My Heart Belongs To You: A Psycho Thriller (14 page)

Myers
’s narrowed gaze took in the tall slim woman as she moved along the whiteboard
,
her head flicking up to take in the shots
,
and then
quickly reverting to her study of the floor.  ‘She’s a remarkable woman.  John first introduced her to me around three years ago
.
I remember that he brought her to my office one day after I called him in on an urgent matter of national security.  He was giving Stephanie a day out treat for her birthday when I got through to him.  At the end of a lengthy
meeting,
I gave them a lift back to Stephanie’s apartment.  Six months
later,
I met Stephanie and John again.  During my conversation with John
,
Stephanie suddenly came up with the mileage of my car
,
down to the nearest tenth of a mile,
from six months previously.  Now I have no way of knowing if she was right
,
but… if I had written down that mileage on that day six months prior, I suspect it would have matched exactly the number she gave me.’

‘You can’t be certain of that
,’
responded
Turner
,
his
s
c
epticism
clear.

‘I first met her about a year ago
,
’ joined in Jane, ‘
s
ince
then
,
I’ve seen her at least twice a month here at the office.  She can tell you on any chosen day
when
we’ve met
,
what I was wearing, what type of shoes, lipstick colour and how I had my hair
,
’ Jane chuckled softly, ‘
f
irst
I knew about the biscuit thing though.’

‘
Okay,
so she has an eye for fashion
,
’
conceded
Turner
, ‘
b
ut
I reckon a lot of this hype about savants is just that, hype, something to sell newspapers or add the spooky factor to a documentary.’

‘Stephanie
,
would you help
me
for just a moment
,
’
called Jane gently to the still pacing woman.

‘Ok
ay
Jane
,
’ came the monotone answer.

Jane guided her gently by the elbow to where the two men were standing
,
  ‘Stephanie
,
would it be
okay
if I just ask you a couple of things?’

John’s sister kept her head down
,
her eyes continuing a study of her feet
,
and simply nodded.

Jane carried out a quick bit of finger work on one of the laptops and placed it on the refectory table facing
Turner
.  He slipped on a pair of
gold-rimmed
spectacles
,
hanging from a chord around his neck
,
and studied the screen.  It showed a calendar for the year 1854 and prompted a look of surprise.  Jane smiled and turned to Stephanie
.
‘
Can
you tell me what day it was on 4 February 1854
,
Stephanie?’

Stephanie spoke so close to the end of Jane’s question
that
it was like one continual sentence, ‘Saturday
,
Jane
.
It
was a Saturday.’

Jane enjoyed the stunned look on
Turner
’s face.  ‘How about 22 November 1854
,
Stephanie?’

The speed was the same, the answer instantaneous, ‘Wednesday
,
Jane.’

Jane grabbed the laptop and brought up her office diary
.
A
few taps brought up September the previous year.  Jane scanned the days, ‘Stephanie
,
what was I wearing 12 September last year
,
when you came to the office?’

‘You had that cream blouse on
,
Jane
,
with jeans and those light blue trainers.  Have you replaced that button on your blouse yet
,
Jane?’

Jane smiled, ‘No
,
I haven’t gotten round to it yet. I think I was wearing light pink lipstick that day Stephanie
,
wasn’t I?’

Stephanie shook her head, ‘
You
didn’t have any lipstick that day
,
Jane
.
You
had a lip sore
,
remember?’

Jane blushed, ‘
Of
course, I remember now.’

‘Is this helping
,
John?’ questioned Stephanie
,
her expression one of innocence.

‘In a roundabout way
,
’ assured Jane
,
stroking her arm, ‘
t
hank
you for answering my questions.’

Stephanie gave Jane a fleeting upward glance and a smile that was pure contentment, contentment that she was helping her brother.  ‘Can I go now?’ she asked
,
her eyes returning to the floor.

‘Yes
,
of course
.
Thank
you
,
Stephanie.’

The three watched her
move back to the whiteboard, continuing
where she left off, shuffling along
,
flicking quick glances at the information that was spread across its surface like horrific graffiti.

Turner
shook his head in disbelief.  ‘
Okay
,
okay,
I have to admit that was pretty impressive
,
but…’ he paused, ‘
h
ow
does that help us track down Cupid?’

Jane shrugged, ‘I think what John is hoping is that, unlike a computer that needs a code or a piece of software to achieve a certain task, his sister’s gift will be able to filter through the bulk of data we have and come up with something that ties these victims together.  Some kind of thread, no matter how tenuous, that links these people.
’

‘You were right
,
Donald
,
’ admitted
Turner
,
his gaze drifting across to the whiteboard, ‘
s
he
truly is a remarkable woman.  I’ve heard of savants with so called incredible gifts
,
but…’

‘You thought it was hocus pocus.’

