Line Of Sight Part 5

Shannon must have seen it, too. "That sounds frightening."

"I'm not in any danger. But those girls are."

"So tell me what you saw."

Katie wasn't normally a believer in psychics, and the idea that this Blackman had suddenly turned up with visions at an opportune moment-well, she'd seen it before. Usually people with an attention-seeking disorder, or a con man looking to defraud the families. Which was he? Her money was on con man. But...still...Teal could have reached out to him.

She was about to mute the sound again when she heard him say, "-pink and purple streaks in her hair." He was describing Lena. Katie hesitated because those were specifics, and con men and attention-seekers alike avoided anything specific. "They're in a van, one either without windows in the cargo area or with the windows blacked out, and they're in the desert on Highway 347, or they were half an hour ago. There are at least three abductors in the van with the girls."

That was far too specific for a con. Katie hesitated, weighing the remote in her hand. Watching Blackman, who radiated nothing but a tense sincerity.

"I don't think it's s.e.xual," he said. "It doesn't feel like that. It's more like a kidnapping-money, politics, I don't know. But it seems professional, the way these people are acting."

The camera cut back to Shannon, who looked appropriately skeptical. "Mr. Blackman." It was a reproof, perfectly delivered. "You flew out here from L.A. on the strength of a vision, to tell us that two girls we already knew were in danger are in danger? Don't you think that's a little self-serving, at best? What proof can you offer that you're not a fake or a con artist?"

Bravo, Katie thought. An on-point thrust.

Blackman parried without apparent effort. "I didn't come here to get attention, and I didn't come to make money," he said. "I came to help the police. If the police won't talk to me, then I'll catch the red-eye back home tomorrow. But I hope they will. I believe I can help, and that's the important thing. Getting these girls back alive and unharmed."

Somehow, Katie felt as if Blackman were talking directly to her. As if he knew she'd hear. It even seemed that his eyes were on hers through the television screen, although of course that was impossible.

Shannon maintained her skepticism as she turned back toward the camera. "That's the latest from the scene of the kidnapping of two young girls here in the Phoenix area, Charles. The police are shutting down the crime scene, and we'll have to wait for an official statement from the Glendale police, which should be coming in the next hour. Back to you."

They were still at the crime scene.

Katie muted the television and continued on to Rebecca's office, where she dialed Kayla Ryan's home phone number. Kayla answered on the second ring.

"I need another favor," Katie said.

"Well, I can't say I don't owe you a few, especially since you're here doing a big one for us."

"I need to have a uniformed officer pick up a guy at the crime scene and detain him until I get there. The guy's name is Blackman. He's with Shannon Connor right now." She gave his physical description, trying to keep any subjective judgments out of it.

"How long will you be?" Kayla asked. "Just so I can tell the cops who pick him up."

"Believe me," Katie answered, "I'll hurry."

Chapter 6.

P laying keep-away with bikini girls on VeniceBeach was nothing compared to playing intellectual keep-away with Shannon Connor. She wasn't just some stringer for ABS, Stefan realized almost immediately; she was ambitious, she was sharp and she was good. Good enough to engage him on a level he hadn't felt in a long time. Part of it was her aura-she gave off a complicated, heady energy that was two parts cleverness and one part bitterness.

If he hadn't been empathic, and hadn't been able to tell what she wanted him to say, she'd have manipulated him halfway back to Los Angeles without him being any the wiser. He was glad to be done with the interview, glad to have, he thought, come off as considerably more sane than she wanted him to. Reporters liked the crazy. Especially television reporters.

Once the hot lights were off, Shannon turned off some of her intensity, too. She was beautiful, he thought, but not his type-too demanding, too focused on herself and not others. He sensed she had more in her, better things, but she'd spent a long time covering that up.

"So, Stefan," she said, and slipped her arm in his as she stepped down from the wide truck that served as her mobile studio. "Are you really just going to hang around here all night, waiting for someone from the police to take an interest? Because I can promise you, if they do, it'll be the wrong kind of interest. They're not trusting people."

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Reflexive flirting. He didn't mean it. He realized thankfully that neither did she.

"Well, I'd volunteer to show you around the town, but I'm a little busy with the kidnapping story." Shannon gave him a smile to show him that was a pity. "Really, you should go home. n.o.body's going to take you seriously, not unless you come up with a viable suspect's name."

Two uniformed police officers ducked under the crime-scene tape. That wasn't unusual; the cops were packing up and dismantling equipment, getting ready to roll up the scene. It was a bit like watching a set being struck in Hollywood, Stefan thought.

What was unusual about these two cops was that they headed straight for the ABS remote van, walking with a purpose.

"Heads up," Shannon said. "Looks like you got what you wanted. Nice meeting you, Stefan."

She winked at him and walked away. He stayed where he was, hands at his sides, as the cops approached. Something about cops always made him want to stick his hands in his pockets, but he'd long ago realized that it made them paranoid.

