“It’s all right, Nancy Jo.” He closed the trunk. “She doesn’t need your help anymore.” He went to the driver’s door and opened it. “Get in and see if you get anything.”
“He sat there.” She came to stand beside him and stared at the seat. She swallowed, hard. “Dear God, I don’t want to do it.”
“You said you couldn’t feel anything.”
“I can remember,” she said fiercely. “I can remember his face.”
“You won’t do it?”
She drew a deep breath. “Of course I’ll do it. Give me a minute.”
“All the time you need.”
Two minutes later she slowly slipped into the driver’s seat. She closed her eyes. “He was in this car the night he killed Heather Carmello. After that, he decided it wasn’t safe to keep it. He’d have to steal another car and abandon this one.”
“What kind of car?”
She shook her head. “He hadn’t decided. He liked big American cars, but he was leaning toward a smaller foreign job. He kept thinking about Seth Caleb and the way he’d tracked him at the lake cottage. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but he’s afraid of him.” She opened her eyes. “May I get out now? I feel as if he’s here with me. I can almost hear his heart beat.”
“Just a little longer. I need to know where he is.”
“I can’t tell. All I know is how he was feeling the last time he was in this car.”
“Run your hand along the dashboard.”
She hesitated, then lifted her hand and ran her fingers along the leather dashboard. “Nothing.”
“The cup holder and the passenger seat.”
She took a deep breath and touched the cup holder. She snatched it back as if burned. “Heather Carmello’s blood. He had the goblet in the holder when he took it to Patty Avery’s house. It was only a short distance, and he was in a hurry.”
“Try the passenger seat.”
She didn’t move. “When can I get out of this car?”
“After the passenger seat.”
“Dammit, Joe.” She swallowed and reached out her hand to touch the dark fabric. “It had better be worth this—” She gasped and bent double. “No!”
“What is it?”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“What is it? Talk to me.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Nancy Jo.”
“I see him.” Her fingers were pressing on the fabric of the passenger seat. “I see him. I feel him. No, I don’t feel him. I feel me.”
“What?”
“My blood pounding in him.” She looked down in horror at her hand touching the seat. “When he got back in the car that night, he still had a little of my blood on his hand. He’d been very careful to clean up the area, but he had blood on his hand from the goblet. He . . . licked his finger, then wiped it on the seat. He wasn’t worried. He could always clean the seat later. He knew how to do that. It had happened before.” She shook her head. “But even though he couldn’t see it, the blood is still there. My blood.”
“Focus. You said you could see him.”
“Dammit, stop being a cop. I’m trying to focus. You try to think when you can feel your blood pounding in that murderer’s body and—”
“Okay, I’m sorry. When you touched the bloodstain, you felt a connection with Jelak?”
“I feel it right now. And if I wasn’t trying to focus, then I’d take my hand off this damn stain. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to feel anything. Not sunlight. Not rain. Not if this is in the package.” The tears were running down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be part of him. Make it stop.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do.” Joe knelt beside her in the passenger seat. He wished he could touch her, comfort her. “We’re going to make it stop. Tell me what you see, Nancy Jo.”
“Goblets. He’s looking into a black Croco case that has those gold goblets arranged in three neat rows. He’s reaching out and stroking one of them.” She shuddered. “I know those goblets. He put one to my throat after —”
“Where is he? Look around.”
“It looks like a motel. A bed with a cheap-looking flowered cotton bedspread. There’s a desk. A red door.”
“Red door? Bathroom door or exterior?”
“I don’t know. No, exterior. I see one of those plaques that give the room rates hanging on the door.”
“Can you see the name on the plaque?”
