Sleeping With Fear

Chapter 9

Leah Wells had wanted to be a cop since she was eight years old. Maybe even longer, but she remembered back to eight. She had turned her dollhouse into a jail, imprisoning three dolls, two teddy bears, and a ninja action figure borrowed from her brother when he hadn't been looking.

The ninja had committed the most heinous act; he had kidnapped Malibu Barbie and held her for ransom. The battle to capture him and free the hostage had been intense.

Leah's mother was somewhat bemused by all this, rightly fearing the childhood games heralded a less traditional life than the one that she, at least, hoped for. But Leah, instead of spending her college years joining a sorority and pursuing a degree in child psychology or some such, had studied criminal psychology and criminal investigation, interning with the state bureau of investigation.

But if her mother had been disappointed in her daughter's choice of careers, Leah herself was somewhat disillusioned by four years spent on the police force in Columbia; she discovered she did not like being a big-city cop. Too much violence. Too many depressing situations with unhappy, tragic outcomes.

Gordon said she'd picked the wrong career for a woman who believed happily-ever-after was the way stories were supposed to end, but the truth was that Leah enjoyed the work-mostly. She enjoyed helping people. So, when Columbia turned out to be too depressing for her, she decided a beach community would undoubtedly be more cheerful, less violent, and provide great fringe benefits.

Especially since she was that rare redhead who tanned instead of freckled.

She had landed in the Hazard County Sheriff's Department by virtue of a pin. With a list before her of law-enforcement agencies along the southeastern coast looking for experienced officers, she had closed her eyes and stabbed the paper with an open safety pin.

Hazard County it was.

Maybe a dumb way to plan a career, let alone a life, but it had worked out well for Leah. Because she liked her work now and loved the beach-community lifestyle. And she had a man she was fairly crazy about as well. Icing on the cake.

"And now," she said to Riley, bringing her story to the present and sounding aggrieved, "some murderous fiend has to come along and ruin paradise."

"Yeah, murderous fiends can really screw up your day," Riley said gravely. She was sitting on a corner of the conference table, idly swinging one foot, waiting for Sheriff Ballard to meet them there with the postmortem report. In the meantime, she had gotten Leah talking with a simple question or two about herself.

Leah sighed. "Oh, you know what I mean. It's not like I'm taking this murder lightly. Every time I close my eyes, I see that poor guy hanging out there in the woods. I feel queasy. And scared. Because if the maniac who killed him isn't a summer visitor, then chances are he's somebody I know."

Riley took another bite of the PowerBar she'd been eating, then said, "For what it's worth, I'd be surprised if this killer was a summer visitor."

"Shit. Why?"

"Because if he-or they-practice actual satanic rites, it's not something you usually just take on the road when you go on vacation. Not the extreme rituals, at any rate. Plus, secrecy is a really big factor, and that site was awfully public."

"So it could have been-what? A fake ritual?"

"Maybe a smoke screen. To hide the real motive behind the murder. And if that's the case, if somebody is using the trappings of the occult to throw us off the scent, then the reason is, most likely, to deflect attention away from someone who would otherwise be a logical suspect in the straightforward murder of this man."

Leah thought about that. "But we can't know if he had any enemies locally until we know who he is. Was."

"Yeah. So identifying him has to be a priority."

"It is. But so far, nada. The doc serving as our medical examiner gave us a preliminary report last night; he didn't find any identifying marks on the body. No old scars, no tattoos, no birthmarks. We ran his prints a second time just to be sure, but still no luck."

"I wouldn't expect his prints to be on file," Riley said.

"Any particular reason why?"

Neatly folding her empty PowerBar wrapper into a narrower and narrower strip, Riley said, "Because the head was removed."

Leah couldn't help grimacing, but said, "And so?"

"And so I've never heard of an occult ritual where the head of a victim was removed and taken away. And I can't see why that would be done other than to delay identification. That being the case, if the killer had any reason to suppose the guy's prints were on file, and obviously not being the squeamish kind, he would have destroyed the fingertips. Hacked them off, or maybe used a blowtorch."

Leah cleared her throat. "It's not a nice world where you live, is it?"

Riley looked slightly surprised, then smiled a bit ruefully. "I guess not. I don't think about it that way, most of the time."

"It's just a job?"

"Well…more or less. I meet some great people through my work. Have some interesting experiences, not all of them negative. I travel a lot. I do work I feel is important."

"Oh, no question about that." Leah lowered her voice slightly, even though they were alone in the conference room. "And you have a way to use the psychic stuff where it really means something, instead of working in a carnival sideshow or on one of those call-the-psychic hotlines."

"One of the most amazing psychics I know spent years in a carnival, telling fortunes."

"I didn't mean-"

Riley waved that away. "Oh, I know. But you're right-for some psychics, maybe most psychics, there aren't many ways to carve out a decent living using those abilities. That's assuming you even can use the abilities, and lots can't."

"Can't control them, you mean?"

