Blind Spot (18 page)

“And they’ve done lots of these?” Suki asked. “With consistent results?”

Lindsey pulled at her earlobe. “I just wrote a short paper on this for a research methods course,” she said. “Let me see if I can remember. In 1989 a meta-analysis—that’s where they combine the results of lots of the same kinds of studies—of over eight hundred random-number experiments was published, and although the effect wasn’t huge, it was there—and it was consistent. Something like fifteen standard errors from the mean, which basically translates into the chance of it happening by chance being zero.”

Suki was impressed. That kind of result was pretty meaningful. “But isn’t that really a different thing than precognition?”

Lindsey became quite agitated, squirming in her seat and pulling again on her earlobe. “Kind of,” she finally admitted. “But don’t you see? It’s related. Like bio-PK, where they study that ‘feeling of being stared at’ or the ganzfeld, where the subject is put into a meditative state to become a better receiver.” She performed the same two-handed table drum roll she had executed earlier. “It’s all about the fact that human consciousness is a much more powerful receiver and sender of sensory information than ‘science’ or ‘biology’ would suggest.”

Suki thought about Alexa, her dreams of the past, her visions of the future. “Receiving information from the future?”

“Remember your pen?” Lindsey demanded, jumping up from her seat. “My friend Babs’s apple? If time is the fourth dimension, then it’s possible the future isn’t happening in the future. It’s happening now.” She pressed her back into the wall and looked at Suki defiantly.

Suki was simultaneously attracted and repelled by the concept—in the same way she was attracted and repelled by Lindsey Kern.

“The interest in this is huge,” Lindsey said, throwing her arms open wide; Suki could see the damp stain of sweat on the undersides of her sleeves. “Researchers did the same kind of a meta-analysis—but just on the precognition studies—and found that there had been something like fifty thousand subjects in almost two million trials. Two million trials! Can you believe they actually carried out two million trials? What a world!”

Suki casually waved for Lindsey to sit down. “But how do you do research on something that hasn’t happened yet?”

Lindsey dropped back into her chair. “Forced-choice methods, mostly, like the ESP cards, except that the subject’s guesses are recorded
before
the cards—or whatever the target—are chosen.”

“And that works?”

“The results are weaker, but still there,” Lindsey said. “They have the same problem in the lab that I do. Like I was telling you the other day. The vision, the image, whatever it is, just kind of comes. That’s the way it is for me, and I guess for most people. Suddenly it’s there and I know—or think I know—that X is going to happen.” She shook her head sadly. “I’ve tried to make it happen, but it almost never works. I’m just not that good—I’ve no real talent—most of my images come in dreams.” Then she perked up. “But if I’ve been meditating it seems to be easier.”

One of the parapsychology books Suki had been reading mentioned that precognitive dreams were quite common. She thought she even remembered a discussion of some research. And something about meditation. She would have to check when she got home.

“And I have been meditating a lot.” Lindsey closed her eyes and sat silently for a long moment.

Suki waited.

“I’m trying to find him,” Lindsey said, her voice soft and dreamy. “Find him.”

Suki glanced surreptitiously at her watch. Lindsey’s eyes remained closed.

“Gray water,” Lindsey said. “He’s near gray water.”

“Who?” Suki asked. “Who’s near gray water?”

“The person you need to find. He’s near water and trees.”

Suki stared at Lindsey. Could she be talking about Finlay? Suki’s pencil rolled off the table and onto the floor.

“West,” Lindsey continued. “West of here, but not far.”

Suki felt cold in the marrow of her bones. “I already found him,” she said. “On Saturday.”

“Damn it!” Lindsey’s eyes flew open. “I told you I couldn’t do it. I told you I was no good. No good at all!”

“Oh no,” Suki assured her. “There’s no need to be sorry. He
was
near gray water and he
was
west of here. Your time sequence was just off.” The fourth dimension. Like Alexa’s elevator shaft dream. Suki bent down to retrieve her pencil, and when she raised her eyes above the edge of the table, Lindsey’s face was within inches of her own.

“You’re going to need to find another missing person.” Lindsey’s breath was hot on Suki’s cheek. “Let me help you next time.” When Suki nodded, Lindsey smiled radiantly and pointed to the test booklet. “Shall we?” she asked.

