zander Taylor.

There was a large floral calendar tacked over the desk. The month of August was illustrated with a scenic shot of Oregon wildflowers. There were neatly written notes in several of the squares around various dates. Carter wedding. Feed dogs. Order new vases for inn. But aside from that single, cheerful exception, every inch of wall space was covered with photographs of Zander Taylor.

The pictures were various sizes. In most of the images, Taylor posed for the camera alone, smiling his charming psychopath’s smile. Nicole was with him in a few of the shots, leaning into him, her arm wrapped around his waist, looking happy and thrilled to be in love.

But the Zander Taylor shrine had been vandalized. Each of the pictures had been savagely sliced, not once but over and over again. A pair of sharp gardening shears lay on the desk. The only untouched image in the room was the calendar illustration.

“People tell me I should move on,” Nicole said. “They say I need to get past losing Zander.” She studied one of the ripped photos. “But I can’t seem to do that. For two years, every time I walked into this room it was like I had just lost him yesterday. I was okay with that.”

“You didn’t want to be free of him,” Gwen said gently.

“No.” Nicole’s smile was bitter. “But now that I know the truth about him, I want to escape more than anything else in the world. That’s not going to be possible.”

“Why did you leave the photo under Gwen’s door this morning?” Judson asked.

“I wanted to warn her.” Nicole hugged herself and looked at Gwen. “Figured it was the least I could do after all the things I’ve said to you and about you, all the accusations I made. I felt bad about taking that shot at you, too.”

“You’re the one?” Gwen asked.

“I wasn’t trying to hit you. I just wanted to scare you, make you leave Wilby.”

“What were you trying to warn me about when you left that picture under my door this morning?” Gwen asked.

Nicole surveyed the pictures. “It’s Zander. He’s come back, you see. And now he’s going to kill all of us. But I’m pretty sure he’ll take you out first.”

Judson watched her intently. “Zander Taylor is dead. They found his body in the river two years ago.”

“You were one of the people who identified him,” Gwen said.

Nicole shook her head. “He was a very powerful psychic. He could fool anyone. I wouldn’t put it past him to fake his own death. I’m telling you, he has come back to take his revenge and then he’ll complete his mission.”

“What mission?” Judson asked.

“Two years ago, he told me he was some kind of undercover investigator. He said that because he was the real deal—a genuine psychic—the FBI had hired him to hunt down and expose the frauds and fakes and scam artists who pretended to be psychic. He said criminals like that took advantage of the elderly and folks who were in mourning. He said every year the con artists stole millions and got away with it because there was no one who could stop them.”

“Except him,” Judson said.

Nicole sniffed and reached for a tissue. “He told me that he was like a modern-day Harry Houdini who traveled around the country, exposing the frauds. He claimed that he had joined Evelyn’s research study here in Wilby to gather evidence against her.”

“Did he say why he wanted to expose Evelyn?” Gwen asked. “She never worked as a storefront psychic. She never told fortunes or pretended to contact the dead. All she ever did was study the paranormal.”

“He claimed that Evelyn’s research study was just a cover,” Nicole said. “He told me that in reality she was operating a school to teach con artists how to pose as psychics. But he said that in the course of his investigation, he had discovered that there was a real psychic in the study group, a very dangerous killer who could commit murder without leaving any trace.”

“He was describing himself,” Judson said.

“Yes, I know that now.” Tears of pain and rage glittered in Nicole’s eyes. She blew into the tissue. “I was such a gullible fool.”

“No,” Gwen said. “Taylor fooled all of us.”

“But you and Evelyn Ballinger eventually realized what was going on,” Nicole whispered. “I didn’t. Not until yesterday.”

“What did Zander tell you after the first two people in the study died?” Gwen asked.

Nicole shivered and started to rock back and forth in the chair. “He said that he was in grave danger because he was closing in on the killer. He said he might have to disappear without warning, but if that happened, he would come back for me.”

“He realized that Evelyn and I were on his trail,” Gwen said. “He knew that even though we could never come up with hard proof that he was the killer, we would know the truth about him. He couldn’t have that. He decided that he had to get rid of both of us. He intended to start with me.”

“The day before he went over the falls, he said that you were the most dangerous person in the study group,” Nicole whispered. “He said he was positive that you were the murderer.”

“So when they pulled his body out of the river, you assumed that he had confronted me and that I had killed him,” Gwen said.

