Conduit (18 page)

Climbing out of the backseat of
Lionel’s unmarked sedan, Emily didn’t know what to expect from the crime scene.
They passed two officers sitting in a patrol car, keeping tabs on the alley. Standing
off to the side while Lionel cleared them to enter the scene, Cassie and Emily
pulled their hair up as Lionel had instructed, so no hairs would accidentally
fall and contaminate the scene.

After they donned shoe covers and latex gloves, Lionel admonished
the women not to touch anything. He lifted the crime scene tape as high as it
would go. Emily stepped under the tape, but hung back while Lionel and Cassie
walked ahead, discussing the scene in cop lingo Emily didn’t understand.

The yet unidentified victim was dead when her killer brought
her into the alley, so Emily would not get any readings from her directly. The
killer, on the other hand, might have left a trace behind. If she had been
correct in her assumption that it was this victim she had heard being killed Sunday
night, then Emily would have a strong connection to the crime scene.

Nothing popped out at her right away, so she took the time
to look around the alley. Because it rested between two abandoned warehouses,
there was not much to it apart from bits of debris floating in a thin river of
dirty rainwater. Other trash clung for life at the bottom bricks of the
parallel buildings, discarded and abandoned by thoughtless previous owners,
much in the same way as the woman’s killer had left her here.

Emily noted there were no streetlights above the alley
itself, and no other means of lighting down the narrow path. The lack of
lighting and the abandoned warehouse made this place appealing for disposing a
body, as opposed to alleys located off busier streets.

Three metal, dark green commercial trash bins stood against
the brick building. Emily assumed the graffiti on the trash bins to be aged,
since the building had been vacant for the past two years. She knelt down and
looked underneath each of the trash bins, but only found more long-forgotten
rubbish.

She got to her feet and watched Cassie perform a grid
search, just as Emily imagined she learned as a cop. The darkness flickered in
the back of Emily’s mind, and she turned her attention to Lionel. He leaned
back against the building and spoke to Cassie, but Emily tuned out his voice. With
the darkness pulsating inside her brain and guiding her instincts, she focused
on his moving lips and cleared her mind of all distractions. Her eyelids fell and
she drifted into a hypnotic state.

The entire drive to the crime scene, Lionel had seemed worn
out, with very little emotion. Upon arriving, however, his emotions shifted into
something Emily could grasp. Sadness. The crime scene did not make him angry as
she had expected, but left a deep sorrow coursing through his body. Another
woman had died, another life stolen, and he had been unable to prevent it. As with
six women before her, Lionel blamed himself for not stopping the killer, and he
hoped he could find something to catch him before he murdered again.

In the back of her mind, she saw Lionel’s lips moving, but
talking to Shawn, not Cassie. Though she had never experienced any psychic
phenomenon like this, she focused on both the vision and the darkness that
fueled it. In a vignette-style movie playing only for her, they walked through
the alley toward the victim’s body. Her view shifted from being an observer to
seeing Lionel’s memories of the crime scene through his eyes.

He lowered his eyes and gazed at the mutilated girl, giving
Emily a full view of everything she avoided seeing in the case file yesterday. She
leaned against the trash bin for support and her own eyes welled with tears
behind closed lids, but she didn’t try to stop the images.

As Lionel moved his head to talk to someone else at the
crime scene, his eyes scanned past an inlet toward the end of the alley. He had
blinked at just the perfect time, so it was out of his peripheral vision that Emily
saw the ragged tennis shoe sticking out from behind the bricks before it
quickly moved out of view.

Emily opened her eyes, ending Lionel’s memories. Someone
else had been at the crime scene while the police were there, someone who did
not want to be found. They might have seen the killer dump the victim’s body.

She caught Lionel watching her, as if he knew what she had
done. She averted her eyes, embarrassed at accessing his memories without his
knowledge. For a moment, she forgot her discovery.

“Are you okay, Emily?” Lionel’s voice was filled with
concern, but mixed with curiosity.

Emily nodded.