The administration of psychological assessment tests is not usually a part of forensic training, and less often part of the job. But as a graduate student, Suki had worked for a professor who used the MMPI, the Rorschach and the Stanford-Binet as part of his research protocol, and she had become skilled at administering the tests.

Although the MMPI was sent out to be scored by an independent company, Suki was familiar enough with the test to take a to guess at Lindsey’s scores. Despite Lindsey’s unsettling mood swings during their interview, Suki was fairly certain she was going to register low on depression, hypomania and schizophrenia, midlevel on hypochondria-sis and hysteria, and high on Scales L and F—the subtests used to detect deliberate misrepresentation. This combination was highly suggestive of the absence of mental illness and the presence of manipulation. In other words, there might be nothing wrong with Lindsey Kern that a little faking wouldn’t explain.

As Suki climbed into her car she pondered the enigma that was Lindsey Kern. Was she faking? Was her lability an act, part of a preconceived plan? Were her claims of paranormal powers just a ruse to get out of prison? It had been done before—usually not all that effectively—but Lindsey was a very smart woman, and Suki could imagine a scenario in which Lindsey’s assertion that she didn’t care if she stayed at Watkins furthered this plan. On the other hand, Lindsey seemed so sincere in her beliefs, so lucid in her explanations, and there was no denying that a number of the things she predicted had occurred. The fact that her prediction about Finlay was in the wrong time dimension somehow made it all even more believable.

The traffic on 128 stopped for no apparent reason, as it often did, and Suki strained to see how far ahead the jam stretched. It was useless. She couldn’t see beyond the two vans in front of her, so she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and wondered if perhaps Lindsey could help her find her daughter. Help her reclaim the Alexa who worried about pop quizzes and which sweater to wear to Robin’s party. But Suki knew that that daughter was lost where no powers, no matter how potent or paranormal, could find her. Lost to sex, to betrayal, to guns and untimely death.

Suki flipped open her address book and punched Mike Dannow’s number on the car phone. He was in court, but Betty, his secretary, promised he would return the call as soon as possible. She tried Kenneth, but her luck was no better. When the traffic finally broke, she rushed to her office, anxious to yield her own problems to those of her patients. And for a few hours it worked. Barry’s fear of driving, Claire’s depression and Rebecca’s nightmares, all posttraumatic stress responses, absorbed Suki. She didn’t think about Alexa until she locked her office door behind her.

When she got home, Suki went straight to the answering machine in the kitchen, hoping to hear from Mike and Kenneth. She was relieved to see there were two messages, but the first was from Kyle. He explained that Mrs. Fleishman was going to take them to McDonald’s on the way home from the soccer game. Suki sighed. Kyle was being a really terrific sport. She was going to owe him big—as well as Mrs. Fleishman, whom she had never met, but who was having dinner with her son more often than she. The second message was from Kenneth. He left his home number, and she finished dialing it before the tape had time to rewind.

“How you doing?” Kenneth asked as soon as he heard her voice.

“You tell me.”

The line hung open and silent for what seemed an eternity. “Probably not so great,” Kenneth finally said.

Suki stared at the row of canisters along the side of the sink. Blue, green, orange and yellow glazed pottery. Stan had bought them for her from a potter on Martha’s Vineyard the summer before Alexa was born. It had been sunny that day. The woman had been very old. She must be dead at least a decade now. “They’re going to believe the boys?” Suki asked.

“You didn’t hear this from me.”

Suki ran her finger along the edge of the blue glaze. Why was Kenneth doing this? Was he sticking his neck out because he believed Alexa was innocent? Or was there some other reason? She didn’t really know anything about him, except that he believed in the paranormal and had converted to Judaism. Maybe Kenneth was part of a police plot to entrap her or Alexa into admitting something in-criminating. Maybe he
did
play poker with Ellery McKinna. Suki noticed the blue blob of glaze on the side of the largest canister was roughly the shape of a handcuff. Great, she thought, paranoia run amuck.

“You know who Teddy Sutterlund is?” Kenneth asked. When Suki didn’t answer, he answered himself. “He’s the Middlesex DA. The one whose office botched that big murder case last year? You’ve got to remember. It was a big trial in Waltham that the media covered to death. It had it all: drugs, guns, kids, gangs. I think the gang called themselves the Winter Hill Diamonds.”

