Face of Betrayal (8 page)

She twisted her way through them, her coffee and notebook a kind of disguise. There were so many reporters here now, many from out of town, that a new one wouldn’t be remarked upon. Once she came back out of the house, it would be a different story. Nic was two steps from the Converses’ walkway, two steps from private property, when someone grabbed her arm.

“Nicole,” Cassidy hissed in her ear, no more eager to draw attention than Nic was herself. “What’s happening?’”

Nic shook her off. “Later,” she said out of the side of her mouth.

Cassidy fell back, a tiny smile tightening her lips, her turquoise eyes avid.

The minute Nic turned up the walk, the crowd turned and began to shout. She thought of a pack of wild dogs baying. Baying simply because the others were baying.

“Do you have news about Katie?”

“What about Katie?”

“Is there something new in the Katie Converse case?”

The front door opened, and she heard the cameras whirr. Wayne pulled her inside. Valerie was standing behind him. It was a relief to have the door click solidly into place behind her back, to have the shouts reduced to murmurs.

“Are you getting tired of having them camped out out there?” she asked.

Wayne pushed up his glasses and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a balance. We have to figure out a way to keep them interested, keep the case alive, without having them lose focus—or go away completely.”

Valerie rubbed her temples. “We learned our lesson when we let one in to use the bathroom. Next thing you know, she was boasting about having some kind of ‘exclusive.’”

“The media can be on your side,” Nic said, “but you have to be careful. Because finding Katie isn’t their priority.”

“Then what is their priority?” Wayne asked. “What could be more important than a missing girl?”

“Ratings,” Valerie said flatly.

Nic nodded, thinking of Cassidy’s eagerness. “Right. So if they can turn your life upside down and shake out some scandal, they’ll do it. Anything for a new angle. Thanks to the Internet and CNN, we live in a twenty-four-hour news cycle. The only problem is that there aren’t twenty-four hours’ worth of news. So if there isn’t anything new, they have to make something up.” She remembered why she was here. “Anyway, who is it you want me to talk to?”

“We didn’t want you to be skeptical,” Wayne said in a rush. “But once you meet her and hear what she has to say, then . . .”

Nic’s heart started to sink. With difficulty she kept her face neutral.

“It’s Lorena Macy. I understand she’s quite well-known to law enforcement personnel,” Valerie said. “She says she’s even helped your agency before.”

Nic kept quiet. She had never heard of Lorena Macy. But she already knew what was coming.

Wayne’s voice was low. “She came to us and said she’s been having dreams since the day Kate disappeared. Even before it was on the news. Then when Lorena did see it on TV, she knew her dreams were really about Katie. She says she can get in touch with Katie by holding something of hers. But we wanted you to be here. In case she says something you can act on right away.”

“Where is she?” Nic tried hard to keep the anger out of her voice.

“In the kitchen,” Wayne said.

Nic took a deep breath. “Look, Mr. and Mrs. Converse. Let me be blunt. These kinds of people are already crawling out of the woodwork. We’re getting dozens of tips every day based on people’s dreams and visions. And 99 percent of them want attention or they want money. And then there are a few who just really, really want to help, even though they have no clue what happened.”

Wayne raised his eyebrows. “Lorena’s not asking for money. She said she would refuse it even if we pushed it into her hands.”

Nic wanted to shake him. “Of course she did. Just by taking her seriously, you’re putting money in her pocket. Do you think she won’t leave here and go right out front and talk to all those people? Once they hear about how you asked her to help on the Katie Converse case, more people will want their palms read or their cards done or whatever it is she does. They’ll think that if the FBI consulted with her, then she must be good. I bet she was the one who asked if I could be here, right?”

She could tell by their uneasy exchange of glances that she was. “She’ll drum up business, with Katie as her calling card.”

Nic hated to do this to the Converses when they were so desperate, but she tried to make it quick and clean, like pulling off a bandage. “Have you said anything to her that’s not generally known? Because let me warn you—don’t tell her one thing she doesn’t already know.”

“But what if she does know?” Wayne asked. “What if she knows
already
? That’s why she’s here. To tell us what she knows. Not the other way around.”

So much for quick and clean. “All right. Let’s go hear what she has to say.”

