Savich breathed in the dead heavy air again. He felt Kathryn, felt her fear, her terror, and he felt something else, something cold and deadly.
Dix said, “Fact is, we really have no idea why he grabbed her so quickly.”
Savich said, “No, we don’t. Captain Paulette, we’ll go back to San Francisco. You’ll let us know if the police find any witnesses, all right?”
When they’d stepped outside Kathryn Golden’s house into the late afternoon heat, Julia’s cell phone rang. She stepped away. “Wallace? Yes, I know, but have you heard about Kathryn being kidnapped? No, no, unfortunately the police have no idea where she is. What—? There are six of us in all. Yes, three are FBI agents and one is a sheriff. Really, Wallace, what—”
She listened, then slowly punched off, and said, “That was Wallace Tammerlane.” To Dix and Ruth, she added, “He’s a psychic medium, one of August’s best friends. The thing is, he’s asked that all of us come to his house, as soon as we can get there. He said it’s urgent.”
Cheney said, “But what does he want?”
“He didn’t tell me, only said it was about Kathryn and it’s urgent.”
Ruth looked from one face to the next. “We don’t have much of a choice, do we? So, let’s go see the psychic.”
Dix said, “Why do I think I’m about to take a bus to never-never land?”
CHAPTER 42
When all of them arrived at Wallace Tammerlane’s beautiful Victorian an hour and ten minutes later, Wallace’s black-garbed butler, Ogden Poe, greeted them at the door and ushered them into the living room. Wallace and Bevlin were seated in chairs facing each other in front of a roaring fire.
“What are you doing here, Bevlin?” Julia asked.
Bevlin shrugged. “Wallace wanted me to come over. It’s better with more people, you know.”
What was better, Sherlock wondered, but she knew a showman when she saw one and was willing to wait. “Some digs,” she said to Julia as she stepped into the living room. “Look at all those little teacups and saucers. I’ve seen similar ones in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. And all the old photos of the Crimean War, I wonder where those come from?”
Bevlin said to Sherlock as he rose, “I don’t like Victorian fuss. I like space and views.”
“You’re a hippie philistine,” Wallace said. “Red beanbags— just saying it makes me shudder.”
“Those red beanbags represent small vibrant areas of being,” Bevlin said, whatever that meant, Cheney thought.
“All of this is very interesting,” Julia said, aware that the three FBI agents and Sheriff Dix Noble were getting more impatient with each passing minute, “but we have more important things to do. Wallace, since you demanded that all of us come, let me make the introductions.”
Wallace shook hands with the three FBI agents, pausing briefly in front of each of them. To Sherlock, he said, “Sometimes people look at you and smile, and don’t see your substance. That’s always a very bad mistake to make, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, “one would think it is.”
He turned to Ruth, looked at her closely, then slowly nodded. “You are extraordinarily good at your job, Agent Warnecki. You see so very much, don’t you?”
“We all see too much sometimes, don’t you think?” Ruth said.
When he reached Dix, he became very still. Finally, he said, “I see a nearly desperate man, Sheriff Noble, about what I don’t know, but it’s clear to me that you’re frustrated and angry.”
“You think?” Dix said. “You’re a whiz at reading people, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Sheriff Noble, you’re here, in a psychic’s house, plainly, because you can’t see any other options. I would say you are perhaps the most determined of all your colleagues to discount anything I may say or do. I ask you to be patient.”
Dix looked at him, stony-faced.
Wallace lightly laid a hand on Dix’s shoulder. “In the end, you will do what needs to be done, I imagine,” he said, and stepped back. And that made Dix think of Charlotte—he’d forgotten to call her.
Wallace smiled at Julia, who stood very close to Cheney. “The two of you,” he said, and shook his head. “Life continually surprises me.”
When Wallace’s eyes rested on Savich, he slowly nodded, but said nothing. He finally said, “I asked Bevlin to come over as well. As I told Julia, the more people here, the better for our efforts.”
“What efforts?” Cheney asked. “Come on, Wallace, enough dancing around. Tell us why you wanted us to come.”
“Very well. Both Bevlin and I are very concerned about Kathryn. Since you don’t know what this madman has done with her, we decided that a seance, of sorts, might help us locate her.
“I wanted all of you here because I need all of your strength, your focus, your concentration. I can assure you, I am very serious. I cannot guarantee success, that is, I cannot guarantee you that I will connect to Kathryn, but I am going to try.
“Before you arrived, Bevlin and I spoke about Kathryn’s vision—actually, I feared it would make the assassin hotfoot it right to her.”
