Color Blind (39 page)

“Not really. Yes but no. Other perps have asked for me before. It’s the famous thing. They’re sick puppies, and they get off on notoriety. What’s more notable than bringing in a high-profile forensic psychiatrist to question you? Usually it’s their pathetic attempt to gain some more publicity. Not to mention they like to try to get me to tell them what color they are.”

Yancy downed half his Coke in a few gulps. “And you don’t tell them?”

“Nope.”

“Any reason?”

She cracked up. Chaos and sleep deprivation would do that to you. In between laughs she managed, “Because why should I?”

Yancy smiled. “Solid logic.”

He sat back, arms folded. From the way his mouth curved, the way he breathed, Jenna could tell he wanted to say something more.

“You want to know yours, don’t you?” she asked.

“What?” Yancy asked, surprised.

“Your color. You want to ask me.”

His grin reappeared. “Maybe. But I won’t.”

Jenna’s phone buzzed, and she groaned. “Not now.”

“You know, you really ought to turn that thing off for a couple days a year. A couple
hours
a year,” Yancy said.

Jenna shoved him and stood up. The receptionist’s glare was evil enough to scare her outside.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Dr. Ramey?” The voice on the other end of the phone was hesitant. Frightened?

“This is she.”

“Thank God. Dr. Ramey, this is Shawn Snow.”

Shawn Snow’s face flew into Jenna’s mind along with his colors. The day she’d visited Shawn and Amy Snow at their home to question them about their relationship to Thadius Grogan seemed so long ago. It had only been a few days. She’d given Shawn her card but hadn’t expected to hear from him again. The couple had seemed less than eager to talk.

“Go ahead,” Jenna said.

“I . . . You have to come. Thadius Grogan. He was just here.”

•   •   •

J
enna and Yancy arrived at the Snows’ home on the heels of the 911 first responders. The paramedics were inside treating Amy Snow, but for what, she had no idea.

Shawn met them at the door, eyes red-rimmed. “Dr. Ramey.”

She offered her hand, and he shook it, though she preferred to skip the niceties.

“Shawn. I’m glad you called. How’s Amy?”

The question was met with a face completely foreign to the Shawn Snow she’d met days ago. He’d been so concerned about his wife’s mental state when the woman realized they weren’t there because they’d found
her
daughter’s killer. Now, if Jenna wasn’t mistaken, Shawn showed disdain at the mention of Amy’s name.

“They’re treating her for a panic attack,” he answered.

Cold. Unfeeling. Gray.
Not the same protective gray she saw at times or the coal guarded color she’d seen at the Snows’ before. No. This was the same stark cement color she’d seen when Isaac had told the person on the other end of his jail phone call he loved them. A gray as flat as the emotions behind it.

The shock over his reaction trumped the shock that the medics weren’t treating Amy for a gunshot wound. In fact, knowing Thadius’s state of mind when he left the rally, he could only go two ways: spiral down or be done with his shooting spree. Killing the wrong man had sent Thadius in a direction, but until now, Jenna hadn’t been sure which.

“Did Thadius Grogan give you any clue where he might be going next?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Excuse me?”

Shawn Snow stepped out of his door much like he had the last time. He kicked the pine straw of his immaculate flower bed, and it littered the sidewalk.

“Apparently, Amy set Grogan up.”

“How do you mean?” Jenna choked. Harnessing the pulse pounding in her chest wasn’t easy.

Shawn bent over and began to pluck leaves from the bush beside the porch. “She met some chick at a meeting. Not a double-F double-V C meeting, but some other place she went. I don’t know why she went without me, but I’m guessing . . .”

He ripped a leaf in half and let it litter the ground, too.

“Yes, Mr. Snow?” Yancy prompted.

Jenna examined the way Shawn didn’t look at Yancy or question who he was. Maybe he assumed Yancy was an agent, and telling him otherwise wouldn’t help. Shawn seemed pissed, but mostly his disappointment shone through.

