Rock Star Down (The Psychic Registry) (3 page)

But it was too late.
And Miller led their trio into the conference room.

Inside the windowless conference room
Val Jones was struggling with the busywork she'd been given and it didn't take
a psychic to tell that she'd been sweating, Laurel decided.

Jones sat at the head
of the table and her body tensed as she saw them enter the room. Miller took
the seat closest to Jones. Davis and Laurel sat alongside Miller. Jones offered
them a weak smile in greeting and Laurel fought to suppress a smile in return.
Miller might need her to play a role, but she didn't know
what
that role
might be. Best to stay aloof, she thought.

Miller introduced
himself to Jones, who looked to be in her late twenties and wore a grey
pantsuit befitting an accountant with no flash or sense of aesthetic to the
ensemble. Jones wore too much makeup, especially eyeliner, and Laurel worried
that her face would soon be marred with tears of black.
Oh, well.

Miller opened, "Do
you know why you're here, Miss Jones?"

"I thought this
was routine?" she replied.

Miller shook his head.
"I'm afraid not."

Jones took her phone
from her purse and pointed at the screen, "I've been doing some research.
They say the screening's dangerous. That's what you do here, isn't it? I don't want
to end up a vegetable. I—I withdraw my consent."

Miller nodded, "You're
right, Val. It can be very dangerous. Why do you think we brought a nurse?"
And he pointed a thumb at Laurel.

Laurel gave a solemn
nod, "Very dangerous."

Miller continued, "But
only if you resist. Only if you force me to pry the truth out of you. And here's
the thing, Val, I don't need your consent to do that."

"Oh, God,"
Jones whispered.

"But there's
another way, Val."

Her eyes perked up, "There
is?"

Nathan nodded and
smiled as he delivered the good news, "You tell me the truth. Tell me what
you're so afraid of us finding out. And I promise you'll be alright."

"Okay," she sobbed,
as the first of many dark streaked tears trickled down her cheeks.

The
truth
, as it turned out, was
not the truth they were looking for. Val Jones confessed to recently hitting a
parked car while driving her boyfriend's truck and then leaving the scene. The
damage had been minor, she assured them. But her boyfriend had browbeaten her
into returning to contact the owner and offer restitution. Problem was, when
she reluctantly returned the other car was already gone.
Hit and run
,
her boyfriend scolded her. She could lose her accounting license!

"My boyfriend
doesn't trust me anymore. And if the police get me for this stupid hit and run
nonsense I'll lose my job," Jones sobbed. "It's driving me crazy. All
the worry, these two weeks, I can hardly eat."

Laurel sympathized,
though she figured that Jones could stand to shed some pounds.

"So that's it, I
guess. Maybe I can get still get work as a bookkeeper."

Miller looked to Davis
and shook his head. While Davis shrugged,
whataya gonna do?

"Thank you Miss
Jones. We're all through with you now," Miller said.

Then the pair of men
stood.

"Is that it?"
Laurel asked.

"Yeah,"
Miller replied.

Jones took note of
their exchange and her sobbing ebbed.

Laurel stood aside and
beckoned Miller to commiserate. Both Miller and Davis joined her, though it
seemed more out of curiosity than enthusiasm.

"Are you really
going to leave her hanging like this? You can tell how scared she is."

"She should feel scared.
Hit and run is a serious matter," Davis replied.

Miller nodded in mute
agreement.

"She scratched a
car
,"
Laurel complained.

"Do you own a
car, Laurel?" Davis asked.

"No," she
said.

"So you may not
know how expensive it is to repair even minor damage. And you may not know how
expensive insurance and deductibles are. Some working stiff finds his car
dinged up, now he's out a few hundred bucks, maybe a couple grand. Plus his
insurance goes up if he makes a claim. How much do they pay you over at the
city, Laurel? You have a couple grand lying around to fix up a car?"

"Okay, I get it.
She
should
feel bad. But what happens now? Do you report her to the
cops? To her bosses?"

Davis softened, "I
don't see why we would get mixed up in something like that. We're not agents of
the court or the state license board. And the client is looking for something
else, so we move on."

Miller nodded, "You
can tell her, Laurel."

"Me?" Laurel
asked.

Miller flashed a smile
and pointed her at Jones.

Laurel returned to the
table and sat at the end nearest Jones.

