Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery (32 page)

The sirens grew closer, and out of the corner of her eye M.J. saw Dutch glance nervously
down the street. “We need to go…,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what she means,” Margo said, still fanning away at her face.

Brody pushed his way to M.J.’s side. “Mrs. Dudek, I remember my mom called you on
the phone about that guy who came to the salon right after she bought it from you.
He scared her. Remember?”

The sirens drew closer still, and M.J. sensed there were a lot of them. What was worse,
they also seemed to be closing in on them from opposite directions. “A guy who scared
her?” Margo repeated, her flushed face starting to drain of color and the sweat on
her brow beginning to drip down her face, and all the while her labored breathing
got heavier and heavier.

The sirens were closer still and Dutch put a hand on M.J.’s elbow. “We’ll have to
bring her,” he whispered.

Next to her Candice was typing furiously on her phone, and M.J. knew that their situation
was getting desperate, because Margo didn’t look like she would come either quickly
or quietly. “Margo,” M.J. tried, one last time. “Rita is insisting that you know this
man. She says you can tell us his name. Please! We’ve
got
to have his name!”

Margo wobbled on her feet, and several arms reached out to steady her, but it was
too late. The woman was hyperventilating and with two more panicked breaths her eyes
rolled up and she
swooned. Dutch caught her, and as she was a big woman, he struggled to keep her upright.
“Dammit!” he swore. The sirens sounded like they were only a few streets away now.

“Get her to the car!” Candice urged, trying to pick up Margo’s feet, but the woman’s
body was limp and heavy, and the two of them couldn’t even manage to get her out of
the doorway and down the two steps by the time six patrol cars screamed to a stop
in front of the house. Within seconds they were surrounded by uniformed police, guns
drawn and demands for them all to get down on the ground.

M.J. felt a jolt of terror at all those guns pointed at her, and her eyes locked on
Gilley, hunched down in the car and looking like a frightened puppy. He tended to
panic first, follow instructions second.

“I’m a Fed!” Dutch shouted, as calls from the cops for them to get on the ground continued
to echo around them.

“Get down on the ground now!” an officer with a face like a bulldog shouted.

Dutch was still holding on to Margo, while everyone else was slowly following the
cops’ instructions. “Dutch, set her down!” Candice told him.

“I’M A FED!” Dutch shouted, still refusing to let go of Margo and defiantly ignoring
the cops slowly closing in on him.

“Set her down and get on the ground!” another cop shouted.

“Dutch!” Candice pleaded.

M.J. was on her knees, her hands behind her head while her heart thumped hard in her
chest. She was staring at Dutch, willing him to cooperate, when she saw Margo’s eyelids
flutter and her lips move. M.J. was close enough to hear her mutter something—it sounded
like a name.

“GET DOWN!” the bulldog-faced cop shouted so loud they all winced.

At last Dutch carefully set Margo down right next to M.J., and as he stepped back
and began to raise his arms, the cop behind him fired and Dutch’s body seized before
collapsing to the ground in a heap.

A moment later a swarm of police moved in to completely encircle them.

“A
bby?” the coffee shop barista called loudly.

At the sound of my name I pushed my way through the swarm of people waiting for their
drinks in the busy café, happy to get my coffee and get out of the crowd of bodies.
I took my coffee gratefully, then edged through the throng again to a table in the
corner with my coat over the chair. I’d gotten lucky—the table was next to the heat
vents.

It was still chilly from the cold front that’d moved in the day before, but once I
was tucked into the corner of the café, it was really quite pleasant. As I sat waiting
for Candice, I tried to think of a way to tell Dutch that I was going to stay at Candice’s
overnight. I thought I knew what to say so he wouldn’t be hurt or suspicious, but
the next few days might prove trickier. At some point he was gonna figure out that
I was avoiding him.

And the following few days were bound to come with questions about my evasiveness.
We had our closing, the move, the rehearsal dinner, and I was positive Cat would want
at least one final meeting with the two of us. (My voice mail was full of such requests,
in fact.) But the danger I sensed swirling around Dutch
whenever I was close made it clear to me that I couldn’t be near him, and I didn’t
know how to explain it in a way that he wouldn’t worry, and wouldn’t try to talk me
out of staying away. He was stubborn enough to come find me and stick close, simply
to protect me.

I took a sip of the coffee and stared out at the dark streets. It was just a little
after six a.m. Dutch wouldn’t be up for another half hour or so. I’d slipped out while
he was sawing some pretty good logs. Even though I’d only been gone an hour, I already
missed him.

With a frown I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.

To my surprise, Dutch texted me right back.

Did the man know me, or what?

I assured him I was fine, just nervous about the wedding and
was trying to take my mind off things by focusing on something else. I think he bought
it, because he replied with a simple

And that was the end of it.

“This seat taken?” Candice asked.

I jumped. “Sorry. I didn’t see you come in or I would’ve ordered your coffee.”

Candice waved to the group of customers at the collection counter. “I just ordered.
It’ll be up in a bit.”

Sitting down, Candice folded her hands on the tabletop and looked me in the eye. “Tell
me.”

I sighed and shook my head. “I wish I could articulate it….”

“Try.”

“You know I’ve had this really bad feeling about Dutch being in danger, right?”

“I do.”

“And you also know that I’ve been unable to figure out where it’s coming from, other
than that it’s connected to the bombing case.”

“Yes.”

“Well, last night I was able to pinpoint the source of the danger.”

Candice’s brow furrowed and she eyed me closely. “Where’s the source?”

My eyes misted and I felt my lower lip quiver. I pointed to myself. “Right here.”