“Was that the one where they had to let the killer go because of some technicality?” Suki asked as it slowly came back. “Even though the guy had confessed or something?”

“And even though the technicality was an overeager cop’s illegal search, Sutterlund took the fall with the press. He’s running for reelection in November.”

“What’s this got to do with Alexa?” Suki demanded.

“Gangs. Kids killing kids.”

Suki felt as if she had taken a blow to the solar plexus. “But this isn’t the same thing at all. This isn’t about gangs or drugs or anything like that. There are no Winter Hill Diamonds here.”

“Sutterlund wants an arrest ASAP,” Kenneth said as if she hadn’t spoken, or as if her argument was too hollow to warrant comment. “He needs it if he’s going to win in November. He’s pushing Gasperini. Hard. And when Teddy Sutterlund wants something, he usually gets it.”

“So Charlie’s going to forget that the boys lied? That Ellery lied?” Suki demanded. “Suddenly they’re all going to become star witnesses? Good little boy scouts?”

“I don’t know, Suki,” Kenneth said softly. “I don’t know what’s going to finally come down—”

“Is this happening because Sam’s mother is married to a Witton cop?” Suki interrupted. “Because Charlie and Ellery play poker together?”

“It’s like I told you in Pepperell. This is happening because it’s what’s easiest for everyone.”

Suki gripped the edge of the countertop. “I won’t let my daughter’s life be destroyed just because it’s convenient for some cop—or worse, good for some DA’s political career.”

“Suki,” Kenneth pleaded. “Please. Getting upset isn’t going to help. Listen, I know your lawyer was on the phone with Charlie this afternoon. Have you talked to him today?”

“No.” She slumped against the counter.

“Well, give him a call. See what he says. I’ll do what I can at this end—which may not be much—and I’ll be in touch.”

Suki took a deep breath. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks a lot.” Kenneth wasn’t the enemy, he wasn’t involved in any police plot.

“Sure,” he said. “Chin up.”

Suki put the phone down and stared at the glazed canisters, at the odd shapes dripping and running into each other. “
Pan to fire
,” Lindsey had warned. “
Pan to fire
.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A
fter hanging up with Kenneth, Suki dialed Mike’s office, but he was still on the phone. Again, the promise he would return her call. Suki thought she detected a note of exasperation in Betty’s voice. Yet more paranoia. When the phone rang almost immediately, she grabbed it.

It was Alexa. “I’m at Kendra’s,” she said. “And I’m going to stay for dinner.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Suki told her. “I want you home.”

“But we have to work on an English project,” Alexa whined. “And it’s got to be good so I can get that recommendation.”

“Work it out,” Suki snapped. “And be home by five-thirty.”

“Don’t expect any heart-to-hearts,” Alexa said.

“I’m growing to expect less and less,” Suki said and hung up the phone. She leaned against the kitchen counter and stared into the living room.

Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the triangular clerestory window, throwing warmth and hope into the house. The hardwood floors gleamed, and lime green buds burst open in the backyard. Suki was cold. She sat down on the couch and wrapped an old afghan around her shoulders. The couch had been her mother’s and was a deep red velvet. A decorating mistake that actually looked good, original and unusual, in this modern room. It had been awful in her mother’s traditional parlor. Suki raised her eyes to the window, half expecting her mother to appear and tell her what to do. But there was nothing but the relentlessly cheerful sunlight.

Would they really arrest Alexa, so obviously innocent, just because it was convenient? Just because it suited the DA’s career track? Suki was no fool, and she knew it could very well happen. But she also knew that if there was a trial, if it came to that, Mike would rip Gasperini’s case to shreds. His witnesses were bogus, there was no opportunity, and, as far as anyone but she and Alexa knew, no motive. The afghan slipped from her shoulders and sweat pricked under her arms. Brendan knew. And probably Kendra and Robin and Steph. They had to be kept quiet. She retrieved the afghan. Keeping teenagers quiet was a near-impossible task.

But the abortion wasn’t directly connected to the murder, she reminded herself. The linkage was just conjecture, a hypothetical supposition, a loosely braided web of logic that could easily be unwound. Mike was good at unwinding. It was purely circumstantial. Just like every piece of evidence against Alexa. Suki had studied enough law to know that the way to contradict a circumstantial case was with direct evidence. Like a witness.