“Hey, guys,” Cassie called from down the alleyway, at the
inlet where Emily had seen the shoe sticking out. “You need to come see this.”

Emily jogged down the alley behind Lionel. When they reached
Cassie, Emily realized what she thought was a small inlet was actually another
alleyway.

“Did your guys search down here?” Cassie asked.

“They searched about halfway down. Some of our guys walked farther
up, but it was so far from the actual dump site that there was no reason to
search the other alleys that branch off from this one.”

“Someone else was here,” Emily said. “They may have seen the
killer dumping the body.”

Lionel furrowed his brow. “What makes you say that?”

Cassie pointed to a patch of dirt at the corner of the
brick. The toe of a tennis shoe sole was imprinted on the dust.

“Okay,” Lionel said, “that’s a start. But what makes you
think they may have seen the killer?”

“Because they live in the back of this alley, around the
corner, and down a ways,” Cassie said. “There’s a refrigerator box with an old
tarp over it. A shopping cart filled with aluminum cans is next to the box.”

“He or she probably heard the commotion this morning when
all the police were here,” Emily said. “They stuck their head out around this
corner to see for themselves, but they didn’t let you see them. They probably
took off after that, in case the cops searched for them. That’s enough to
believe they might have heard the killer dumping the body yesterday and looked
around the corner to check it out.”

“Looks like I’m getting my money’s worth by hiring you two.”

“You owe us at least a couple dinners now,” Cassie said.

“Let’s investigate this lead then and question our potential
witness,” Lionel said.

Cassie stepped in front of Lionel. “Not you, Uncle Leo. If
this person saw you here this morning and didn’t want to come forward because
there were cops, they sure won’t want to talk to you now. Emily and I can
handle this.”

Lionel regarded both of them and frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“There’s a patrol unit at the front of the crime scene and
you can hang out with them until we get back,” Cassie said. “It might be
awhile—”

“I’ll wait and I’ll do periodic drives around the block to
make sure everything is okay. I want one of you to send me a text every couple
minutes so that I know you’re okay.” Cassie opened her mouth to protest, and
Lionel added, “Just text a letter or something from your pocket.”

“We’ll do it,” Emily said, before Cassie could disagree. If
they pushed it, Lionel would insist on going with them or, worse yet, have
other officers come to the scene to find the potential witness. Either option
could result in scaring away that person for good.

“Thank you, girls,” Lionel said.

After he walked away, Cassie turned to Emily. “Did you pick
up on anything else besides the potential witness?”

“The witness did see the cops here this morning. He stood
right here and watched from a distance, but the cops didn’t see him. I know
this person can help.”

“Alright, let’s take this slowly then. If this witness is
homeless like I suspect, we don’t know what condition he or she is in. They
could be mentally unstable, could be on drugs, could be intoxicated, or could
be perfectly normal. We need to be on our toes and prepared for anything.”

“How much money do you have?” Both women had left their purses
in Lionel’s locked car, but Cassie always stuffed extra cash in her jeans
pocket for those unexpected moments.

Cassie dug in her pocket, pulled out some ones, and counted.
“Nine dollars.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “You know, I always wonder why
I asked you to go into business with me, but some days that decision actually
pays off.”

Emily ignored the playful insult. “They may not even take
it, but it’s good to have it on hand. Let’s go before Uncle Leo changes his
mind.”

They started down the alley, both keeping their footfalls quiet
so as not to scare the person away. Emily mused that they worked so well
together they rarely communicated a plan during a case. When one of them spoke,
no matter what wild tale they told, the other could follow and keep the ruse
going.

Reaching a dead end, Cassie led the way to the left and down
another alley. Next to a tall chain link fence, a dirty tarp with several rips
through the material covered the refrigerator box Cassie had described. The box
was turned on its side, lying horizontal across the cracked asphalt.

The ends of a navy blue sleeping bag sticking out of the
flaps confirmed that the man or woman used the box as makeshift sleeping
quarters. Emily’s heart ached thinking about the person living here night after
night, with no real shelter and not knowing when they might eat again.

