'Okay,' he said, returning his gaze to the agent. 'So how does that explain your presence here? Just happened to be in the area, or is chasing after serial killers a hobby of yours?'
'You might say that chasing after alleged psychics is a hobby of mine.'
'Alleged?'
'That's right. There are so many charlatans, you know. So many so-called telepaths whose claims can't be scientifically documented.'
'He means me.' Cassie looked up for the first time, her gaze fixing on Bishop. 'I don't perform well in a laboratory setting.' Her voice was cool.
'That's one way of putting it,' Bishop murmured.
'The tests were poorly designed and you know it. But it was my fault for even agreeing to be tested.' Her shoulders lifted and fell. 'I've stopped trying to prove myself to you, Bishop.'
'Have you?'
Two pairs of gray eyes locked together, and Ben could almost feel the struggle of wills. Then Cassie looked at Matt and said, 'I don't know what he's told you, but I can guess he had nothing good to say about me. Want to hear my side of the story?'
Matt nodded.
'Okay. A couple of years ago Agent Bishop was called into a missing persons case in San Francisco. The missing woman's husband was quite wealthy and politically powerful, which was why the FBI was called in even though there was no evidence of a kidnapping. Days went by, then weeks, but neither the police nor Bishop and his people could find a trace of the lady.
'Her sister, in the meantime, contacted me. She had heard of me through mutual acquaintances, and believed I might be able to help find her sister. So I flew to San Francisco and went to the house where the missing woman had lived.'
'And?' Matt prompted.
'And I knew she was dead.' In a wry tone she added, 'The police were, naturally, suspicious when I made that claim. But when they started looking for a body, they found one. Just where the husband had dumped it.'
'He hasn't gone to trial yet,' Bishop said.
'You know and I know he killed her.'
'Maybe.'
Cassie glanced at the agent, then returned her gaze to Matt. 'At any rate, Agent Bishop asked me to allow myself to be tested. I refused, and went back to L.A.'
'Why did you refuse?' Matt asked.
'Advice from my mother. It was her belief that until medical science learned a lot more about the brain, psychic ability would never be understood. What science cannot understand it tends to try its best to disprove. The whole process leads to a great deal of tension and pressure, both of which interfere with psychic ability.'
Bishop made a skeptical sound.
Cassie didn't rise to the bait. 'Anyway, as I said, I went home. A couple of months later I was asked to advise in a murder case. And Agent Bishop turned up – like a bad penny.'
'I resent that,' he murmured.
Cassie ignored him. 'It was a difficult case complicated even more by the fact that I had the flu and should have refused to get involved. That's no excuse, but it is part of the reason I failed.'
'How did you fail?' Matt asked.
'Misinterpreted something I saw. What I told them led the police to concentrate on the wrong suspect, and the real killer had time to kill again. Which he did.' She looked steadily at the sheriff. 'It wasn't the first time something like that happened, and it won't be the last, No psychic is a hundred percent right a hundred percent of the time.'
Again Cassie gave a little shrug. 'There were a few more cases after that, some I was able to help solve and some I wasn't. Bishop kept turning up, kept asking me to allow myself to be tested. So I finally did. And I flunked all the tests. As I said, I don't perform well in a laboratory setting. I always did choke at exams.'
'You graduated college,' Bishop pointed out. 'Eventually you had to pass those exams.'
'Putting myself through that earned me a degree. Putting myself through your tests again would earn me absolutely nothing.'
'Except scientific validity and recognition.'
'And then what? Go on the talk shows? Find myself getting tons of mail from poor lost souls who think I might be able to help them? Sit in more laboratories while more scientists devise more tests to measure and weigh and define my abilities? Why? Despite what you think, Bishop, I don't want to be recognized. I don't want to be validated. And I sure as hell don't want to be famous.'
'Then,' he said softly, gesturing around them, 'why do this? Why involve yourself in police investigations?'
'Because I can help. Not all the time, but sometimes. Because I was raised to believe it's my responsibility. And because I can't
'They satisfy me,' Matt said, surprising everyone.
'And me,' Ben agreed, tired of feeling invisible in the room.
Cassie glanced at him for the first time, something he couldn't read flickering in her eyes. Then she looked at Matt. 'In that case, I say we have more important things to talk about. Is there still no word on that poor girl?'
'No, nothing. Do you think you'd have any luck trying to connect with the killer again?'
Before Ben could object, Cassie said, 'I've already tried a couple of times today, and – '
'What?' He stared at her. 'When? And without a lifeline? Dammit, Cassie!'
She avoided his gaze once more. 'Not long after I woke up this morning, and in the car coming here. There was no danger. It would have been a shallow contact – if I'd been able to get through. I wasn't able. He's keeping me out.'
'Convenient,' Bishop murmured. For someone who'd more or less been told to mind his own business, he didn't appear to be discouraged or disgruntled, merely calm and watchful.
Matt glanced at him, then said to Cassie, 'How about trying to reach the girl? I still have the gloves she left in her brother's car yesterday.'
Cassie nodded without hesitation. 'I'll try.'
The sheriff jerked his head toward the agent. 'Want him gone?'
'No, he can stay.' She smiled faintly. 'One of the things that intrigues him about me – I do perform well outside laboratories.'
Bishop made no comment.
Matt reached into his center desk drawer and drew out a plastic bag with a pair of delicate ladies' gloves inside. He pushed the bag across to Cassie. 'I'm assuming you could reach her if she's still alive. What if she's already dead?'
'I may get nothing. Or I may know where she is.' She had not yet reached for the bag.
'How?' Ben asked her. 'If there's no mind there to tap into, how do you know?'
Cassie turned her head and looked at him with an odd little smile. 'I have no idea. Sometimes I just know.'
He watched as she reached for the bag, opened it, and drew out the pair of gloves. Head bent, she held them in her lap, fingers toying with them. Ben saw her eyes close.
He waited a minute or so, then said, 'Cassie? What do you see?'
She didn't respond.
'Cassie?'
'Poor thing.' Her voice was soft.
The sheriff muttered, 'Shit.'
Ben kept his voice steady. 'Can you see her, Cassie? Where is she?'
'She's… in a building. A barn. It hasn't been used for a long time, I think. There used to be pasture all around it, but now everything's overgrown…'
Cassie lifted her head and opened her eyes. She was pale but calm. She slid the gloves back into the plastic bag and pushed it across the desk to the sheriff. 'I can show you the way,' she told him.
