Double Take (22 page)

Still no answer.

They walked into a windowless entrance hall, the marble tile such a dark green they looked almost black in the dim light. “Suck in some air,” Julia said.

Cheney sniffed. “It's vanilla, too much vanilla.”

“It's her trademark scent.”

Kathryn Golden appeared in the living-room doorway, framed and posing. She looked around forty-five and was dressed beautifully in a full-skirted long-sleeved black dress, her black hair in a stylish chignon. She wore open-toed three-inch heels and diamond studs in her ears. She looked ready to tango. TV appearance?

She arched an eyebrow. “Julia, whatever are you doing here? And who is this man?”

“This is Special Agent Cheney Stone, Kathryn. May we speak with you?”

“I've been watching the news. I hope you're being careful. Yes, now I recognize you, Agent Stone. You saved Julia's life.”

Julia nodded. “Yes, he did. Agent Stone is continuing to keep me safe.”

They followed Kathryn Golden into the immense living room that stretched, Cheney saw, the entire length of the house. It was long and narrow, with thick burgundy drapes closed over the wall-to-wall windows set at both ends. The floors were darkly varnished, bare of rugs. He looked over at a huge dark-veined golden marble fireplace on the opposite wall that looked like it had never been used.

The room was starkly elegant, like a museum, until you realized all the furniture groupings in the long room were black woven rattan. The extreme contrast in styles wasn't tacky, but rather oddly charming. There had to be a story behind this. Then he noticed the modern art covering one of the stark white walls, dark violent paintings, some of them of mouths that seemed to be screaming at him. It gave him the willies to look at them.

Suddenly Kathryn Golden stopped in her tracks, and didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe.

CHAPTER 33

Ms. Golden? Are you all right?” "Please be quiet. I'm having a vision. You and Julia—back away. Go sit down.”

Julia didn't seem at all alarmed or find this particularly strange. She shushed him, pointed him to one of the long rattan sofas.

He watched Kathryn Golden kick off her high heels, sink to the floor, and assume the lotus position facing the fireplace, her black skirts billowing out around her. He guessed she knew better than to wear a tight skirt. He saw she had a nice French pedicure and perfect fingernails.

He opened his mouth but Julia shushed him again.

They sat silently as Kathryn Golden threw her head back, clenched her hands on her thighs and began to weave, left to right, right to left, and started to keen, an eerie sound that was vaguely ridiculous but nevertheless raised gooseflesh on his arms.

She began moving in a wide circle now. He heard her breathing heavily. He felt like arresting her for fraud, or maybe for trying to scare an officer of the law.

The weaving lessened, the keening became low, almost a whisper. Then, suddenly, it was over. She snapped awake, came to her feet in a single graceful motion and smoothed her skirts back down. She slipped her heels back onto her feet.

She sat down opposite them, crossed her legs, and stared at Julia. “My vision was about you, Julia. In it, I was you—I felt young and limber, like I could leap into a tree if I wanted to. It felt so very good. Then I saw a man and I knew he was watching me—rather you. I saw deep cold blackness at his center, saw the virulent purple flashes of his narcissism and his pride in himself and his work.

“He's the one who wants to kill you, Julia. That first time at Pier 39 you were nothing to him, only a job to carry out. He didn't hate you, nothing like that. But he does now.” She stopped because her breathing had kicked up. She closed her eyes a moment, then slowly opened them, blinking.

Julia said matter-of-factly,"He was all over the news, Kathryn, his picture, the fact that he's probably a hired killer, the works.”

“Always the little skeptic,” Kathryn said, pleating her skirt with long thin fingers. “August said you often refused to believe anything anybody said, except for him, of course.

“What I told you is the truth, Julia, and it's deeper than the news. I saw what's inside him, what he's about. He's very dangerous and very smart, but he's barely human anymore. He's empty and cold. He wants to kill you, wants it to his very core.”

