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Laura was above her, looking down. The woman—she was definitely a woman, that much Laura could sense as much as see. But her face was obscured by black wisps like smoke, like ink flowing through water. Everything was dark and dim, like an old photograph shot in sepia, scratched and unclear. She fought to see through it, to get past…
The woman. There was something around her neck. Just for a moment Laura made it out, just for a moment she heard a desperate cry. A female voice cut off by a choking sound. Laura grasped for more, but everything was too dim. She couldn’t smell or taste or hear or feel a thing. It was all dark ink around her, and the woman was getting further away. Smaller.
The woman was dying.
Laura’s eyes snapped open and she snatched her fingers away from the speaker, pressing them against her forehead instead. The headache rolled through her like a wave, pushing every single thought out of her head until she got a grip on it. Then she deliberately unclenched her jaw, relaxed her clenched fist, breathed out.
She was so close. The fact that the vision had come at all meant that she was on the right track. It was closely linked to her own future, her near future, and she would be close enough to stop it. If only she knew where the woman was—who she was—when it would happen. Who was standing behind her, wrapping something around her neck. Every single useful detail had been obscured, too far out of her reach.
Except for one. The fact that she was right. The killer was going to strike again.
If she could just get more information, the vision would be more complete. But she didn’t have anything else to go on. The killer had left no evidence, no scrap of himself. She couldn’t find anything that pointed to his motive, any trace of his DNA, any sign he had left behind. She only had his breath—and that wasn’t enough.
She resisted the urge to slam the keyboard against the desk in frustration. She had been so close. Why couldn’t he have spoken on the recording? Why couldn’t he have left her at least a grunt to work with?
It was like the shadow she felt over Nate. Too vague. Too dim to allow her to actually take any action. It wasn’t fair. Why did she have to put up with these headaches and all the inconvenience of keeping the secret if it wasn’t going to actually help her to save a life?
“You finally given up?” Nate asked, making Laura exhale and turn to look at him. “You look like crap.”
“Thanks,” Laura said darkly, shaking her head. “Listening to the last moments of a dead woman over and over again will do that to you.”
“Did you at least get anything out of it?” Nate asked. He set his notebook aside and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. His large hands clasped loosely together below his chin as he studied her.
“He’s not out of breath,” Laura said. “At least, not too much. He strains a little to pull the cord, but I think he’s strong. And he’s very calm—controlled.”
“Meaning he’s going to be a bitch to find,” Nate said, scrubbing one of his hands back over his tightly coiled hair. “I hate the calm ones.”
“I’m sure their victims feel the same,” Laura said, with a light twist to the sides of her mouth. “I don’t know. It’s not much to go on. But I’m confident we’re looking for a man, at least.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Nate said, reaching for his notebook again. “This was a recording from her landline, right?”
“Yeah,” Laura said, frowning. “That’s why it was all picked up. He was using the cord from it to strangle her.” Had Nate not realized that all along?
“Well, my point is, who uses a landline these days? Didn’t she have a cell?”
Laura thought back. “Yeah, I think I read something about this in the notes from the first responders. Her cell phone was left on the bed. She couldn’t go back for it, if that’s where he came from.”
“Yeah, but the landline was out in the hall, right?” Nate sketched out a quick plan of the ap
artment on a page of his notepad. “Here. So the killer would have walked out of this doorway—right between the kitchen door and the landline itself.”
Laura paused, studying his diagram. “Huh.”
“Right. So maybe she was already using the landline. I think we should pull the phone records. We might get lucky. Maybe there’s a recording of this guy breaking in on someone’s voicemail. Maybe we get to hear his voice—or she recognizes him and says his name.”
“That’s a good thought,” Laura said, and grinned. “God, I hope we get something.”
“You’re welcome,” Nate teased. “Since you’re so into recordings right now and all.”
“I’ll call the boss,” Laura said, grabbing her cell out of her pocket. “If they put it through on a rush, we might be able to get them right away.”
“Fingers crossed,” Nate said, leaning back again with the easy grace of a man who worked out enough to know his own body well. He wore a small smile, self-satisfaction for coming up with a potential lead.
If he was right, it could be another piece of the puzzle. It seemed a long shot, but right now they needed something—anything. Laura waited for the line to connect, ignoring the way the dial tone seemed to pulse at the same rate as the throbbing in her head.
If she could hear his voice, maybe the vision would clear up and she would be able to identify his next victim.
It wasn’t too late to stop that murky vision from becoming reality. There were a few hours left until nightfall.