"Good news, Val.
In consideration of your job history and your cooperation with us today, we're
going to keep what you've told us confidential. What you do regarding your
little fender bender is your business, okay?" Laurel said.

"Are you sure?"
Jones asked.

"If somebody
finds out, they didn't find out from us," Laurel swore.

"Oh my God! Thank
you, thank you," Jones smiled and gave a nod of thanks for them all. Then
she looked to Laurel and frowned once more. "But what do I do about my
boyfriend?"

"I've got an idea
about that, too," Laurel said.

Jones left soon thereafter with further
words of thanks and a pledge to follow Laurel's idea: Since she couldn't locate
the victim of her hit and run, Jones would visit her local body and paint shop
and arrange to anonymously pay some poor soul's tab. Of course, she would cover
the cost of fixing her boyfriend's truck, too. They exchanged phone numbers and
Laurel promised to follow up with Jones.

After sending Jones on
her way, Laurel and the men rode the elevator back to the top floor.

"You handled that
well, Miss Comfort," Davis offered. "If I came off a bit brisk before—
My oldest daughter got her driver's license this year. And her mother convinced
me – against my better judgment, mind you – to buy the girl a car."

"An Acura, right
Brendt?" Miller added.

Laurel saw where the
story was headed, "How long did it last?"

"Seven weeks,"
he said. "Seven weeks and she totaled that Acura," Davis sighed.

Totaled?
"Was she alright?"

"Oh, Lord yes.
Multiple airbags, seatbelts and all that. Scared the crap out of the little
snot, though."

"But she should
feel scared," Laurel said.

"Exactly,"
Davis said.

Once again on the top
floor, they paused outside the elevator before going separate ways.

Davis asked, "Laurel?
When you were outlining Val's penance, at the end you whispered something to
her?"

Laurel blushed, "I
told her she owed her boyfriend
a lot
of oral sex."

Davis nodded, "I
believe you're correct."

Miller checked in with Cindy, but Archer
hadn't called back. In his office, Miller did an internet search on Jaqui and
her husband's murder. Laurel placed her chair next to Miller's so she could
follow along. She didn't ask permission and he didn't seem to pay any mind. But
it was all old news to Laurel. Instead, she kept thinking back to the interview
with Val and wondering if Miller had used his powers in any way. It didn't seem
like he had. Why not? Was it
really
dangerous?

"That line
earlier, with Val, about it being dangerous? You were conning her, right?"
Laurel asked.

Miller glanced at
Laurel, nodded, then added, "Some psychics hurt people. I don't allow that
here."

"So with Jones
just now, did you even read her thoughts?" Laurel asked.

"Why? I thought
you believed her."

"Oh, I believe
her. It just seems odd that you would go to the trouble of lying to her about
the danger and then not use your ability if it wasn't actually dangerous,"
Laurel reasoned.

Miller replied, though
he'd resumed skimming the news, "I read her just enough to confirm she was
telling the truth."

"But why hold
back?" She persisted.

Miller sighed and
faced her once more, "It wouldn't hurt her, but it could hurt
me
."

"Oh," Laurel
replied. She hadn't been expecting that. "
Did it hurt
?" She
asked, touching his arm.

"No," he
reassured her. "It was
briefly distressing
."

"Because
she
was upset?" Laurel wondered aloud.

"Something like
that," Nathan confirmed.

He seemed ready to
drop the subject but she was more curious than before. "So whatever they
feel, you feel it, too?"

Miller nodded and
said, "Think about the worst thing that's ever happened to you."

"I don't want to
think about that," Laurel whispered.

"Neither do I,
which is why I'm not reading your thoughts," he said. "But people don't
hire me to find out the good things, Laurel. They hire me when something bad
happens."

"So you try not
to use it, unless you have to. But obviously
you do use it
. And you get
exposed to all of this…
crud
. So what do you do?" Laurel asked.

"With other people's
crud? You have to let it go."

"But how?"
she pressed.

"For the mundane
stuff, same as you let go of your own crud. But you mean the extreme stuff."

"Wouldn't it make
you crazy?" She said, though she regretted her choice of words.

"It happens to some.
There's meds, drugs, booze, herbal stuff. But what works for some, doesn't work
for others. I exercise, use acupressure and meditation, among other things."