“It all seemed to fit.” Nicole unfolded her arms and scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of one hand. “Chief Oxley said that you were the last one to see him alive. Oxley doesn’t believe in the paranormal, but I could tell he had his suspicions, too. When Evelyn shut down the study and you and most of the others left town, I was convinced that you were the killer that Zander had been hunting. I thought no one would ever catch you and that Zander would never be avenged.”

“Then, two years later, Evelyn is found dead and I’m back in town,” Gwen concluded. “You and Oxley and a lot of other people are wondering if the killing has started again because I’m here.”

“Yes. But it’s been two years and I’ve had some time to think.” Nicole stared at one of the pictures on the wall. “I’ve asked myself a lot of questions since Zander died. I haven’t been able to find many answers. That was why I went to see Louise yesterday.”

Judson examined the photos. “What questions have you been asking yourself?”

“Mostly about his precious camera,” Nicole said. “Zander never let it out of his sight. He said it was a special handmade camera that had come out of a secret government lab and that only someone like him—a real psychic—could operate it. He told me that the focus was paranormal in nature and had to be adjusted frequently. He called it a tune-up and said that Louise was one of the few people in the world who knew how to do it.”

“How did he explain her knowledge of the workings of a paranormal camera?” Judson asked.

Nicole shrugged. “Something to do with her ability to tune her wind chimes. He said she had the magic touch because she was a genuine witch. He laughed when he told me that. At the time, I thought he was teasing me. I knew he believed in the paranormal, but he had always made it clear that he didn’t believe in magic and witchcraft. I assumed he meant that Louise had some psychic talent that allowed her to adjust the focus of the camera.”

“The camera disappeared after Zander died,” Gwen said. “Evelyn and I looked for it.”

“So did I,” Nicole said. “In fact I went back to the falls to search for it. When I couldn’t find it there, I went to the house that Zander had rented to look for it. I even asked Louise if she knew what had happened to it.”

“What did she say?” Judson asked.

“Nothing helpful. Something about the demon taking it. She said it wouldn’t have done me any good because I didn’t have the kind of power it took to make the camera work. She was having one of her bad days that day. You know how it was with her. She was always walking a fine line between semi-crazy and real crazy. On that day she was definitely on the wrong side of the line.”

“Why did you want the camera?” Gwen asked.

“I just wanted a keepsake,” Nicole said. “Something that had been important to Zander. He had made it clear that the camera was his most valuable possession. When I couldn’t find it, I assumed you had stolen it or else it had gone into the river.”

“Evelyn and I convinced ourselves that it had gone over the falls with Zander,” Gwen said. “But now that Evelyn and Louise are both dead by paranormal means, it’s looking like someone else found the camera that day, someone who has the talent to use it.”

Nicole looked at her. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“It’s possible that there were two crystal-based weapons all along,” Judson said. “We don’t have all the answers yet. You said that you went to Louise’s house to ask her a question.”

“Yes.”

“What was it you wanted to ask her?” Judson asked.

“I remembered what Zander had said about Louise having the ability to adjust the camera focus. He called her a witch, but he told me that very few people had her kind of talent. It occurred to me that if Gwen was using the camera, she would need to get it refocused periodically and that maybe she knew that Louise could do that kind of magic.”

“That was very good thinking,” Gwen said. “The same thing had occurred to me. Now that Louise is dead, Judson and I are going on the theory that whoever has the camera was using Louise to tune it but then decided that she had become a liability and killed her before we could talk to her.”

“Yes, I think that is exactly what happened,” Nicole said. “When I found her body, I was terrified. Those damn chimes. I think I’ll hear them in my nightmares for the rest of my life.”

“The chimes were sounding when you got there?” Judson asked.

“Yes,” Nicole said. She unfolded her arms and massaged her temples. “It was like a ghost was causing them to make that terrible music. It seemed to be getting louder and louder. I wanted to run. But then I heard your car in the driveway. I thought maybe the two of you were working together. You had murdered Evelyn and Louise and now you were going to kill me, too. The chimes made it impossible to think clearly.” Nicole paused to take a deep breath. “But last night I realized I had been wrong about you, Gwen, and probably everything else, as well.”

“What convinced you that I wasn’t the killer?” Gwen asked.

Nicole moved one hand in a small gesture. “You and Mr. Coppersmith saved me from the fire.”

“That’s it?” Gwen frowned. “You decided we were the good guys just because we didn’t leave you behind when the house went up in flames?”

“The kind of monster Zander described to me would have left me in that house.” Nicole shook her head. “How could I have been so wrong about Zander?”

“The ability to charm those around him was part of his talent,” Gwen said. “You know that he was psychic. Well, think of him as a kind of hypnotist. He could make people believe just about anything. Evelyn and I were fooled for a while, too. So was everyone else in town.”