Turner
blushed, ‘
No
, no
,
I just thought it… well
,
I don’t know what I thought
,
but seeing that up close was incredible.’

The conversation went on as the three
of them
sipped coffee and dunked biscuits, each needing to take a few minutes away from the intensity of sifting through the available information that was providing nothing beyond what they already knew.  It was frustrating and mentally draining.  Each was acutely aware that
,
somewhere, possibly close by, Tom and Karen were being held captive and their only hope of survival was the three of them, this strange girl pacing the floor in front of them
,
and a man called John Hanson.

‘
Okay,’
snapped
Myers
,
tossing his empty cup into a slowly filling waste bin, ‘I need to speak to Blue Eagle.’

Jane lifted the laptop back over to the computer area, a thought suddenly coming to her as her caffeine fix seeped into her blood stream.  When trawling the net for newspaper reports on Cupid for Stephanie to
study,
she had subliminally noted that one reporter had written more stories than any other
journalist had
.  Why was that
,
posed her
subconscious?
  It was probably nothing
,
but she decided to ch
eck it out.  Why not, she surmised, she had
nothing else to occupy her.  Facts and leads were thinner on the ground than honest estate agents
.
So
any spark, any fragment of anomaly had to be pursued.  Maybe
,
he had information that had been overlooked.  She could not, would not be looking back when this was over
,
with any shadow of doubt that she had not done everything humanly possible to get Tom and Karen back safely.   Jane pulled up
special
search software that Hanson Securities had at their disposal and typed in the jou
rnalist’s name, Giles Fuller
, alongside one word, Cupid, and hit search.

Once again,
Turner
felt the heavy cloak of guilt fall about his shoulders.  It was becoming a comfortable fit after seven years of failure and more difficult to shrug off with inner arguments of no leads to work with, other people not doing their job
,
and
luck not being a lady
,
so many other justifications that he had lost count.  No matter how he tried to spin it within his head
,
he was the lead detective
.
It
was his responsibility and it frightened him
,
because
he felt completely impotent,
completely helpless.  Every night
,
when he closed his eyes
,
the souls of ea
ch couple invaded his dreams
,
wakening
him
in a cold sweat.  He had to find this monster, had to bring justice to his victims
,
and then maybe, just maybe
,
he would find peace
.
Maybe
he would enjoy sle
ep free from demons of guilt,
and
from
screams for revenge.  Moving over to the rest area
,
he picked up the six crime files
, files
he had read so many times
that
the pages had become crinkled and
dog-eared
, there had to be something within those pages, some shard of information that would crack open this case
.
It
had to be there.

Stephanie
walked back and forth in front the white board
,
not really looking at its contents any longer, her mind spinning like a tumble dryer.  The rhythmic pacing to and fro helped her focus on the endless facts
that
she had absorbed in the last few hours
, which
were bouncing randomly around within her mind, a mind that was running like no computer ever could.  She could pull
the smallest detail
out in a second, the most mundane fact from the deep, turbulent pool that was the history of her life.  If it had passed before her eyes or travelled within
earshot,
it was snared within her memory forever
.
Now
she was asking for something new, now she
was
asking her brain to sift, stack and divide the facts it held.  Now it was running free, running like no software that had ever been written.  In many ways
,
software was easier
, because
within it was written a code
.
You
could
press a certain key or group of keys and the action that followed would happen one thousand times out of one thousand, predictable, logical.  With the mind of a savant, there were no such guarantees, no such solid boundaries of action.  There was no doubting Stephanie’s incredible memory
,
but what she was asking her brain to compute now was not just the regurgitation of facts
,
but the sifting of those facts to find a common thread.  She was hunting for that link, the link that might give John the help he needed to find Tom.  She liked Tom
.
Tom was always nice to her.  She stroked her forehead feeling deep lines of concentration with her
fingertips.
She
knew there was something among the files she had read, something that refused to surface from the deep pool of data that filled her head. 
Suddenly,
it was there
.
Suddenly,
like a tiny light at the end of a long dark tunnel
,
it came into view
,
but
it faded
just as quickly, snuffed out like a candle in the wind of uncertainty, disappearing back into the murky dept
hs
,
before she could capture it,
and
before it took form.
She knew instinctively it was important
to
John
,
but she also knew she had to be patient
.
It
would surface again and then she would be ready.  John would be so proud of her when she had it and Tom would be saved.