"Hi," he said as the two of them stopped just about two feet away. He extended his hand. They were both big men with identically hard eyes. Neither took his hand.

"Mr. Blackman?"

He nodded.

"Would you come with us, sir?" The spokesman for the two had a deep Barry White voice. "We've been asked to hold you for a while until the FBI can talk to you."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, sir. Not under arrest. The agent would just like to speak with you. She'll be here as soon as possible."

Unexpectedly, the other officer smiled. "We've got coffee. It's almost fresh."

"Well," Stefan said, "why didn't you say so? Lead on."

He wasn't thinking of the coffee, though it did sound tempting. He was thinking that they'd said FBI, and they'd said she.

That gave him an unexpected feeling of pleasure.

The search of the Academy and its grounds turned up nothing. Sheila Prichard wasn't answering either her home or cell phones. Katie handed that part of the investigation over to the Glendale PD, and Kayla, and headed back out to the crime scene.

The only sign that it had been a crime scene was a few lingering news vans packing up for the night after their live shots. The cops had all gone, except for one police cruiser sitting parked at the curb, just about where Teal and Lena had been dragged into a van.

The police cruiser was empty. She looked around, and saw a small diner on the corner with a warm glow coming from its plate gla.s.s window. And clearly silhouetted inside, two uniformed police officers and Blackman.

She walked across the street and down the block, slowing as she approached. She wanted to observe her subject without being watched in turn. He wouldn't be able to see far into the dark, as bright as it was inside the diner. Whatever he and the two cops were talking about, it was clear they'd bonded; they were all smiling, animated. Blackman gestured like an Italian when he was engaged.

The diner's door chimed when she walked in, and the counter man looked up and nodded at her, unsmiling. She ordered a cup of coffee and went back to join the three in the booth.

"Officers," she said and nodded to them. They'd both gone back to the sober, blank masks she was used to seeing with street cops. "FBI Special Agent Katie Rush. Thank you for your courtesy."

"Ma'am." They slid out of the booth, one at a time. "He's all yours. Night, Stefan."

"Night, guys," he said, as casually as if the cops who'd detained him were old poker buddies. Strange. More than strange, that they'd been treating him with the same bonhomie. It wasn't natural, not for police.

Stefan nodded for her to take a seat. He was still smiling, hands curled around his coffee cup on the laminate tabletop. Nice hands, she couldn't help but notice-not overly large, but graceful fingers. Funny how attractive men's hands could be.

Katie sat down and waited until the counter man delivered her own drink before she said, "Stefan Blackman."

"Hi again," he said and held out his hand. She shook it. "I'm not stalking you. Just wanted to make that clear."

She blinked. "That's comforting."

"I thought, given the circ.u.mstances, that I should get that out of the way," he said. "After all, it's a weird string of coincidences. Airport, crime scene, now this. Weird, right?"

"Weird," she confirmed. "Unless you planned it that way."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

She didn't answer. Sometimes silence was more effective than words in leading a subject to drop important clues. Not this time, though. Stefan seemed perfectly content to sip coffee and smile and study her with those big, dark, compelling eyes.

"Tell me about this vision you had," she said.

"That's good." Stefan sat back without breaking eye contact. "You managed to say that without sounding like you think it's total c.r.a.p, even though you probably think it's total c.r.a.p. And it's visions, not vision. I seem to be tuned in on this girl's frequency."

"Has that happened before?"

He finally looked away, out the window. She saw muscles tense in his jawline. "Believe me, nothing like this has ever happened to me before. As psychics go, I'm pretty low level. I can usually pick up blurry impressions and emotions, but this is the full-on sensory experience." He paused for long enough that she thought he might be finished, but then he went on. "I don't like it. I want it to be over. And for it to be over, you need to find these girls. So it's really selfish, you see."

Interesting. She couldn't quite imagine a con man presenting it that way-con men were all about adapting to the needs of the listener-and an attention-seeker wouldn't be looking for a quick end to anything.

"Tell me about your vision," she repeated. "The first one. How it happened, where, what you saw."

He repeated it, closing his eyes to bring it back. It seemed to disturb him; his face tightened, and so did his hands around his coffee cup. He deliberately relaxed when he was done, breathed deeply and took a long swallow from his cup as he told her all about it. She heard nothing exceptional, which was odd-generally, liars liked to throw in colorful, nonspecific details. His account was very tight, and very consistent with witness statements, including Jazz Ryan's.

Katie jotted a few things down in her notebook and said without looking up, "Tell me about the second vision."

"It was more intense. It was also worse," he said. His tenor voice, which had been velvet-soft, grew rougher. "The girls were trying to communicate with each other. I think they know sign language. But the abductors saw them, and-"

He stopped. Just...stopped. Stopped talking, stopped breathing. Katie looked up, startled, and saw that he'd stopped being there behind his eyes. Some kind of pet.i.t mal seizure, she thought. Epilepsy. His hands were slightly trembling, growing tighter around the cup. Tighter. The porcelain rattled against the tabletop with a dull chatter. She reached over and put her hand on his wrist, and she could feel the convulsive energy flowing through his muscles.

