Dimples was suddenly grateful Willow had tried to smooth things over, and he hoped I’d accept her explanation, since it was the truth. Not liking that he took her side, I spoke up. “I take it Sophie still doesn’t remember anything?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Dimples answered before Willow could open her mouth. “We don’t have any proof of what happened either.”
“We know what happened,” Willow said. “She killed him and ran, leaving her sanity behind.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, speaking Dimples’s thoughts out loud. He may think it likely, but he wasn’t convinced, and they’d found no proof.
She shrugged. “I can’t prove it, but it only makes sense that she must have caught him with another woman and snapped. If we can just find the other woman, we’ll have our proof.”
“So, rather than facts, this is your psychic ability speaking?” I put her on the spot, wanting to hear her explanation.
That question surprised her, since most people didn’t like talking about psychic abilities. “Not exactly. I couldn’t get a read on her yesterday at the hospital, so my intuition and common sense put it together.” She was thinking that they had just received the video feed from the hotel, and they just needed to take a look at it to know she was right.
“Uh-huh,” I said, raising my brow at Dimples, wanting him to acknowledge that she was manipulating him and the whole police department. “So you’re looking at the video feed from the hotel where the victim died?”
Her breath caught. She hadn’t mentioned that, so how did I know? Her eyes narrowed, and she studied me, thinking about the research she’d done after meeting me in person yesterday. She knew everyone thought I was the real deal… or at least I’d tricked everyone into believing it.
But she wasn’t so sure. From her study of the paranormal, she believed most of a psychic’s ability could be explained by a highly talented skillset of observation and deduction. It was exactly how Sherlock Holmes had operated, and he could have been labeled a psychic, if he hadn’t explained his methods. No one, not even a psychic like her who understood tarot cards and astrology, could do the things I did without it.
Hmmm… being compared to Sherlock Holmes was a definite compliment, but didn’t she know he was a fictional character? So what did that say about her psychic ability? It sounded like she believed she was a psychic because of her devotion to mysticism, and that I might be one based on my talents of observation and deduction.
I needed more time with her to figure it out, but it would have to wait, since I had my own investigation to deal with.
“That’s right,” she agreed, answering my question. “We’ve got the security feed, and we’re hoping it will show us the killer.”
Dimples wasn’t sure what to do or say that would keep him from getting into trouble with either one of us.
I took pity on him and nodded. “Well, good luck.” Glancing at Willow, I added. “I’ve got a couple of things to do at my desk while I’m here, but you can have it back as soon as I’m done.”
“Oh… thanks.” Her brow wrinkled. She hadn’t expected me to be nice to her. What game was I playing? The fact that I wasn’t as enthusiastic as she was about working for the police gave her hope. Maybe she could take my place after all. She never thought I’d want to quit working for the police, but maybe the last few months had changed me, and my position was up for grabs. The timing couldn’t be better.
What the heck did that mean? She headed back to Dimples’s desk, so I turned my gaze to him and whispered, “she’s after my job.”
“Shit,” he said… out loud. His fierce gaze held mine. “Well, it’s not up for grabs.” He thought about asking for my help with the case again, but decided against it. Once it was clear that Willow had failed with her psychic abilities, he’d bring me in on it. Then I could solve the case and show her up at the same time. It would be poetic justice, and he could hardly wait.
“I won’t work with her again… that’s a promise.” With a determined nod at me, he followed Willow to his desk and plugged in the thumb-drive with the video feed from the hotel.
I hated to admit it, but his plan put me in a good mood. I hoped it worked out just how he thought, but if not, it’s the thought that counts, right?
Settling back in my chair, I logged into my account, holding my breath that my password still worked. The program opened up, and I sighed with relief. At least something was going right. The chief had given me full access to all the detectives’ cases, and I typed Mack Haywood’s name into this treasure trove, hoping everything was up to date.
The case file opened to his information, listing his driver’s license and address with all his personal information. I scrolled to the next page and found a picture of him kneeling beside Coco. My breath hitched to see them together. He looked so happy, and Coco sat at attention beside him. Green trees surrounded them, and Coco had a special rescue-dog vest attached to his chest. They looked like a perfect team, and sorrow filled my heart.
Knowing the crime scene photos came next, I closed my eyes and swallowed. Not sure I’d ever be ready, I hesitated another second, then scrolled down to get it over with. The first photo showed Mack lying on his stomach with a pool of blood around his head.
He had fallen between the living room door and the hallway to the kitchen. I read through the report, noting that he’d been struck several times on the back of the head with a hard, blunt object. From his position, it was determined that he never saw it coming.
I glanced through the