"And that works?"

"When I stay on
top of it," he said.

"No offense,
Nathan, but that sounds like a bum deal."

"Hey, it's not
all bad. There's plenty of upside," he countered.

"It's good for
business," she offered, her tone glib.

"I help people,"
he countered.

"For a healthy
fee," she teased, tossing back her hair.

"A man's got to
make a living," he grinned.

"And then there
are the ladies," Laurel added.

"I'm a people
person."

She had been edging
her chair ever closer during their exchange. And despite all he had told her,
she really wanted him to read her thoughts at that moment. For if he had, their
morning might have taken a different turn.

Alas, work intervened
when Cindy's voice came over the speaker phone, "Nate, Detective Archer's
on the line."

Miller took a deep
breath and said, "Thanks, put her on please."

"Okey-dokey,"
she replied.

A moment later, another
woman's voice sounded over the speaker phone, "So… yesterday afternoon
I
get assigned to the Franklin homicide. Already
two
detective sergeants
on the job, but they decide to bring in
me
. Like I don't already have
fifteen
cases
on my desk. So you know what I figured? Your buddy Fletcher is
bringing in Nathan fucking Miller. Why does he do this to me, Miller? Why?"

"Because he knows
how much you love me," Miller replied.

"Because he knows
that nobody in the PD likes working with you," Archer retorted.

"Take it as a
compliment. He knows you're an honest cop who's got nothing to hide."

Archer lowered her
voice, "It makes me look like a snitch, Miller."

"No it doesn't. I've
got nothing to do with IA. And everybody knows it."

"Then it makes me
look like one of your bimbos," she countered. "Either way I look bad."

"
Nobody's a
bimbo
," Miller shot back. "Besides, how does closing a major case
make you look bad?"

"That's the
problem, Miller. I don't close the case.
You do
."

"I thought you didn't
believe in all of that
psychic mumbo jumbo
?" Miller dug.

"You're a closer,
plain and simple. And nobody,
especially
not some female detective only
seven years on the job wants some hired gun upstaging her. Where's my incentive,
Miller?"

"The pursuit of
justice?" he offered.

"Whatever. I've
got a better idea. A quid pro quo," Archer replied.

"I don't speak Latin,"
he answered.

"Fuck the fucking
Latin, you know what I mean. Now here's what's going to happen: you need my
help to close this Franklin murder and I need your help to close one of my
cases."

Laurel didn't like the
sound of that and she let it show.

Nathan held up a hand
for Laurel to remain quiet.

"Fine, let's wrap
up this Franklin case and afterwards I can help you out, pro bono."

"Pro bono? Is
that Latin? Sorry Nathan, but I need you on
this
case today. I've got
the guy, but this morning the blessed judge tells us we don't have enough to
sustain the charge and he's going to let my guy walk if we don't come up with
something else pronto!"

"Fletcher won't
like it," Miller said, though his tone said he was conceding.

"Fuck what fucking
Fletcher won't like," Archer said. "I'm talking about a child raping
murderer going free at 4 o'clock this afternoon unless you can slam dunk his
ass!"

Laurel gasped, "Good
Lord!"

"Nathan? Who is
that?" Archer politely asked.

"I've got Miss
Laurel Comfort here sent over from Jim Bozeman's office."

"Hello Miss
Comfort, I look forward to meeting you— I hate you Nathan, be at the courthouse
in a half hour." Then Archer was gone.

Nathan sighed.
A child raping
murderer.
Exactly the kind of person he'd sought to stop when he joined the
police department. But they were never going to let him near such cases, not
while he was on the job. Psychics went to Internal Affairs and it had always
been thus. From IA Division, Nathan went to the Special Task Force where he
worked directly with Fletcher. And that's where he learned that he couldn't
remain a cop and live with himself. So he went freelance and Archer had a fucking
quid pro quo. But the years had tempered his enthusiasm.

He'd read plenty of
truly evil people over the years and the kid killers were always the worst,
soulless beings devoid of empathy or mercy. And although he could purge the
filth
from his system, his dark memories of staring into the abyss remained – at best
only half-forgotten and buried in the furthest recesses of his mind – ready to seed
his nightmares on restless nights. Now he was going to read another and they
were in a hurry.
And the morning had been going so well…

"Let's go get it
over with," Nathan said and he led Laurel out of the office.

