of anyone with a police record who lived in the surrounding area. Some I'd done at night because the homeowner wouldn't consent. Not only was I risking arrest, but injury. A dog had almost gotten me the second night.
I'd toured nearby junkyards, ponds, parks, landfills, and cemeteries, in the process finding one other murder victim in the trunk of a junked car (a freebie for the Nashville police—they'd been so pleased to have another murder victim on the books), and one natural death, a homeless man in a park. But I hadn't found any eleven-year- old girls. For nine days I'd searched, until the time came when I'd had to tell Diane and Joel Morgenstern that I could not find their child.
Tabitha had been snatched from her yard in an upscale Nashville suburb while she was watering the flowers in the beds around the front door of the house on a warm morning during spring break. When Diane had come out to go to the grocery, she'd discovered Tabitha was nowhere to be found. The hose was still running.
Daughter of a senior accountant with a firm that handled lots of Nashville singers and record people, Tabitha had had a blessed childhood. Though she had a stepbrother because Joel had been married and widowed previously, Tabitha had obviously enjoyed a well-regulated home life centered on maintaining her health and happiness, and incidentally that of Victor, her half sib.
My childhood, and Tolliver's, had not been like that—at least, after a certain point. That was the point where our lawyer parents began using drugs and drinking with their clients. After a while, the clients had ceased to be clients, and had become peers. That downward slide had brought me to the moment in time when I'd been standing in the bathroom in that trailer in Texarkana and the lightning had come through the window.
Trips down memory lane aren't happy jaunts for me.
I was almost glad when the detective—Corbett Lacey was his name—came back with cups of coffee for both of us. He was trying the soft approach. Sooner or later (probably later) someone else would try the hard approach.
'Tell me how you came to be here this morning,' suggested Corbett Lacey. He was a burly man with receding blond hair, a large belly, and quick blue eyes like restless marbles.
'We were invited by Dr. Nunley to come to the old cemetery. I was supposed to show the students what I do.'
'What exactly do you do?' He looked so sincere, as if he would believe any answer I gave him.
'I find the dead.'
'You track people?'
'No, I find corpses. People call me in, and I find the bodies of those who've passed on.' That was my favorite euphemism. I have quite a repertoire. 'If the location of the corpse is already known, I can tell you the cause of death. That was what I was doing at the cemetery today.'
'What's your success rate?'
Okay, that was unexpected. I'd assumed he'd sneer, at this point. 'If the relatives or the police can give me a bead on the location, I can find the body,' I said matter-of-factly. 'When I find the body, I know the cause of death. In the case of Tabitha Morgenstern, when the family called me in, I could never find her. She'd been taken from her yard and put in a car pretty quick, I guess, and her corpse just wasn't there for me to sense.'
'How does this work?'
Another unexpected question. 'I feel them, like a buzz in my head,' I said. 'The closer I get, the more intense the buzz, the vibration, is. When I'm on top of them, I can reach down and tell how they died. I'm not a psychic. I'm not a precognate, or a telepath. I don't see who killed them. I only see the death when I'm near the bones.'
He hadn't expected such a matter-of-fact reply. He looked at me, leaning forward on the other side of the table. His own cup of coffee was forgotten in front of him. 'Why would anyone believe that?' Lacey asked wonderingly.
'Because I produce results,' I said.
'Don't you think it's quite a coincidence? That you were called in by the Morgensterns when they were looking for their little girl, and now, months later, in a different city, you say you've found her? How do you think those poor folks are going to feel when the area's dug and there's nothing there? You should be ashamed of yourself.' The detective regarded me with profound disgust.
'That's not going to happen.' I shrugged. 'I'm not ashamed of anything. She's there.' I glanced at my watch. 'They should have reached her by now.'
Detective Laceys cell phone rang. He answered, 'Yeah?' As he listened, his face changed. He looked harder and older. His eyes fell on me with a look I've seen often—a stare compounded of distaste, fear, and a dawning belief.
'They've reached some bones in a garbage bag,' he said heavily. 'Too small to be an adult's.'
I tried very hard to look neutral.
'A foot below the garbage bag bones, there are wood remnants. Probably a coffin. So there may be another set of bones.' He breathed heavily. 'There's no trace of a coffin around the upper bones.'
I nodded. Tolliver squeezed my hand.
'We'll get a very preliminary identification in a couple hours, if it's the Morgenstern girl. The dental records have been faxed from Nashville. Of course, a solid ID will have to wait on a full exam of the body. Well, what's left of the body.' Detective Lacey set his own personal coffee mug on the battered table with unnecessary force. 'Nashville police are sending the X-rays by car, and the car should be here in a couple of hours. The local FBI office is sending someone to witness the full autopsy. The Fibbies are offering their lab for the trace stuff. You are not to say anything about this to anyone until we've talked to the family.'
I nodded again.
'Good,' Tolliver said, just to goose the silence.
Corbett Lacey gave us a steady glare. 'We've had to call her parents, and if this isn't her, I don't even like to think about what they'll feel. If you hadn't broadcast her name to the whole group standing there, we could have kept this quiet until we had something solid to tell them. Now, we've had to talk to them because it looks like the