“I guess she was still trying to find a way to hunt down who killed Leah. The support groups have . . . they’re very good for support, but you can either go for a meeting, or you can go for other things.”

“Like what?” Yancy asked.

“Services,” Shawn Snow answered.

Like private investigators.
“What did Amy find, Mr. Snow? Or who?”

“You have to believe me, I didn’t know anything about this,” Shawn said, tearing more leaves and chucking them to the ground.

“Mr. Snow, we’re not here to judge you. It’s important we know where Thadius Grogan is heading next.”

Besides, it wasn’t for Jenna to decide whether or not Shawn Snow was guilty by association, though he sounded sincere. The strain in his voice screamed innocence, and if Jenna needed to recount this conversation, her professional opinion would be he had nothing to do with it.

“The girl Amy met approached her at the second meeting at the new place. Told Amy she could give her information on Leah’s murder but wanted a favor in return. Amy figures maybe the girl was following her, but until today, she hadn’t thought about it. The offer was
apparently
too attractive,” he spat, bitter.

The orange-brown color Jenna had seen around Amy the first time she met her flashed in again. It had been close to denial, but she’d known that day denial didn’t feel quite right. Now it all made sense. The orange showed up because Amy Snow’s upbeat persona
wasn’t
denial. It was orange, just like other lies.

“The favor?” Jenna pushed.
Get back on track.

“Get her a job with Thadius Grogan.”

That made sense. They hadn’t been able to find a connection between Thadius and Isaac Keaton within the support group network because the connection didn’t
exist
.

Which begged the question: Who would Isaac trust enough to involve in his plan? A girlfriend, most likely. Wife? No. Isaac wouldn’t be married.

“Who was she, Mr. Snow?”

He laughed, dry and sardonic. “I know her. I should. She and Amy talked. Amy hired her. Hell, I even knew she’d met Thadius, but it didn’t occur to me to think she might’ve cleaned his house. She came in a few times a week to do our laundry.”

The elusive housekeeper.

“Name? Do you have her address?”

“No address,” Shawn answered. “But her name is Lyra. Lyra Mintelle.”

The name collided into Jenna with the force of an industrial wrecking ball, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Papers flashed in, photographs.

Names.

Yancy pulled her to the side. “Excuse us,” he said to Shawn. Then, when they were out of earshot, “What? What is it?”

“Dover Mintelle was . . . Claudia’s second victim. Lyra is his daughter from another marriage. And she had a brother.”

“Wait. Really? You’re saying Claudia is Isaac’s evil stepmother?” Yancy asked.

Jenna was frozen, and all she could think to do was shove her cell phone toward Yancy. He took it and started texting. God willing, he was sending information to Hank or Irv. Both.

This was why Isaac Keaton had asked for her from the beginning. It was why he was gunning for her family at the rally, why he had always been so interested in how she figured out Claudia all those years ago. He wanted to play a little game, all right, and in his life, Claudia had been as close to a perfect player as they came. In fact, in his mind, there would’ve only been one person more perfect. One opponent he’d know hadn’t been beaten, even by the devil Claudia herself.

Isaac had wanted to see if he could do what Jenna’s mother couldn’t. He wanted to beat
her.

“Come on,” Yancy said, pulling her in the direction of the car they’d borrowed from an officer at the rally.

God, the fog. They didn’t even know where to go yet! “Shawn Snow . . .”

“The local cops will take care of the Snows,” Yancy said.

But then Hank came into her vision. He couldn’t be real, right? Why not, though? Thadius’s name had to have been mentioned on police radar.

“Jenna, I need to talk to you!”

Yancy stepped in front of her. “Not now, Hank. She needs time. We just found out . . . I sent you a text. Thadius Grogan is connected to Lyra Mintelle, the daughter of one of Claudia’s victims.”

“What?”

Jenna swallowed and stepped out from behind Yancy. “Dover’s kid. She had a brother. I’m guessing that’s how Isaac found Thadius. Lyra was the housekeeper.”