“The cops didn't release his name to the media,” Cheney said. “Did you see in your vision what it is, Ms. Golden?”

“I am not a performing seal, Agent Stone.”

Proof enough, Cheney thought. “Did you happen to see where he is, ma'am? We need to bring him down before he can take another shot at Julia. Can you help us find this monster?”

She drew in a very deep breath, let it out slowly. Her dark golden-green eyes, witch's eyes, never left his face. Maybe that was where she'd gotten her last name.

“I think he has an author's name, isn't that odd? Usually, of course, people don't think about their own names, but I got this flash—he happened to look at a book and he felt at one with it. An author's name, is this close?”

Damn. “Yes, it's close.”

“Good. Now as to where he is. Again, he wasn't thinking about where he is. But he's watching me—well, he's watching Julia, and he's planning. I could feel chaotic energy roaring through him, the feeling he could outrun anyone, fight anyone, kill anyone who tried to stop him. But you know? I think he has bad eyes, though. You know already he wears glasses. He thought, only a moment, that maybe he'd get laser surgery, but he's afraid to, his vision is too important to him.”

She turned to Julia. “If I'm pulled into another vision about him, perhaps it will be to where he's staying and I'll see it. I don't want him to kill you. To lose poor August and to then lose you six months later—it would be too much. But I don't understand. Why would anyone go to all this trouble to kill you? Fact is, if he knows why, he doesn't care enough to even think about it in passing. You're a challenge to him now, maybe the biggest challenge he's ever faced from his prey. You're his entire focus now.”

Julia said, “Who do you think killed August, Kathryn?”

“My opinion?”

“Yes, as a person, not a psychic.”

Kathryn said, “I don't know, but you should talk to Soldan Meissen.” The same one Bevlin named, Cheney thought. “He was so jealous of August,” she continued, “it was eating him up. Perhaps it was something as simple as his wanting some of August's big-name clients. I heard he netted one of August's very rich longtime clients, Thomas Pallack.”

Julia said, “I did know that. But I haven't spoken to any of August's clients in a very long time now. Thomas Pallack was with August for more than ten years.”

“Few of them wanted to speak to you because they believed you were guilty and they didn't want to be involved in any of that. I'll wager whoever it was behind August's death wanted you to be blamed, Julia, and so you were, but you survived the investigation. I think the person who hired this killer is afraid of you, afraid you'll find something out, or you've already found out something that points to him, and that's why he or she wants you dead.”

She paused, sighed. “At least you have August's journals, you've seen firsthand how he changed lines, just as he changed yours. You've experienced through his own writing exactly what he was.” She sighed again. “How I wish I could read August's journals. Perhaps you'd let me see them, Julia—”

“I didn't know August kept journals, Kathryn. I've never seen them.”

Cheney said, “Did you ever actually see Dr. Ransom's journals? ”

Kathryn nodded. “One evening, maybe eight months ago, I was dropping off some papers. August was in his study and he was writing when I came in. Unfortunately he was holding his notebook at such an angle I was unable to make out the words. I remember he told me it was the only record of his life that meant anything, all the rest was just empty words.”

She rose. “I have a meeting with a producer in twenty minutes. Agent Stone, you have a rich crimson aura, beautiful, really, vibrant and powerful as a rushing waterfall. I've never seen a policeman with an aura like that.”

What to say to that?

“Oh yes, and there's something else—you hurt him, Julia. The man was thinking he needed more Aleve for the cuts on his face and neck. His arm must not hurt very much, at least he didn't think of it when he thought of the Aleve.”

All over the news, Cheney thought, except for the painkiller. The Aleve was a nice touch. Suspects giving alibis knew that specifics added verisimilitude. Evidently it was the same with psychics.

“I felt his anger like a furnace blast, Julia. Then he was aware his feet hurt and it distracted him for a moment. They're new David Smith boots, and they'd rubbed blisters on his heels. That first time at Pier 39, he ran all out, not good in new shoes.”

