Dream Man

Trammell prodded the beast again. “What did she say?”

Dane scowled, and darted another irritated look at his partner. “Why are you so curious?”

Trammell spread his hands, feigning innocence. “I thought we were working on this case together.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with the case.”

“Then why were you over there?”

“Just checking on her.”

Trammell couldn’t hold back a chuckle, and the telephone rang while he was still laughing.

Dane picked up the receiver. “Detective Hollister,” he barked.

“Finally turned up some stuff on the Keen woman you asked about,” a laconic voice said in Dane’s ear. “Interesting. Damn interesting.”

Dane had stiffened at the first mention of Marlie’s name, his entire body alert. “Yeah? Like what?”

“I’ll let you read it for yourself, pal. I’m faxing it to you. Didn’t know you went in for that kind of shit. Nice-looking woman, though.”

“Yeah,” he said automatically. “Thanks, Baden. I owe you one.”

“I’m marking that down in my little book,” Baden said cheerfully. “See ya.”

Dane hung up the phone to find Trammell watching him with sharp interest, all amusement gone. “What’s up?”

“Baden’s faxing me some information on Marlie Keen.”

“No kidding.” Trammell’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t think anything would turn up on her.”

“Well, it has.” The fax machine in the corner began to hum and spit out paper. Dane got up and went over to it, his face grim. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see this. Two days ago he would have loved to get his hands on some information about Marlie, but not now. Ever since she had called him the night before, he had stopped even trying to deny the effect she had on him. He wanted her, damn it. And he wanted her to be innocent. He wanted there to be some explanation of the things she had told them on Monday. Trammell came over to stand beside him, his dark gaze inscrutable as he watched Dane.

The first sheet came out. It was a photocopy of a newspaper article. Quickly he scanned the headline: TEENAGE PSYCHIC FINDS MISSING CHILD.

Trammell whistled, the single note almost soundless.

Page after page followed. They all had a common theme: Marlie Keen’s psychic abilities. Some of the articles seemed to be from psychology magazines, or were papers on parapsychology. Several grainy photographs were printed, showing a younger, almost childish-looking Marlie. Most of them were newspaper articles, reporting how “noted psychic” Marlie Keen had worked with police to solve various cases. The articles were all from the Northwest, he noted. Oregon and Washington mostly, though there were a couple in Idaho, one in northern California, one in Nevada.

Sometimes she was described as a “youthful clairvoyant,” once as “lovely,” twice as “extraordinary.” It was a common theme in the articles that the local police forces had been, at the beginning, both skeptical and derisive of her talents, until she had done exactly what she had said she could do. Usually it was to find a missing person, though on a couple of occasions she had helped find kidnappers. Several times it was mentioned that, when not involved in a case, Miss Keen lived in Boulder, Colorado, at the Institute of Parapsychology. A Dr. Sterling Ewell, a professor of parapsychology at the Institute, was quoted several times.

Trammell was standing right beside him, reading each sheet as he did. They were both silent. Even though they had been forewarned, by Marlie herself, reading about it in black and white was unsettling.

Then one stark headline jumped out at them: KILLER ATTACKS PSYCHIC. Dane grabbed the sheet, holding it taut as it was printed, and they began reading as it emerged from the machine.

There had been a series of child kidnappings in a remote area of Washington; one child had been found dead, two others were still missing. Marlie had been brought in by the local sheriff, with whom she had worked before in another town, to help find the children. Just before she had arrived, another child had disappeared. A big article about her had been printed in the paper the same day.

That night Arno Gleen had kidnapped Marlie from her motel room and taken her to the same place he had taken the most recent missing child, a five-year-old boy. He had been seen, though, and the sheriff alerted. It was a small town; they were able to identify Gleen and track him down. But the little boy was already dead when they got there, and though they were in time to save Marlie’s life, she had been severely beaten.

Her condition, “poor,” was reported in a subsequent article. Then there was nothing else. Absolutely nothing. Dane checked the date on the last article. A little over six years ago. For six years Marlie Keen had literally disappeared from the public eye. Why had she relocated to Florida? As soon as he had the thought, he pictured a map in his mind and knew why. Florida was as far from Washington as she could get and still stay in the country. But why, after six years of anonymity and a completely normal life, had she walked into the lieutenant’s office and told them about Nadine Vinick’s murder?

“It couldn’t have been easy,” Trammell murmured, his thoughts obviously following the same path. “To have involved herself after what happened the last time.”

Dane ran his hand through his hair. Part of him was elated, the last doubt demolished. There was an explanation for her knowledge. If he still couldn’t quite believe, at least now he had to suspend his disbelief. There was no longer any reason at all for him to stay away from her; he could go after her the way his body had wanted right from the beginning. But another part of him, perversely, didn’t want to accept what he had read. Half of it was the sheer unlikelihood of it, for it went against the grain with someone so solidly grounded in reality and facts. The other half was alarm. Shit, what if it was for real? He didn’t want anyone reading his mind, though after a moment’s reflection he had to admit that it would be convenient if a woman could tell how he felt and he wouldn’t have to talk about it.