Lorena was a plump woman, sixtyish, with dyed red hair. She looked like she had fallen in a paint box. There was a bright circle of red on each cheek, turquoise shadow on eyes rimmed with black liner, and so much mascara that she looked half asleep.

And then Nic figured it out. The makeup wasn’t so much for the Converses. It was for the TV cameras outside.

After the four of them sat down around the kitchen table, Nic said, “Can you spell your name for me?” She hadn’t flashed her badge, hadn’t given her own name. Her goal was to give this phony as little as possible.

Lorena did. There was something high-pitched and artificial about her voice that set Nicole’s teeth on edge.

“And you contacted the Converses because . . .”

Lorena patted her ample bosom. “I’ve been having visions and dreams since the very hour Katie went missing. When I saw Cassidy Shaw on the TV, and she said Katie was missing, I knew in my marrow that was who I was dreaming about. But to get to the truth, I need to be able to hold something of hers. Something she might have worn would be good.”

Nic was glad that they had already taken away something for the dogs, should they ever need them. If they ever got to a point where they could narrow this down to an area smaller than Portland.

“Just a second,” Valerie said. She left the kitchen and they heard her footsteps go upstairs.

“So how does this work?” Nic asked while they waited.

Lorena simpered, not at all deterred by Nic’s glare. “When I’m in one of my trances, I don’t see or hear in a traditional way. It’s energy. I receive an impression of the energy the person is sending out. It doesn’t matter if they’re dead. They’re not dead to me.”

Valerie reappeared holding a red sweater. “Katie wore this two days before she left. It hasn’t been washed.”

With eager hands, Lorena pressed it to her chest. “I’m going to go inside myself now. Don’t be worried if you hear me make strange sounds. I lose myself when I’m in one of my trances.”

Wayne murmured, “Okay,” and Valerie nodded. It was all Nic could do not to roll her eyes.
What would you do if it were Makayla?
she scolded herself.
How far would you go?

Lorena closed her eyes. She rubbed the sweater over her face and then let her hands and the sweater drop into her lap. “Okay, Katie, tell me where you are. Tell me where you are, baby. I can help you. Katie, where are you?” As Lorena spoke, she rocked forward and back, her upper body following a small circle.

There was a long silence. Nic looked at her watch. One minute ticked by. Two. Three. When Lorena finally spoke, the three of them jumped. Her voice was slower, lower-pitched, like a sleepwalker’s.

“I see an old car. There’s something on top of it. Maybe it’s an Oldsmobile?”

Despite herself, Nicole felt her skin prickle. She saw Katie, not sitting in a car, but sprawled unmoving in the trunk. A spill of honey-blonde hair across her open, staring eyes.

“Katie, tell me what I’m looking at, sweetie. Come on. Tell me where you are. Are you in the car?” Her plump hands, with rings on every finger, kneaded the sweater.

There was a long silence. Lorena cocked her head to one side, as if listening. “There are trees where she is. A lot of them.”

Good guess, Lorena. Oregon is nothing but trees.

“But is she alive?” Wayne demanded.

“Water. She’s near water.”

Near water. Give me a break. Every place in Portland is near water. We’ve got the Columbia and Willamette rivers and countless creeks and streams. Not to mention the rain.

But Valerie and Wayne had grabbed each other’s hands.

“I see something green. A duffle bag? And I’m hearing a name like Larry.” She drew the name out, giving it an extra syllable. “Lar-er-y. Or something like that.” Her face screwed up. “Katie, where are you? Are you with someone named Larry? No, that’s not it, is it? But something close. Is it someone you know?”

Good choice, Lorena. How many names rhyme with Larry? Mary, Harry, Carrie, Barry, Jeri, Terry? Half the city probably qualifies.

“Mmm,” Lorena moaned. The pitch of her voice had changed, arced higher. Her head was loose, her neck boneless. “Mmm.”

The three of them stared at her.

“Mommy.” Her voice was high-pitched and breathy. “Mommy. Where are you?”

The back of Nic’s neck prickled.
Stop it!
she warned herself.
Don’t fall for this crap.
Despite knowing it was a bunch of hooey, there was something about the woman’s voice that was getting to her.

Valerie leaned forward and tentatively touched Lorena’s arm. “I’m right here, honey. I’m right here.”

“It’s dark,” Lorena whimpered. “I’m scared.” She whimpered again. “Mommy? Mommy?”