“Jesus,” Hank said. The news seemed to throw his mind off topic, and he stared at her.

“Hank?”

He shook his head hard as if to clear it. “Jenna, they’ve filed paperwork to move Isaac Keaton to the Sumpter Building. He’s showing
signs of schizophrenia
.”

Jenna’s breath caught again, and this time, it chased the cloudiness from her head. Everything was a little
too
lucid. Claudia’s brilliant plan to stay out of prison, and all along, Isaac planned to duplicate it.

He’d met Claudia. Isaac had never worked at the Sumpter Building, but he knew Claudia’s birthmark. The guy knew everything about Jenna’s family, and he’d targeted Jenna from the start.

He had to be the other kid. Lyra’s brother.

“I have to get to the prison. I need Claudia’s case file,” she mumbled to herself. The answers to Isaac were in there, but there was no time to go get it. She couldn’t let him be transported. Once he was in Sumpter, they might never get him back out again.

“What? What can you do?” Hank asked.

The burnt orange of lies shone in Jenna’s mind, as did what she saw Claudia as. She could smoke Isaac out if only she could make it.

“I can fix this, Hank. I know I can. But I need the case file on Claudia. It’s at the apartment.”

“Keys,” he said.

She fished in her pocket, tossed him her apartment key. “Meet you at the precinct.”

Jenna and Yancy hopped in the car and sped away.
Please let us get there in time.

“H
e’s in the infirmary,” Saleda said as she and Jenna walked down the hall.

She had met Jenna and Yancy at the door to take them in, but Yancy got checked at the gate. Hank not being with them was a problem today. Apparently when a high-priority criminal starts banging his head into a wall, security becomes very particular about who they let into the prison.

“It’s cool,” Yancy’d said. “I’ll wait in the car.”

She hadn’t had time to argue.

“Drugged up?” Jenna asked.

“They gave him a fast-acting, so he should be more than lucid by now, at least for the record. Besides, if he’s really schizophrenic, the lucidity issue wouldn’t matter.”

“So true.” They’d reached the infirmary, where Isaac was now sitting peacefully on his cot, his arm splinted by the infirmary nurse. The jail had called for a portable x-ray, but it hadn’t arrived. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” Saleda said, and she left to go monitor the interview on camera.

The guard unlocked the doors, and Jenna slipped inside.

Isaac didn’t look up at her.

“I hear you had a rough day,” she said.

“To say the least.”

He’d gotten the first part right anyway. Malingering schizophrenics nearly always blew it on that one. They’d exhibit
continuous
symptoms when in reality the real schizophrenic would show only intermittent signs.

“What happened?”

Isaac smiled up at her. “Dr. Ramey, you know what happened.”

The statement sounded honest enough for video evidence, but Jenna knew exactly how Isaac intended
her
to hear it. He’d wanted her to hear in his voice how he was planning to win his ticket right out of jail and a murder trial by faking insanity, just like Claudia had. “Why don’t you tell me in your own words?”

“Saw some stuff.”

No details, good hesitancy. He’s studied up on this.

“What kind of stuff?”

He grunted. “Sister.”

“You heard her voice?” Jenna asked.

Isaac shook his head. “No.”

Consistent. “Saw her?”

Again, Isaac said, “No.”

“Can you tell me what you
did
see?” Jenna asked. So far, he was a good mimic. Then again, she already knew that much from their first meeting.

“What did I see? A man trying to take her. Trying to take important things of our family’s. Hard to explain.”

With that, his first sign of psychopathy pushed through, at least in Jenna’s eyes. Repetition of the question. It wasn’t enough, of course, but the sentence bolstered her. She could trip him. Now, to find the way to prove it.

She glanced over the report of the guards present during Isaac’s little staged tantrum. He ran into a wall, kicked a wall, screamed at a wall. Then a tiny notation at the bottom about something he’d said.