“I wonder if he fooled Louise,” Nicole said quietly. “That poor crazy old witch. Do you suppose she ever realized that she was aiding and abetting a serial killer?”

Thirty-four

“We need some deep background on Zander Taylor,” Judson said. “And we need it fast. How much did you and Evelyn find out about him when you realized that he might be the killer?”

“Not much,” Gwen said. “All we had to go on were the forms that he filled out for Evelyn’s files when he joined the study. He claimed that his mother gave him up for adoption shortly after he was born. Evidently something terrible happened to his adoptive parents. Zander told us they were murdered in the course of a home invasion. Afterward he ended up in the foster care system. But who knows? With Zander, you could never be sure when you were getting the truth.”

Judson thought about that while he pried off the lid of his coffee cup. Gwen’s cup of tea sat untouched in the console between the two front seats. They had picked up the coffee and tea at Wilby’s lone fast-food restaurant after leaving Nicole’s shop. At Gwen’s suggestion, he had driven out along a narrow road that dead-ended on a tree-studded bluff overlooking the falls.

From where they were parked, they could see the old lodge that Evelyn had converted into a lab on the opposite side of the river. The windowless structure sat shrouded in gloom and shadow, another sad monument to the futility of pursuing paranormal research, Judson thought.

Gwen contemplated the dark lodge through the windshield. “Every dime Evelyn ever got went into that lab. I asked her once why she had wasted so much of her life trying to prove the paranormal was normal.”

“Did she give you an answer?”

“She said she had been saddled with the ability to perceive just far enough beyond the normal to know that the paranormal existed. She said that a little knowledge was always a dangerous thing because it made you want more. She yearned for answers.”

“So does my brother, Sam. He says he can’t abandon the research when the reality of the paranormal confronts him every time he looks into a mirror. And now he’s talking about doing the research for the sake of his future children.”

“I’ve met Sam, and it’s obvious that he’s fascinated with crystals and para-physics,” Gwen said. “But that’s not what compels you, is it?”

“No. Don’t get me wrong. I’m always interested in what comes out of the lab—everyone in the Coppersmith family is curious about the research—but I’m not obsessed with the latest crystal theories or the results of some new experiment.” He shrugged, drank some of the coffee and lowered the cup. “Not unless I can figure out how to use it.”

Gwen smiled her knowing smile. “In the course of one of your investigations.”

“Sam is my partner in Coppersmith Consulting because he likes the scientific and technical end of the security business—the forensics. But me, I like the hunt.”

“Yes, I know.” She picked up her tea and removed the lid. “I also get the feeling that you like to work alone.”

“I can work with Sam,” he said, feeling oddly defensive.

“Sure,” she said. “Because he’s family. You can trust him.”

He breathed deep and exhaled slowly. “I trust you, Gwen.”

She looked startled. Then she positively glowed.

“Why, thank you,” she said. “I’m honored. As it happens, I trust you, too.”

“Good. That’s good.” He shifted slightly, searching for a path into the difficult conversation he wanted to have. “There’s something else I want to say. I respect what you do with your talent.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? I’m thrilled. I have to tell you there’s just not a lot of respect out there for those of us in the psychic counseling profession.”

“Okay, maybe I need to qualify my statement. I respect you. Not sure about the other psychic counselors. Lot of phonies out there.”

“Sadly, that is all too true.” She took a cautious sip of the tea. “Which is why I’m thinking of changing careers.”

“What?”

“I like this detecting business.”

“I can tell,” he growled.

“All modesty aside, I feel I have a certain flair for it.”

“You do,” he agreed. “But where, exactly, are you going with this?”

“I’ve been solving historical murder cases in a fictional sense for the past two years for Dead of Night. In the process, I’ve learned a lot about researching cold cases from Evelyn. I’ve learned a lot from you, too. In fact, I’ve picked up several very helpful pointers in the course of our partnership.”

“Gwen, if this is going where I think it’s going—”

“And then there’s my dream therapy work.” Gwen’s enthusiasm was growing stronger by the second. Her eyes sparkled. “When you think about it, that has a lot in common with what you do—searching for clues, understanding motives. It’s like I’ve been serving an apprenticeship all these years. Now I’m ready to come out of the shadows.”

He was getting a bad feeling, a real deer-in-the-headlights kind of feeling.

“What are you planning to do when this case is over?” he asked.

“I’m going to open a psychic detective agency,” Gwen announced.

She was damn near incandescent now, he thought.