"Most of us can't control them, or at least not reliably. My boss says that if ever a psychic is born who can control his or her abilities, the whole world will change. He's probably right about that."

"But that psychic won't be you, huh?"

"No. I've been using my abilities as long as I can remember, and it's still hit-or-miss. Even if my concentration is perfect and my energy level optimal, I may not get a damn thing. Other times I'm not even trying and get blindsided by a dump of information or emotions."

"You get emotions? Other people's emotions?" Leah hadn't intended to sound wary but heard it in her voice.

Riley frowned at the empty wrapper that was now a thin, folded strip; she tied it neatly into a knot. "Sometimes. Not the way an empath would, feeling what somebody else feels. It's just knowing somebody is angry or sad-or whatever. Even if it's all locked inside and they aren't showing any of it."

Leah studied the other woman, wondering what that must be like, to have that window into other people. Not that she wanted to know firsthand; she had trouble enough sorting through her own thoughts and emotions without adding in someone else's.

It wasn't something that appeared to disturb Riley. She was a curiously serene woman, Leah thought. Even out in the woods yesterday, in the midst of that horrific scene, her manner had been calm and matter-of-fact. And today the gun on her hip was worn casually with jeans and a light summer top.

She did not look like an FBI agent. Then again, Leah could imagine her in an army uniform only because Gordon had a couple of pictures of them together.

"Don't let those big eyes and that sweet voice fool you," he had warned Leah with a grin. "Riley hasn't got an innocent bone in her body. She's seen battle and she's seen the world, and she can take care of herself on any patch of it fate might see fit to send her to. Hell, I wouldn't want to tangle with her, armed or unarmed."

Something to bear in mind, Leah thought.

"Does being psychic really help?" she asked. "I mean, in an investigation."

Riley tied the plastic wrapper into a second knot, frowned at it as if wondering why she'd done that, and dropped it into an ashtray on the table behind her. "Sometimes." She hesitated, then met the other woman's gaze and said, "But maybe not this time. Just so you know, I'm more than a little off my game right now."

"Ash?" Leah guessed.

Riley was clearly surprised. "Why would you think that?"

"Just relating, I suppose." Leah laughed. "When I was falling for Gordon, I once came to work wearing two different shoes. I thought the guys would never let me live it down."

Riley smiled, but her eyes remained intent, questioning.

Interesting how clearly that came across, Leah thought. That silent question. Without actually intending to, she found herself offering an answer.

"Ash is a very intense guy, everybody knows that. I just figured he was probably even more intense behind closed doors-so to speak."

"He's a little…overwhelming," Riley said rather cautiously.

"I bet. Rumor has it he left the Atlanta DA's office because he couldn't control his temper."

"Really?"

Leah shrugged. "Oh, you know rumors. I've never seen any sign of that sort of thing, personally. But it's hard to miss the guy's…intensity. I keep coming back to that word, but it does seem to fit, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does."

Shaking her head, Leah said, "Rotten timing, all this. It looked like things were going really well for you two, that we'd find out all the supposed occult stuff was just nonsense and Gordon was fretting for nothing. Now, with this murder, everybody's tense and jumpy, and none of us can think much about anything else. Occult or not, something's sure as hell going on."

"Yeah."

"It was pretty obvious yesterday that Ash wasn't happy about you working the case. You two get that straightened out?"

"Yes. I told him I'd be working the case."

Leah laughed. "Atta girl. It's probably good for the man to find out you won't be at his beck and call."

"I think he already knew that."

The sheriff came into the room just then, which effectively put an end to any further confidences. At least for the moment.

"Well, we've got paperwork," he said. "And the crime-scene photos are printing out now. Riley, turns out we do have some sort of pattern-recognition software-and a technician who knows how to use it."

"Melissa?" Leah guessed.

"Yeah. Figures, right?" He handed the manila folder he was carrying to Riley, adding, "She's our resident computer geek, and thank God we have her. One of those people with an inborn knack. Anyway, she's going to be concentrating on those blood spatters on the rocks, see if we maybe have something more deliberate there."

"Good enough." Riley opened the folder and began going over the postmortem report.

Jake moved restlessly around the room for a minute or so, then took a seat at the table near Riley. "Still no luck identifying the guy," he offered.

Leah wanted to tell him to give Riley a chance to absorb the report she was reading but kept her mouth shut.

Without looking up, and apparently still reading, Riley said, "With no head, and fingerprints not in the system, I'm not surprised. Still no missing-persons report that matches, I gather?"

"No. No missing-persons reports at all."

"Is that unusual for this area?"

"To have no reports? Nah, it's normal. We don't get too many missing, barring the occasional teenager staying out too late or drunken fishermen falling out of their boats."

Deciding to speak up, Leah pointed out, "If he went missing on Sunday afternoon or early evening, it's less than forty-eight hours. Unless he had somebody waiting for him at home-wherever that was-it's at least even money that nobody's noticed him missing. Especially if he was here on vacation."