Emily walked around the box and found the rusted shopping
cart filled with aluminum soda and beer cans. She paused for a moment and motioned
for Cassie to look at the cart. Cassie held up her hands to inquire what Emily
wanted her to see. “The cans,” Emily whispered.

Cassie scrunched up her face and looked back at the shopping
cart. She turned to Emily and mouthed, “Oh!”

Emily smiled as realization dawned on Cassie. The homeless
person was nearby and possibly watching them. They never would have left a
precious street commodity alone for very long, and a shopping cart filled with
cans would earn them enough money to buy a few meals.

Movement in the corner of Emily’s eye caught her attention.
A white cat with black and grey markings snaked its way toward them. When the
cat reached them, it ignored Cassie in favor of Emily. The ragged cat rubbed its
thin white face against her legs. It was not an unusual event for either Emily
or Cassie. Aunt Susan had many times told Emily tales of cats and their sensitivity
toward people with gifts like theirs.

Emily tugged off her latex gloves. She crouched down and ran
her fingers over its short, matted hair. “Hey there, pretty girl,” she said,
projecting her voice down the alley. She wanted whoever was watching them to
hear. “What’s a sweet little girl like you doing back here?”

“He’s a boy.”

Emily raised her eyes. A man poked his head out from behind
a trash bin fifty feet in front of her. She continued petting the cat and smiled
at the man.

“His name is Bob. You know, Bob Cat.”

She stood back up, while Bob resumed rubbing his cheek
against her leg, marking her as his territory. “I like the name a lot,” she
said.

The man came out from behind the trash bin and started
toward them. “He likes you. He doesn’t usually like people.”

Emily restrained her sympathy for the man dressed in torn
pants and a dirty flannel shirt. His tattered shoes, the same ones that she saw
in her vision, appeared to be the newest part of his outfit.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emily watched Cassie took
several slow steps away from them, so as not to disturb the connection Emily
had with the man. If she moved too quickly, she risked spooking away the only possible
witness in the case.

When the man reached them, he ignored Cassie and only looked
at Emily. Pointing to the shoe covers on her tennis shoes, he asked, “Are you a
cop, too?”

“I’m a private investigator. The cops asked me to wear these
so I don’t accidentally contaminate the crime scene.”

The man flung his hand in Cassie’s direction, but spoke to
Emily. “That one’s a cop for sure.”

“You’re right. She used to be a cop, but she answered a bad
call one day and was shot in her leg. Now, she’s a private investigator like
me.”

“Once a cop, always a cop.”

She extended her hand. “My name is Emily.”

The man regarded her hand for a long moment before accepting
it. “I’m Sam.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Sam.” She looked down at the
cat, who still circled her legs. “You too, Bob.” Glancing back at Sam, she
asked, “Do you know why I’m here?”

Sam scratched the straggly white whiskers on his chin and
studied her. “The dead girl. You want to know who put her there.”

Cassie gasped in the background, but Emily ignored her. “The
man who put her there also killed six other women. One of them was pregnant. We
want to stop him from killing others.”

Sam hardened his expression. “Do I have to talk to any cops?”

Emily faltered for a moment too long.

“I do, don’t I?” He crossed his arms and stepped back. “I
knew it and that’s why I didn’t want to get involved. I’m not doing it.”

“Why don’t you trust the police, Sam?” she asked.

“I’ll talk to you because Bob likes you.” Sam kept his eyes
focused on Emily and pointed in Cassie’s direction. “I’m not talking to her.”

Emily glanced at Cassie and gave her a quick nod. She
obliged by walking away and around the corner. Emily knew she would not be far,
but she needed to be out of sight for Sam to open up.

In an attempt to further disarm him, Emily took a few steps
toward Sam and narrowed the gap between them. “Why don’t you trust cops?” she
asked again.

Sam’s face softened for the first time since approaching her.
“They’re the reason I live here.” He walked around her and stood in front of
his shelter. “Well, I guess I’m the reason I’m here, but I still don’t like
them.”