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” He set his cup down in the holder. “Gwen, listen to me, this business isn’t what you think it is.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to compete with Coppersmith Consulting,” she said quickly. “I’m not interested in industrial espionage or secret agent work.”

“Okay, that’s a good thing because—”

“I’m thinking more along the lines of small, quiet murder cases and missing persons work.”

“There are no quiet cases of murder, and when people go missing it’s usually for a reason—often a dangerous reason.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

“That’s supposed to reassure me? Gwen, you read auras for a living. You fix bad dreams, remember?”

“I just explained that background will be very helpful in my investigations.” Excitement and energy heated her eyes. “This feels right, Judson. It’s like I’ve been floundering around all my life trying to find myself and figure out what I ought to be doing.”

“You sound like my sister, Emma.”

“I’ve found my passion, Judson, just as you have. I’m sure your sister will find hers, too, eventually.”

For a nightmarish instant, he was back in the flooded caves, sucking up the last of the air in the tank. It took him a couple of seconds to breathe again.

He wanted her to feel passion for him, he realized, not for the investigation business. But she had a point. He did have a passion for the work that he did. How could he argue that she shouldn’t feel something similar? Because it could be dangerous. That was the reason. The thought of Gwen going off on her own to investigate small, quiet murder casesscared the living daylights out of him. But he also had to admit that he understood.

They sat quietly for a time, the rain drizzling steadily on the windshield. The surging energy of the falls was a palpable force that penetrated the SUV. Something deep inside Judson responded to the wild currents. The steady, unrelenting roar was muffled by the closed windows, but it was always there in the background. He wondered absently how many eons the water had been cascading over the cliff. You didn’t have to be psychic to know that there was such a thing as the paranormal. You only had to look at the forces of nature to realize that energy existed across a vast—perhaps an endless—spectrum that extended far beyond what people, with their limited senses and puny machines, could measure.

“Sometimes the hunt doesn’t end well,” he said after a while. “Sometimes I get the answer too late to do anyone any good. Sometimes people won’t accept the answers I come up with. Sometimes I don’t find any answers.”

“Sometimes I can’t fix a dreamscape,” Gwen said. “Sometimes my clients won’t accept the answers I come up with. Sometimes I can’t find the answers, either. But at least as a private investigator I’ll be able to find some of them.”

“The major drawback to investigation work is that you have to deal with the clients,” he said.

“They can’t be any more frustrating or difficult than my dream therapy clients.”

“Maybe not, but they can be more dangerous. My last client tried to kill me.”

“Good grief.” She swallowed hard. “Well, I promise I’ll be careful.”

“You keep saying that.”

“No offense, but given your career path, you aren’t in a position to lecture anyone else about the importance of not taking chances. Neither of us can ignore our talent, Judson.”

“This conversation isn’t going well, is it?” he said. “Maybe we should get back to the investigation that we’re trying to work on here.”

“Okay.”

He settled into the corner and rested one arm along the back of the seat. “It occurs to me that Zander Taylor may have given you more hard facts than you realize.”

Gwen’s brows elevated slightly. “What makes you say that?”

“A skilled liar is usually smart enough to mix in as much of the truth as possible. It makes for a more convincing story.”

“One thing I do know about Zander is that he was an excellent liar,” Gwen said.

“In which case, it’s possible that at least some of the information he gave Evelyn when he applied to the study was true,” Judson said.

“Even if you’re right, how do we sort the wheat from the chaff?”

Judson closed his eyes and summoned up a little energy, putting himself into the zone—into the head of the dead psychopath.

“Got a hunch that when we go looking, we’ll find out that Taylor really was adopted and that his adoptive parents were murdered—maybe by Taylor himself, given what I know of his para-psych profile—but that’s not our problem now.”

“Sometimes I wonder how many people he did kill, but I suppose we’ll never know,” Gwen said somberly. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

Judson opened his eyes. “He was probably also telling the truth when he said he wound up in the foster care system. Those are all facts that could be verified. They are also facts that make him look somewhat sympathetic. That would be key to the impression he wanted to make.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you if only because when he talked about the system, it was clear that he had an intimate, working knowledge of it.”

“Like you?”

“Yes,” she said evenly. “But even if those particular facts are true, where does it get us?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “Still asking questions. Turning over rocks. That’s how I work. But we need to move faster. I don’t have time to do the research. I’m going to put Sawyer on Zander Taylor’s backstory and see what he can find.” Judson reached for his phone. “Damn. It would be so useful to have those old files from Ballinger’s time as a counselor at Summerlight.”