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Cassie could sense David’s growing frustration, but her friend kept a neutral expression locked in place. She wanted to chastise Captain Stockton for being difficult, but her gut told her that would make the situation worse.
“The man’s name was Robert Shapiro. Someone broke both his legs and then strangled him. Just like before.”
Cassie tuned David out as he went over the details of the case. Her job wasn’t to listen to their conversation. It was to figure out if anything supernatural was going on.
It was easier if Cassie closed her eyes, but Stockton seemed like the observant type, and she didn’t want to give him any reason to suspect she was more than what David had introduced her as—just a colleague. She defocused her mind, let the buzz of David’s voice fade, and tuned into the house as best she could.
In her experience, ghosts came and went as they pleased. She had no control over it, and any belief to the contrary had led to sheer disappointment. The psychic abilities she possessed were even more temperamental. If she concentrated, sometimes she could pull them to the forefront. Other times, they caught her by surprise. And on several occasions, they refused to come out and play at all.
As Cassie relaxed her body and tried to drown out the surrounding chaos, she reached out with invisible tendrils, testing the waters. Did anything seem out of place? Did anything seem important?
This was easier when she had a physical object in her hand, like a picture or an item from the victim, but sometimes she could get gut feelings to pull her in one direction or another. Laura had said it was a strong sense of intuition, but now she knew better.
That singular thought broke her concentration.
The embarrassment and anger and fear from breakfast returned in full force, and she lost any psychic connection she might’ve had to the world around. She had felt nothing significant, but she wasn’t about to bet her life on that conclusion after only a few seconds of trying.
“Was Robert Shapiro ever a suspect?”
Cassie turned to David with raised eyebrows. That wasn’t a line of thinking she’d been expecting.
Captain Stockton’s reply was terse. “I’m better with faces than nam
es.”
David leaned forward and handed him two glossy photos—one of Shapiro when he was alive, and one of him taken in the morgue.
Stockton’s eyes glanced over them for a fraction of a second before he handed them back. “I don’t recognize him. As far as I can recall, he wasn’t a suspect.”
Cassie noticed David choose his words carefully. “He fits the description almost exactly. He would’ve been in his forties in the nineties. His wife was killed in a car accident about ten years prior. The person driving that car was an addict who’d recently gotten out of prison. Shapiro was a postal worker and knew Savannah well. He’d be able to navigate easily without getting lost. He’d also be able to avoid suspicion if he were driving a mail truck.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Klein.” Stockton grabbed the head of his cane but didn’t move out of his chair. “He wasn’t a suspect. I never interviewed him. Do you have any evidence that he could’ve been our killer? Anything concrete?”
“Not yet.” David’s tone was harder than it had been. “But I have a feeling it’ll turn up sooner rather than later.”
“Feelings don’t mean shit.” Captain Stockton leaned forward and used his cane to steady himself as he got to his feet. David and Cassie stood as well. “You need evidence. That’s what makes a great detective.”
Cassie couldn’t help herself. “David is a great detective.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is. And I’m sure you’re a great colleague. And it seems like you’ve done a better job than I did on this case, so I’m not sure why you’ve made it a point to disturb my morning.”
“Captain Stockton.” David’s voice sounded more controlled now. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. I know what it was like back then. I remember—”
“You don’t remember. You were too green. You had it so easy. The pressure we were under back then? Kids going missing left and right. Murders every other week. And a bunch of addicts wind up dead? We did the best we could.”
Cassie could tell Stockton had stopped himself from saying what he really wanted to say. So, she finished it for him. “Good riddance, right? A serial killer who was cleaning up the streets? One less thing to worry about.”
She expected David to chastise her, but he kept a steady gaze on Stockton, whose face grew redder by the minute. His words were serious.
“Get out.”
“Sir—”
Stockton’s voice boomed as he called for his dog. “Colonel. Battle stations.”
A thump from upstairs was followed by loud footsteps on the stairs as the German Shepherd rushed to his owner’s side. He stood at the ready. He wasn’t growling and didn’t appear aggressive, but Cassie wasn’t interested in testing his limits.
“Captain—”
