Rock Star Down (The Psychic Registry) (2 page)

"Well, I used to
make a small joke, like
, I know your ATM code!
"

"I'm sure that
went over much better!" she laughed.

"The problem with
psychic humor is that people don't know when you're joking."

Laurel stopped
laughing and thought of the spiral ham.

"See? I've
frightened you. How about we just shake hands like normal people and I'll try
not to rob you of your soul."

"It's not like
that,
is it
?" Laurel said, before extending her hand toward him.

Miller met her halfway
and shook her hand, "Not for you," he smiled, though his voice was
leavened with melancholy.

And he was in. He didn't want to be. He
tried to put her off. But she was a brave one.
They all were.

There was that ham
again. And Fletcher, he was looking well. And that fucker, Paul Kelly. It was
all very predictable and familiar. But the woman – Laurel Comfort – she was
inviting
.
He wouldn't delve deeper than was necessary. It wasn't good for him. He
performed a quick read for the markers, but she appeared untouched. Just a
normal girl.

Their handshake ended
and she was none the wiser, though she perhaps wondered. If she could read him
in turn she would see a tiny fragment of herself staring back from within him. But
she couldn't read him, not in that way. She only had the normal faculties to
rely upon, though sometimes they were good enough. Nathan was rather
exceptional. Many psychics were sloppy, malicious, or simply driven mad by their
talents. And it didn't take another psychic to spot the likes of them.

As they settled back
into their chairs he took a moment to appraise the physical side of the woman: Laurel
was slim, of average height and Nathan supposed that she had been the third
prettiest girl at her high school. But she didn't look the resentful type.
Instead she probably got all the dates she could ask for. Her hair was unapologetically
long and blond. She was fair and had light blue eyes. And she wore a skirt and
heels that amplified her already splendid curves. Too young and too feminine to
be a lawyer. Miller found himself aware of her good looks despite his
substantial immunity to female beauty. He said nothing as he studied her and if
Laurel was uncomfortable with his gaze she didn't let it show.

What did show was the
beginning of a flush beneath her collar.

"How long have
you been with the city?" he asked.

"Oh," she
started, "A few months."

"Ever done any
work like this?"

"Not really. But
I'm willing to learn. Anyhow, Mister Bozeman and Mister Fletcher think I'm up
to the task—"

"Fletcher has an
eye for talent. How's he doing these days?"

"He's fine, I
suppose. Working on his golf game."

"I understand he
and Paul make a pretty effective pair," Miller said with a smile.

Laurel laughed. "Yeah.
They're going to fleece some Judge later and— Perhaps we should discuss the
case now."

He nodded, "So
tell me about it."

"Okay." And
she retrieved a thin folder from her large leather handbag. "The victim is
Rock Franklin, age 29, found murdered in a west-end studio called
The Sound
Lab
."

"
Rock
?"

"He played guitar
in the band
Mother Mary
. Not my style, but they were kind of a big deal
for a few years. They broke up and he became a producer and songwriter. He's
won some subsequent awards."

"So he was a big
deal again."

"Yes, but his
wife Jaqui is an even bigger deal," Laurel explained. "You did get
the report, right?"

Nathan waved his hand
in dismissal of said report, "Yes. And I skimmed it. But I don't know who
these people are. Apparently you do. So continue."

"They have their
own reality show,
Jaqui's World
. Everybody watches it."

Nathan didn't and he
let his expression say as much.

"Well,
lots of
people
watch it. So Jaqui's a big star. And for what it's worth, I like her
music."

"Do you think she
killed her husband?" Miller asked.

"I don't know.
That's the popular speculation. And isn't that the most likely scenario? As far
as murders go?"

Nathan shrugged, "Yes."

"So what are you
going to do?"

"Talk to the
police," he answered.

Laurel waved the
report. "But they don't know anything."

He chuckled. "Well,
I imagine they know
something
. They have suspicions. But they don't put them
in reports that just anybody can get their hands on."

Laurel took mild
offense at being lumped in with the anybodies, "What's that supposed to
mean?"

"You and I? We're
cutouts. If the case bombs, we take the blame. And if we close it, the police
and Fletcher take the credit."

"I suppose I can
live with that, if you can. Anything else?"

"Anytime there's
a leak, they'll point at us."

"But they haven't
told us anything," Laurel protested.

"Exactly. And there's
more. They don't like me. So don't expect a warm reception."

"But I work for
Mister Bozeman. And Mister Fletcher."

"Listen, when you're
with me, you're with me. That's all anybody sees and that's all that people
care about. But here's the upside: while everyone is busy worrying about me getting
in their heads, you'll be left free to crack the case."

Laurel perked up, "You
think?"

"No, not really."

She narrowed her eyes
at him and pretended to scowl, but she couldn't hide her grin. "Fletcher
warned me about you," she said, wagging a finger at Nathan.

"Whatever he told
you, it's all true," Miller laughed.

Laurel felt a shiver plunge down her
neck. Miller both defied and exceeded her expectations. He was testing her for
sure. And perhaps reading her, too. Was he in her thoughts at that moment? And
if so, could she use that to her advantage? He found her attractive, didn't he?
Indeed, he'd given her a long look. Was he undressing her with his mind? Admiring
her naked splendor as she'd done just that morning.
Flashes of warm pink
flesh, still wet from the shower as she toweled off, glimpsed through rivulets
of condensation streaking the steam coated mirror.
Would he claim her like
he'd purportedly claimed so many others? And would she let him?