He didn't respond to her touch.

"Mr. Blackman?" Nothing. She slid out of her side of the booth and leaned over him. "Stefan?"

A drop of sweat glided down the side of his face and splashed on his blue jeans, and suddenly, he gulped in a huge lungful of air, spasmed, and sent his coffee cup flying in a wobbling circle toward the other side of the table as his hands slipped free. Katie reached out and caught it, lightning-fast, and set it back upright, ignoring the spilled coffee.

"You okay?" she asked and crouched down to look into his face. He looked dazed, but there again. Shaken. "What happened?"

"I-" His voice caught, rusty in his throat. He tried again. "It was another vision. In the van. They stopped for gas." He was shaking, and he didn't look good. Katie eased back into the bench seat opposite him, frowning. "My G.o.d, that was-it was different. Stronger. Look, one of the girls-the one I'm in contact with-tried to get away. She didn't get far. The thing is, the attendant at the gas station-" He stopped again and ran his hands over his eyes as if trying to scrub away the memory of what he'd seen. "He's dead. He saw her and he tried to help, and they killed him."

That was very specific. Utterly, incontrovertibly subject to fact-check. She sat frozen, staring at him. Of all the things she'd expected, she hadn't expected this.

She found her voice. "How did they kill him?" Another thing that was incontrovertible.

"Shot him." Stefan squeezed his eyes shut again. "They shot him in the head. He went down...."

"Stefan, look at me." Katie kept her tone soft and low, and leaned forward toward him. He opened his eyes and focused on her. She felt a shock run through her, a desire that had nothing to do with attraction or l.u.s.t and everything to do with a need to help. He seemed so vulnerable just now. So...surprised. "Did you get any sense of the time this happened?"

"Now. Just now. It's-well, it feels like real time."

Over his shoulder was a big retro diner clock, hands sweeping silently through seconds; Katie focused on it and noted the time.

"Do you know where?"

"Interstate 8, the off-ramp to Smurr. I keep telling you people-" He stopped, swallowed and visibly composed himself. "Sorry. That wasn't-pleasant."

No kidding. If he was delusional, if he'd had a mini-seizure, that wasn't pleasant, either, but at least he'd given her something to check. Something concrete. "Wait here," she said and slid out of the booth. The two police officers were still sitting in their cruiser across the street, watching the two of them; somehow, she'd expected that. The slightly taller one leaned out of the driver's-side window as she approached.

"I need you to dispatch the Highway Patrol out to a gas station on Interstate 8, at the exit to Smurr," she said.

The officer blinked. "Ma'am?"

"Please."

He gave her one of those you're-crazy-but-you're-afed-and-it's-no-skin-off-my-nose looks-she knew those well-and got on the radio.

"Tell them to call my cell phone when they get there," she said, and gave him the number. His partner jotted it down and nodded. "I'll be in there." She pointed back at the diner, then turned and jogged back to the diner. Stefan hadn't moved. He was staring down into his coffee cup as if it were the open pit to h.e.l.l.

She'd seen that look before. She slowed as she approached, studying him. Whether he was delusional or not was still an open question, but whatever he was, he wasn't a liar. She knew that look far too well, and she'd seen it on the faces of victims and witnesses to violence.

Con men wouldn't bother to fake it.

Katie put her hand on his shoulder. Stefan looked up at her and forced a smile. "Sorry for the drama," he said. His voice was getting back to normal, but still a little uneven. "I'm not usually this weird, I swear."

There was still a possibility-however remote it seemed-that he was playing her. If he was a plant from the bad guys, they could have agreed on a timetable...but this murder, if actually true, sounded spur of the moment, not planned. Still. Better to be careful. Her grandmother had always said you catch more flies with honey...and Stefan was nothing if not sweet, tempting, golden honey.

She needed to be sure he stayed put, while the police checked out the scene. For lack of anything better to do, she began to clean up the spilled coffee on the table, then took out a menu from the holder. "Hungry?" she asked. She was-an unavoidable demand of a body pushed too far, for too long.

Stefan looked briefly sick, and shook his head. "I couldn't eat. Not after that."

"You'd be surprised," she said. "Besides, if you're really hooked into one of these girls and getting psychic impulses, I don't need you dropping because of low blood sugar."

"Look, I just saw somebody get shot in the head! I don't think I'm really up for a hamburger."

Put that way, it did sound revolting. "Then at least get a piece of pie and some milk. Milk will settle your stomach."

"I don't know-"

"Well, I do. Believe me. Special FBI training." She'd puked her guts out after her first real crime scene, as a trainee, and one of her instructors-Hibbard, she thought-had taken her to a place around the corner and forced pie and milk on her. It had worked.

"Well," Stefan said, "so long as it's government approved, I guess I'd better comply."