whatever trance had sidetracked her and show up.
On that thought, Marie marched up the path and went through the doors, ready to tackle the party on her own.
* * *
Claire had been sitting in a small dark office at Forensic Instincts all evening, handling Jan Olson’s personal items. The energies she’d been picking up were dark and complex.
Icy coldness. That was the prevalent aura that emanated from Jan’s clothing, her textbooks, even her notebooks. An icy coldness that was the absence of life. And the book bag, the running shoes—they held another energy. Fear. A powerful fear that Jan had internalized, shared with no one.
Whatever she’d been afraid of, it was key to their investigation.
A killer’s random learning curve. The awareness slid into Claire’s mind, then took root. Whatever had happened here, it was the initial part of a string of evil. Strategically planned. But a random choice of victims. At least it had been with Jan. Fine-tuning had brought with it a honed expertise. But Jan had been one of the first. A learning experience.
Claire could visualize Jan Olson running through a park. Water was glistening in the background. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She’d peer over her shoulder, stumble on the uneven ground, then struggle on. Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire focused intently, trying to pick up something specific about Jan’s surroundings—a landmark, a street sign, anything that could tell her about the locale. Butterflies...birds...
Abruptly, there was a loud buzzing in Claire’s head, followed by an eclipse in time and a radical shift in scene. A jolt of ominous energy shot through her—one that was so powerful it caused her to physically double over.
Something horrifying was happening. Not in the past. Right this moment. Whatever energies Claire had been picking up from fifteen years ago had opened up a channel to a fatal crime that was occurring as she sat there. She fought her panic, trying desperately to zero in on the crime.
Pain. Agonizing pain. Terror. A woman. Struggling, clawing, fighting for her life. A monster who was overpowering her. The hard feel of a concrete floor. A warehouse? Yes, a warehouse. Dirty floor. Large wooden crates with shipping labels. The smell of the river. The sound of bells. The flash of a clock tower. Not right there. But close by.
Clothing was being torn. The woman was screaming, begging. She was pinned to the ground. Naked. Helpless. Violated.
Large hands locked around her throat crushing her air supply as he raped her. Searing pain. Paralyzing panic. Heightening more and more and more...
Claire almost screamed aloud, the violent energies she was experiencing were so acute. Beyond excruciating.
She couldn’t wait any longer. Drenched in sweat, she forced open her eyes and fumbled for her phone. Ordering her brain into rational action, she blocked out her vision and honed in on reality. Think. Think. The phone number. She’d called it a dozen times.
His direct line escaped her, so she settled for the general number and punched it in.
“Eighty-fourth Precinct,” a voice answered.
“Is Detective Werner in?” Claire made her voice sound relatively normal.
“Just a minute.” There was a short series of rings and then a familiar baritone.
“Werner.”
“Tom? It’s Claire Hedgleigh.”
“Ah,” Detective Thomas Werner replied with wry amusement. “The brilliant psychic addition to Forensic Instincts. I should be pissed that you’re not consulting for us anymore. But I can’t blame you for taking on a challenge like working for the FI team. How can I help you?”
“Something bad just happened. A rape. And an attempted murder. It could be a fait accompli already. I don’t know. But it’s in your district. A warehouse near the East River. Rows of wooden crates. And bells—I know those bells. They’re from the clock tower at Dumbo.” Claire pinpointed the enormously expensive Down Under the Manhattan Bridge
On that thought, Marie marched up the path and went through the doors, ready to tackle the party on her own.
* * *
Claire had been sitting in a small dark office at Forensic Instincts all evening, handling Jan Olson’s personal items. The energies she’d been picking up were dark and complex.
Icy coldness. That was the prevalent aura that emanated from Jan’s clothing, her textbooks, even her notebooks. An icy coldness that was the absence of life. And the book bag, the running shoes—they held another energy. Fear. A powerful fear that Jan had internalized, shared with no one.
Whatever she’d been afraid of, it was key to their investigation.
A killer’s random learning curve. The awareness slid into Claire’s mind, then took root. Whatever had happened here, it was the initial part of a string of evil. Strategically planned. But a random choice of victims. At least it had been with Jan. Fine-tuning had brought with it a honed expertise. But Jan had been one of the first. A learning experience.
Claire could visualize Jan Olson running through a park. Water was glistening in the background. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She’d peer over her shoulder, stumble on the uneven ground, then struggle on. Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire focused intently, trying to pick up something specific about Jan’s surroundings—a landmark, a street sign, anything that could tell her about the locale. Butterflies...birds...
Abruptly, there was a loud buzzing in Claire’s head, followed by an eclipse in time and a radical shift in scene. A jolt of ominous energy shot through her—one that was so powerful it caused her to physically double over.
Something horrifying was happening. Not in the past. Right this moment. Whatever energies Claire had been picking up from fifteen years ago had opened up a channel to a fatal crime that was occurring as she sat there. She fought her panic, trying desperately to zero in on the crime.
Pain. Agonizing pain. Terror. A woman. Struggling, clawing, fighting for her life. A monster who was overpowering her. The hard feel of a concrete floor. A warehouse? Yes, a warehouse. Dirty floor. Large wooden crates with shipping labels. The smell of the river. The sound of bells. The flash of a clock tower. Not right there. But close by.
Clothing was being torn. The woman was screaming, begging. She was pinned to the ground. Naked. Helpless. Violated.
Large hands locked around her throat crushing her air supply as he raped her. Searing pain. Paralyzing panic. Heightening more and more and more...
Claire almost screamed aloud, the violent energies she was experiencing were so acute. Beyond excruciating.
She couldn’t wait any longer. Drenched in sweat, she forced open her eyes and fumbled for her phone. Ordering her brain into rational action, she blocked out her vision and honed in on reality. Think. Think. The phone number. She’d called it a dozen times.
His direct line escaped her, so she settled for the general number and punched it in.
“Eighty-fourth Precinct,” a voice answered.
“Is Detective Werner in?” Claire made her voice sound relatively normal.
“Just a minute.” There was a short series of rings and then a familiar baritone.
“Werner.”
“Tom? It’s Claire Hedgleigh.”
“Ah,” Detective Thomas Werner replied with wry amusement. “The brilliant psychic addition to Forensic Instincts. I should be pissed that you’re not consulting for us anymore. But I can’t blame you for taking on a challenge like working for the FI team. How can I help you?”
“Something bad just happened. A rape. And an attempted murder. It could be a fait accompli already. I don’t know. But it’s in your district. A warehouse near the East River. Rows of wooden crates. And bells—I know those bells. They’re from the clock tower at Dumbo.” Claire pinpointed the enormously expensive Down Under the Manhattan Bridge
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