Nathan paused at Cindy's
desk. He said to Laurel, "I'll meet you at the elevator."

Laurel understood the
message and continued down the hall.

"You got that
look
,"
Cindy said.

"We're heading to
the courthouse to meet with Archer. She needs me to do an interview or a bad
guy walks
today
."

Cindy frowned, "A
really bad guy?"

"The worst kind.
I'll need you later."

She bit her lip to
suppress a smile, "I'll be here, Nate. You come straight back to the office,
okay?"

He nodded.

"Nate, you go crack
that bastard open."

Nathan grinned.

He'd split a few hairs
when explaining things to Laurel. He
could
hurt people. He just chose
not to. Although there were times when he'd made exceptions, times when he
crossed the line. But what was it that Fletcher had taught him?
Sometimes we
move the lines.

Miller rejoined Laurel outside the
elevator and she tried to engage him in conversation but he kindly put her off,
explaining that he needed to meditate a bit before he did the interview for
Archer.

So they rode the
elevator in silence to the building's garage and Miller led her to his car: a
black BMW sedan. Then they were off. And the morning traffic had tapered,
making the trip to the courthouse a short one.

And Laurel wondered about
the serious expression that Miller wore since the conversation with Archer. If
he was afraid, it didn't show. Instead, he looked determined, and a bit
dangerous
.
Laurel was anxious over what the interview might do to him. He wasn't likely to
hold back as he had with Val. And the man he would confront, the mind he would
read? Some kind of monster, no doubt.

Laurel wasn't naïve;
she knew about monsters and the terrors that they sowed. But she wasn't going
to let her fear hamper Nathan's efforts. So she used the CALM technique and
pictured the silly ham, which made her a little hungry. And she realized that
it was almost lunch time, but she doubted that Nathan had an appetite, so she
held the thought.

Miller parked the car
in an open-air lot across from the courthouse, then scanned the area before
looking at Laurel. "Don't be alarmed. But I have to take my gun off. I'm
not cleared to carry in the courthouse," he told her.

"I grew up around
guns. They don't scare me, Nathan."

Nathan raised a
curious brow, but said nothing. He reached beneath his seat and appeared to
press some buttons, as Laurel heard the
clicks
. And then a small metal
drawer popped into view between his legs. "Lockbox," he explained. He
then carefully unholstered his pistol and placed it in the drawer. Then he added
an extra magazine of ammunition from his person and closed the lockbox tight.

"Neat setup,"
Laurel said with approval. "I'll have to look into one of those."

"Don't you need a
car first?" Miller said.

"Details,"
Laurel said, brushing away his observation.

They crossed to the courthouse, an ugly
slab of a building with a façade of glass and steel; the backside was a jail
complex of concrete, chain-link, and razor wire. A one stop shop, Laurel
thought. What happened to grand steps and Greco-Roman columns? And where was
Lady Justice? Hiding in the basement perhaps?
She was blind after all.

Miller used his phone
as they queued for the security check and Laurel figured he'd texted Archer
because she met them immediately thereafter.

Archer introduced
herself and shook hands with Laurel. Archer and Miller merely exchanged nods.

"Detective
Archer," he said.

"Miller,"
Archer replied.

Archer was of average
height, and although she wasn't heavy, she was thick, in the way that many men
liked. She had dark red hair that looked to come from a bottle, but the color
did her right; she wore it pinned back in a chignon. Her eyes were deep brown
and her complexion fair and Laurel figured she was fairly good looking for a
detective.

Archer went straight
to business: "I've got a room and the case file," and she patted a
large accordion folder under her arm. "It's quite the read."

"You could just
tell me about it," Nathan said.

"Either way, it's
gonna take a while," Archer shrugged.

Nathan looked at
Laurel, "Are you hungry Laurel? The café here isn't half-bad," and
Nathan pointed the way down the corridor.

She felt like she was
being shooed away. "I could help," Laurel offered.

"You don't want
to know what's in this file, Miss," Archer agreed.

"I appreciate
that, Detective. But Mister Bozeman expects me to be an investigator and I
cannot succeed if I shy away from the tough stuff. I assure you that I can
handle it and I promise not to get in the way. So let's
all
get some
coffee and figure out how to nail this sonofabitch," Laurel declared.