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It wasn’t a question. She could tell that some revelation had profoundly affected Claire.
“It’s Julie,” Claire managed, her throat clogged with unshed tears. “I was inside her head. It’s like I was her. I know what she was thinking, what she did, and where she did it. And then…I felt her die. Every second of it.”
“Oh, Claire, I’m sorry.” Casey covered Claire’s hand with hers. She knew how traumatic these kinds of connections were to her claircognizant teammate, how severely they impacted her. And how could they not? She’d lived inside other victims while they were being brutally raped, assaulted, or murdered. Casey couldn’t imagine the emotional toll that would take on a person, especially one as gentle as Claire.
“Thank you,” Claire replied, swallowing hard and then shoving back her emotions in lieu of the facts. She told Casey about Julie’s distress over Shannon’s condition, her rage at Jim, and her determination to get evidence on him—leading to what she’d done.
“So she was at Apex,” Casey murmured thoughtfully.
A nod. “She easily got through security, since they’d seen her there before and they knew she was also Shannon’s trainer. She broke into Jim’s office and found the evidence she needed—a bunch of papers that she photocopied and took with her.”
“The bag she was carrying when she got shot,” Casey said. “The one that Lisa said the killers took. The papers were inside there. That makes sense. Could you see exactly what the papers were? What was on them?”
Claire pursed her lips in frustration. “Only glimpses. Athletes’ records. I keep getting flashes of dates and columns of information. Nothing I can bring into clear focus—yet. I need something of Jim Robbins’. That might help crystalize things for me.”
“I know just the person to get that for us.” Casey was already pressing Marc’s number on her cell phone. “Hey,” she said a moment later. “As long as you’re en route to Chicago, can you make a brief stop at Robbins’ place and collect a couple of personal items for Claire to use?” A pause. “Yes, I know it’s a potential crime scene. You’ve got my go-ahead to do whatever’s necessary to get around that. Uh-huh. Great. Thanks.”
Casey hung up, frowning when she saw the downcast expression on Claire’s face. “What’s wrong? I thought that having possessions belonging to Jim was your goal. Now you’ll have them.”
Claire gave an offhanded shrug. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciate what Marc’s doing. It’s just that my connections to the people involved seem to be strong today. I wish I had what I need now. I’m afraid that by the time Marc and Ryan get back, the visions will be gone.”
“What about Shannon’s timer? Can you try again to get something off of that?”
Claire reached into her pocket and extracted the timer. “I keep it with me. I haven’t tried connecting with it today, because I’ve been caught up with my images of Julie and my work on the tattoos. But, believe me, I’ve held this a dozen times. I just sense coldness. Stillness. My instincts tell me Jim Robbins is dead. But that’s my reasoning talking, not my sensory awareness. If I actually saw something, felt something… It’s like there’s something blocking me from him. I know there’s a wealth of information tied to the bastard, but I just can’t get at it.”
“Don’t force it.” Casey spoke from the experience of having worked with Claire through several big cases. “Let it go for now. You’re exhausted as it is. Maybe your psyche needs a break.”
“What it needs is immediate gratification.” Sighing, Claire pushed the timer deep into her pocket. Her fingers lingered, and her breath caught in her throat. Inhaling and exhaling became nearly impossible. Sweat beaded up on her forehead, slid down her face.
“What is it?” Casey asked in alarm.
“Jim. Dead. Buried deep underground. Mounds of dirt separating us. He’s in a ditch. On the outskirts of some large piece of property. I can’t see him. Feel him. Black spots. I…can’t…breathe.” Claire swayed in her chair, falling back against it.
Leaping up, Casey reached into Claire’s pocket and pulled out her hand, snatching the timer from her perspiring fingers. She then bolted for the fridge and grabbed an ice-cold bottle of water. She uncapped it as she ran back and then pressed it to Claire’s lips.
“Drink.”
By this time, Claire’s shallow breathing was starting to return to normal. She gripped the bottled water and took a few thirsty gulps. She then put it down on the table and leaned back in her seat again, trying to regain her equilibrium.
“Are you okay?” Casey was gripping Claire’s hands, anxiety etched on her face.
Claire nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them. “I’ll be fine. That was…very intense.” She reached for a nearby box of tissues and plucked one out. Pouring a bit of water on it, she pressed the tissue to her forehead, then dabbed at the rest of her face.
Exhaling, she drank some more water, feeling as if she’d run a marathon.
“Now I know why I couldn’t get past that barrier,” she said weakly. “Whoever killed Jim buried him so deep underground that I couldn’t penetrate it. And there was no human being to connect with, since all that’s under there is a dead body.” An agonized pause. “My God, I was connecting with a dead body.”
“You visualized it?”
“I was inside it. It was soulless. But if you mean the scene—yes, I visualized it. A bottomless grave. Acres of land. A big house—a manor.”
“Do you know where this manor is?”
Slowly, Claire shook her head. “It was very rural. I could hear water nearby—a lake or another small body of water. There’s probably more. But I’m not getting it now.”
“That’s enough anyway.” Casey was shaking her head. “You came close to passing out. You’re done for today. Go home. Take a bath. Do some yoga. Drink tea and go to bed.”
“It’s the middle of the day,” Claire protested.