Riley nodded. "The needs of vacationers vary; not everybody walks on the beach or visits the restaurants or shops. Some people come with a bag of books or briefcase full of work, park themselves in front of the view, order takeout delivered, and never leave their own little rented piece of sand until it's time for the drive home. If this guy came here alone, his absence may have stirred no more notice than his presence did."

"How are you doing that?" Jake demanded.

She looked at him over the top of the open folder. "Doing what?"

" Reading and talking. Or are you just pretending to read?"

Leah kept her mouth shut again and just listened.

"No," Riley said. "I'm reading. It's a knack I have. Another agent in the unit taught me."

He grunted. "Must come in handy."

"Sometimes."

"That's considered a masculine trait, isn't it? Being able to compartmentalize mentally? Or emotionally."

"I've heard it said."

"You don't agree?"

"Never really thought about it." Riley's voice remained mild, and her slight smile was merely polite, but Leah was certain the other woman was perfectly well aware of what was going on.

Jake was showing off one of his least attractive traits, one Leah had seen often enough to recognize. Quite simply, he was accustomed to women paying attention to him no matter what else happened to be going on. Virtually all women. And that part of him disliked taking second place, to another man or to a murder.

Coming in third where Riley was concerned was obviously bugging the hell out of him.

Leah made a silent bet with herself as to the direction Jake would steer the conversation.

"You're probably good with numbers too," he said.

"I am," Riley confirmed, still mild. "I can also change a tire or the oil, use power tools skillfully, read any sort of map accurately, hit what I'm aiming at on the firing range or in the field, and I play a mean game of pool. Not bragging or anything. Just saying."

"Poker?"

"That too."

"A paragon," Jake said. "Can you cook?"

"Afraid not."

"I guess it's a good thing Ash can then, huh?"

Leah won her bet.

"Guess so." Riley shrugged.

"Doesn't really matter to you?"

"Well, I usually live on takeout, so it's something new. I could get used to it."

Jake was so transparently not pleased by that statement that Leah nearly laughed. But not quite. He was, after all, her boss.

Riley closed the folder and tapped the edge against her free hand. "Getting back to the murder, with no good way to I.D. the body, I say our best bet is to look for a man who isn't where he's supposed to be. Starting from the easier end. Summer visitors."

"That will be the quickest," the sheriff agreed. "We can check with all the motels and realtors for a single guy renting a room, a condo, or a house; in this area, we tend to get more families and groups than singles, so it ought to narrow the field. I'll get my people on it."

"It's a start, anyway." Riley offered the folder to Leah. "Want to take a look?"

"Pass. Wouldn't know what I was reading anyway."

Riley smiled and returned the folder to Jake. "Not much we didn't already know. White male approximately forty to forty-five years old, tortured and then decapitated. No tox-screen results yet. Estimated time of death was between two and six A.M. Sunday night. Or Monday morning, rather."

"Does that help?" Leah wondered.

"Not really. Not without more to go on. Jake, may I see all the paperwork you've got on any of the other possibly related crimes this summer? The arson, vandalism, whatever else you have."

"Of course." He was all business now, the foray into her personal life seemingly forgotten. "Looking for a common thread?"

Matter-of-factly, she said, "If there was one, your people probably would have seen it. Unless it's occult-related. Those can be very subtle, and I wouldn't expect most cops to pick up on them."

"But you would?"

"Maybe, maybe not." She shook her head. "Sorry to sound vague, but I haven't had a chance to do any research yet; until I work up a list of possibly related occurrences and try to figure out what they have in common, research is tough and fairly useless. The occult is a broad topic."

With a sigh, Jake said, "Yeah, I did an Internet keyword search using human sacrifice. You wouldn't believe some of the shit that came up."

"Oh, I'd believe just about anything." Riley's voice was dry. "But I'd rather start at the beginning, not with the end result."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the preparations for an occult ceremony are every bit as important as the eventual outcome, possibly more so."

Leah got it first. "So if you find something out of place in the prep work, you'll be more inclined to believe the occult…elements…were used as a smoke screen."

"Exactly."

Jake was frowning. "That's what you think? Seriously?"

"I think it's possible."

"You've been listening to Ash."

"Actually, I think he's convinced this murder has nothing to do with the occult. I'm not quite ready to rule it out just yet."

"I'm glad to hear that," Jake said. "Thought I'd have to waste a lot of time arguing the possibility."

"I'm always open to possibilities," Riley said. "There are usually plenty of them, and this case is no exception. Maybe it's a garden-variety murder dressed up to look like something else. Or maybe it really is something else."

It was Leah's turn to frown. "Wait a minute. You said there wasn't much in the autopsy report we didn't already know."

"That's what I said."

"So there was something. Something you didn't expect?"

"One small thing," Riley agreed. "The stomach contents."

Jake looked at the closed folder he'd placed on the table, then back at Riley, his brows lifting. "What about them? We don't have the tox screen yet, so-"

"So we don't know if he was drugged or poisoned. Yeah. But what we do know is that his stomach was full of blood. And it wasn't his."