Candice studied me for about ten seconds before she sat back and blew out a breath.
“What does that even mean, Abby?”

“I have no idea. But I’m a danger to Dutch, and until I figure out why, I can’t be
around him.”

The barista called Candice’s name, but she didn’t turn away or get up to retrieve
her coffee. Instead she continued to study me intently and at last she said, “Then
I think we need to solve this case fast, ’cause it’s going to be a challenge to marry
the two of you off if you’re hiding under the bed at my place and he’s waiting at
the altar.”

I grinned in spite of myself. “Get your coffee, smart-ass.”

Candice and I spent the next few minutes talking through a game plan. We both agreed
that we would be most effective if we stuck together and worked the case away from
the bureau boys. Once we’d finalized our plans, we headed to our shared offices and
got to work. Candice moved the furniture in her suite to the side and we began to
lay out the case on the floor with index cards and photos of all the players. We started
with Mary’s suicide, moved to Taylor’s bombing, and piece by piece we put together
a theory. “The sisters are the key,” I said. “We find out what the bomber’s motive
really is, and we’ll solve this case.”

“Well, in simple terms, the killer wanted to mentally torture and then murder Taylor.”

“Yes, but the why is the essence of this whole thing, Candice. It matters
why
he wanted to mentally torture and murder her.”

“We heard from Amber that Taylor wasn’t well liked around campus. Maybe she ticked
somebody off enough for him to want her to suffer and die.”

I thought about that for a bit. I didn’t know if I agreed or disagreed with that theory,
and my intuition wasn’t definitive about giving me a yea or nay on it. I decided to
try to throw a wrench into Candice’s thinking by saying, “Then why follow it with
a second bombing in Austin? College Station is a hike from
here. Why take the risk and make the effort unless there’s something else here we’re
overlooking?”

Candice frowned. “Good point. But you know the other thing that bothers me is, why
call Jed Banes?”

“Our killer wants to get caught,” I theorized. “So he called a cop.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t call a cop,” Candice countered. “He called a retired and somewhat
disgraced former cop.”

“You’re thinking the killer intentionally picked Banes, knowing his history?”

“Or,” Candice said, “maybe he knew Banes in another way. Maybe he wants Banes to suffer
a little too. Maybe he’s playing with Banes and getting a little revenge to boot.”

“You think it was someone Banes arrested?”

“Or double-crossed,” Candice said. “Banes was a crooked cop. Maybe that crookedness
extended to his criminal associates.”

My brow rose. “That’s a possibility, but I have two issues with that theory: The first
is that Banes doesn’t seem to care so much that young women are being targeted and
forced to carry out mass murders—in fact, that old geezer doesn’t seem to care about
much at all—and second, how does Banes connect back to Taylor and Michelle? I mean,
neither of them has a criminal record—and it’s not likely that either would’ve ever
met Banes, so what’s the connection?”

“Our killer,” Candice said simply. “He’s playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game,
and using Banes is part of that game. What I’m saying is that Banes may not be connected
to the girls at all, but he’s being used as a convenience and maybe to settle a different
score.”

“Two birds, one stone,” I said.

“Yep.”

I tapped my lip with my forefinger. “Okay, so we think that
the killer had some sort of personal connection to Taylor—someone who knew her well
enough to know that her sister blew herself up—but that still leaves the biggest question
of all, which is, why choose a different city and a beauty salon of all places as
your second target? I mean, why is he still carrying this out? He got his revenge
on Taylor—she’s dead—so why keep going?”

“Maybe he’s a sick fecker and he enjoyed it a little too much the first go-around,”
Candice said with a sigh.

My radar didn’t agree with that theory, though. “No,” I said. “It’s more complicated
than that. He’s got an agenda here. He’s not just having some sick twisted fun; he’s
trying to tell us something. It’s a puzzle with pieces that need to be put together
in order to see his overall message.”

“Message?” she repeated. “What message other than that he hates women?”

I looked at Candice. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, look at who he straps to a bomb. Look at where he sends them—to a dress shop
and a beauty shop. He’s specifically targeting women, Abs.”

I couldn’t help feeling that I was missing something super obvious, and try as I might
to make the theory of the angry misogynist work, my radar wasn’t buying it. “Yeah,
but if he just wanted to kill a bunch of women, there are so many better targets than
a shop at a mall. I mean, you saw how close Janice McCaffrey and her son came to getting
killed—and what about the old couple who were also murdered? You saw the footage that
Oscar pulled up. The unsub waited until the older couple was close to Taylor to detonate
the bomb. So, does this guy also hate children and old people?”

Candice sighed again. “I don’t know, Abby,” she said. “But I think you’re right that
there’s a bigger message here.”

For a minute we were both silent, looking at the index cards and photos of the victims
on the floor. My eye kept going back to Michelle Padilla. I felt a huge question mark
form in my head. Why her? “I don’t think Michelle was random,” I said when Candice
started shuffling the index cards in frustration.

“Hmm?”

“Michelle Padilla. I don’t think she was picked randomly. The killer had to have had
access to her house at some point, right? We know that from the sliding glass door,
so he knew her. Maybe the two were even intimate at some point.”

Candice bent to sift through several files crammed into a Bankers Box on the floor.
“According to both Michelle’s mother and her roommate, Michelle wasn’t seeing anyone
at the time of the explosion at the salon, and she hadn’t been seeing anyone in the
past couple of months. Plus, her last boyfriend is currently in Europe as an exchange
student. He’s been out of the country for the past nine weeks, Abs.”