“You weave in some fine detail, Ms. Golden.”

Julia frowned at Cheney and said quickly, “Kathryn, did you get any clue whether he was the one who killed August?”

“No, there was nothing about August.” Kathryn rose, looked from one to the other, and said, “Are you lovers yet?”

“No,” Cheney said as he rose slowly. He stared into her golden-green witch eyes.

“You will be. Funny how I never pictured you with a policeman, Julia. On the other hand, I never pictured you with August either. He was so much older than you, from such a very different generation, but it didn't seem to matter to him. He felt a bond with you, something special that held him firmly to you. I often wondered what it was.

“Let me add that August was special to me as well. Dear God, how I miss him, every single day. Do you know I haven't been able to speak to him? I don't know if it's my own grief that keeps us apart, but I suppose that's possible.”

Cheney said, “When the man was thinking about Julia, did you get any sense about when he was going to come after her again?”

She shook her head. “He's so angry, so enraged she's still alive, so bewildered that he failed, really, and that he's got to try again soon. I felt urgency riding him, but nothing specific.”

Julia said, “You saw him staring at you—at me. Did it happen recently?”

“I don't know, but it would make sense, wouldn't it? I don't think I've ever had a retro-vision before. But he didn't think about the time or the day.”

“Kathryn, do you see anything else at all that might help us?”

Kathryn Golden shook her head.

“I don't want to die, Kathryn.”

“No. I'm sure August doesn't want you to join him just yet either. You're much too young.”

Cheney said, “Don't tell me Dr. Ransom is sitting here with us, hovering over Julia, all concerned?”

“If he is, I don't know. I told you, Agent Stone, I haven't been able to contact August. I simply knew him well enough to know what he would think.

“I have to say, Agent Stone, that your aura isn't all that rich anymore. There's unpleasantness ripping through it. Now, if you will both excuse me, the producer is here.”

“I don't hear anything, ma'am,” Cheney said.

The front doorbell rang.

CHAPTER 34

Dix slowly rose when he saw Charlotte Pallack coming toward him, weaving in and out of clusters of happy-hour young professionals at the Ugly Duck on Post Street. Odd, but he didn't see Christie this time, not for even a brief moment. He saw a woman he didn't know at all, a woman who had lied to him, a woman who'd been wearing Christie's bracelet. He saw immediately she wasn't wearing it now.

He let her come to him, smiling at her as he waited. When she reached him, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on his mouth.

Dix tightened his hands about her upper arms and slowly eased her back. She looked up at him, excitement in her eyes, or perhaps it was satisfaction. “Do you remember what you said to me when you left me on Saturday?”

“Never say never.”

He saw the flare of triumph in her eyes; she couldn't hide it. She said, “Such a memorable line, Dix. Ah, but I knew you'd come back. I'm so pleased to see you again.”

She kissed him again, lightly touched her fingertips to his cheeks. “You have a five o'clock shadow.”

“I'm sorry about that but I just got in.”

She arched a brow at him. “It's only been two days, Dix.”

“It seems longer,” he said, “much longer.” He looked up at the waiter, all in black with a white bow tie, and asked him, “What have you got on tap?”

He ordered a Budweiser for himself and a white wine for Charlotte.

“Two days,” she said again. “I must admit you did surprise me. You really called me from SFO?”

He nodded. “The moment I got outside the United terminal, yes.”

“Are you staying with the Sherlocks again?”

“They very graciously invited me back.” He gave her what he hoped was a sexy look. “Mrs. Sherlock said I'm welcome because I'm tall, dark, and dangerous. I must add that Judge Sherlock laughed.”

She laughed as well, took the glass of wine from the waiter, and clicked her glass against his. “To getting to know new friends better, much better.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How about to the beginning of something that just might be very interesting indeed.”

“Hear, hear,” she said. “Was your flight okay?”

“As much as any flight can be nowadays.”

“What about your sons? You're leaving them again so soon.” Did she sound suspicious?