Laurel felt herself
getting tingly and noticed that their conversation had trailed off. Miller had
moved nearer and was sitting on the edge of his desk directly in front of her.
He was looking down at her and she met his eyes and wondered if those deep blue
pools would drown her. He
was
reading her, wasn't he?

My God! What am I
doing?
Could I be more transparent,
she thought? Keep calm… And she thought of the ham, hot and glistening. And it
helped, but only a little. And she wondered what she was doing pretending to be
some sort of investigator. She was an admin for goodness sakes!

Then Miller was leaning
over her chair, his hand on her bare arm, and the contact felt nice. His touch
was reassuring. And he handed her a cool glass of water and smiled, though it
was a concerned smile.

Laurel took a drink
and felt better. She thought of the ham and laughed. She was getting herself
worked up over nothing. Well, maybe
something
. But she was a big girl
and she could swim with the big fishes. And anyhow, there was work to do.
Having little clue as to what she was doing wouldn't change all that. She'd
just have to figure it out as she went. She smiled at Miller and noticed that
he, too, looked a little
distracted
.

"Your office gets
a bit warm," she said.

"Yeah? I don't
usually notice," he said, sitting back against his desk.

Was it really all in
her head?
Oh, stop it!
Laurel admonished herself.
They could sort the
rest out later…

"So, where do we
start?" she managed.

"Hmm... Well, for
starters we don't
start
. We finish. The cops will handle the
shoe-leather. We'll take a look at their short list and if we can, we close the
case."

"
If
we
can
?"

"Sometimes the
bad guys get away, Laurel."

"Yeah, but you're
the super dick— I mean detective."

"As good as I am,
I can't work without suspects."

"Good thing we've
got one," Laurel said.

"The big star."

"She's pretty,"
Laurel teased.

Miller grinned: it was
the smile of a predator.

Laurel amended, "But
she's probably a murderer."

Miller shrugged. He
crossed behind his desk and punched up his phone.

"Hey boss,"
Cindy's voice came over the speaker.

"Cindy, any luck
with Detective Archer?"

"I caught her
heading into court. She was expecting your call. Said she'd
hit you back in
about an hour or so.
I don't think she's having a good morning."

"Okay."

"Oh, Brendt wondered
if you had time for him," Cindy added.

"Right now?"

"Yes, darlin'."

Miller seemed to think
on it for a moment. "Okay. Tell him we'll stop by."

Stopping by meant walking some thirty
yards down the hall to another executive suite occupied by Miller's partner,
Brendt Davis. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a man with receding hair and
a bit of a paunch, who resembled a successful insurance salesman. Miller made
quick introductions and gave Davis a snapshot of Rock Franklin's murder,
cribbing heavily from Laurel's descriptions which gave her a shot of pride.

"Fletcher doesn't
want to get his pants pulled down on TV going after
Jaqui
," Davis
commented.

"You've heard of
her?" Laurel asked.

"Teenage daughters,"
Davis sighed.

"Oh," Laurel
smiled.

"Anyway, I've got
some movement on the Dunn Forestall thing—" Davis told Miller, then
glanced at Laurel. "Has she signed an NDA?"

Miller shrugged,
seemingly indifferent.

Laurel shook her head.
She'd signed nothing with Miller Davis.

Davis grimaced at
Miller and called his assistant, Jinny, into his office to get Laurel's
signature on a non-disclosure agreement. It was all very standard and soon they
were back to the matter needing Miller's attention.

"I got a whiff
from one of the Junior Accountants. She's giving off all the classic signals.
Sat her down with Bradley and he agreed that she's hiding something. Thing is,
we're playing this all as a routine security check. The boss over there doesn't
want it known about them getting hosed so we have to tread quietly," Davis
told Miller.

"You got anything
to back this up?" Miller asked.

"
No.
That's
the thing. Her financials are clean. But you know what? Whoever pulled this heist
is fairly smart, so I wouldn't expect to find some trail of breadcrumbs."

"Okay. Is she
here?"

"She's down in
the conference room doing some busywork."

"
Busywork
?"
Laurel ventured.

"Personality
tests, psych questionnaires, stuff like that," Davis explained.

Laurel had done plenty
of those for the city and again for Bozeman and Fletcher. She asked, "Do
those things work?"

"That all depends
on what you want them to do." Miller replied.

Miller agreed to see
the suspect, so they left Davis' office and filed into the elevator for a quick
jaunt down one floor. Laurel tried to get more background regarding the nature
of the investigation but her questions were deftly deflected. The elevator
doors opened, but Davis held them put.

"Is she sitting
in on this?" Davis asked Miller.

"Is that a
problem?" Miller asked.

Davis looked at
Laurel, "Is it?"

Laurel knew how to
keep her mouth shut and shook her head, "No."

"Okay by me then.
But if the City Attorney's office starts asking Dunn Forestall
questions..." Davis chided both Laurel and Miller.

Miller held up his
palm to halt Davis' warning. "What's the accountant's name?"

"Val Jones,"
Davis said as he led them from the lift.

"Did Bradley give
you any specifics?" Miller asked.

"Fear, anxiety,
guilt. Something is eating at her."

"Got it,"
Miller nodded. He looked to Laurel, "I might lie to her about you. Try to
play along."

"What?"
Laurel asked.