Then it was like the older woman had touched a live wire. Her body jerked upright, and her arms and legs stiffened, breaking contact with Valerie. Her eyes snapped open.

“What did you see?” Wayne’s voice broke. “Tell me. Is she alive?”

Lorena’s voice was soft and slurred, as if she was only slowly coming back from where she had been. “I saw Katie laughing and smiling.”

Nic stiffened. This was cruel. This was downright cruel.
Katie laughing and smiling?
Why give these poor people false hope?

Valerie’s hand shot out and gripped Lorena’s forearm, her fingers digging in. “She’s alive, then?” Her voice was ragged.

“Sometimes I see the future and sometimes I see the past.” Lorena sounded exhausted. “And sometimes I see the present.”

“Was she with someone?” Wayne asked. His hand closed on Lorena’s other wrist. “What was she wearing? Was it this time of year?”

“Did she look older or younger?” Valerie asked.

The three of them were in a tight knot. Only Nic leaned away from what was going on. At some point, although she didn’t remember doing it, she had crossed her arms.

“I don’t know,” Lorena murmured. “I don’t know. The spirits didn’t reveal that to me.”

“At the end, she sounded so scared,” Valerie said. Her eyes shone with tears—the first time Nic had seen her close to crying. “Was she scared where she was?”

“I couldn’t see anything at that point.” Lorena covered her eyes with her fingers. “It was like I went blind.”

“Katie calls you Mom,” Wayne said to Valerie. “Not Mommy. Never Mommy.”

Valerie blinked, and a single tear ran down her perfectly made-up face. “No. That’s what she called Cindy.”

“Who’s Cindy?” Nic asked.

Wayne turned to her with a look of surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there. “My first wife. Katie’s mom. She died when Katie was eighteen months old.” His wet eyes implored Lorena. “Do you think”—his voice broke—“do you think she’s with Cindy? Do you think Katie’s dead?”

“What I think,” Nic said, pushing herself away from the table and getting to her feet, “is that Lorena is using your personal nightmare to make money.” She leaned over the table, getting within a foot of the psychic’s face.

Lorena’s eyes widened.

“Let me ask you something. If I start checking up on you, what am I going to find? Is everything squeaky clean and aboveboard? Or is something going to come crawling out from under a rock?”

Lorena opened her mouth, but no words came out. Wayne and Valerie looked nervously back and forth between the two of them.

“That’s what I thought,” Nic said, finally straightening up. “When you leave, I suggest you keep your head down and not say one word to any-one. And if I find out that you have defrauded the Converses in any way, or if you try to use this to make some kind of profit, then so help me, I will start digging. And I have a feeling you won’t like what I will do when I find something.”

RANGEL RESIDENCE

December 20

A
fter the vigil, Allison went to her boss and asked to be assigned to Katie’s case. Assuming it was a case. But it was, she was sure of it. She could feel it in her bones. “This one really speaks to me, Dan,” she had said. “And you know I’ve done homicides.”

“We don’t know that it’s a homicide.” Dan picked up a pen on his desk, fiddled with it, put it down. Then added, when Allison wouldn’t look away, “Yet.”

“I know I’m not out of line,” she said, working Dan as hard as she had ever worked any jury. “I deserve this.”

It was sure to be a high-profile case, with all the potential for success—as well as failure—that entailed. Big cases made big names for prosecutors—which could lead to big bucks if they ever decided to jump the fence and become defense attorneys. Even if they stayed put, big cases also led to promotions. And good publicity if they ever decided they wanted to run for district attorney.

But that wasn’t why Allison wanted this case. She only wanted to do right by this girl. If someone had hurt Katie, Allison wanted to bring that person to justice.

Dan closed his eyes and rested his chin on his thumbs and his fore-head on his steepled fingers.

Finally, he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and said one word. “Okay.”

Now Allison had teamed up with Nicole to question Lily Rangel, Katie’s old best friend. Lily was a plump girl who Allison thought was trying a little too hard to look dangerous. She had skin as white as a vampire’s, and there was a silver stud just underneath her black-lipsticked lips. Her hair had been dyed black, straightened, and then brushed for-ward so that it covered her forehead and cheeks in long spikes. A streak of electric blue hung over her left eye. Her clothes were all layers of black, except for black-and-red-striped socks that stretched above her knees.