Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [121]
“Yeah,” Mac said tersely. “Yeah, he’s killing again.”
The fire left her all at once. Nora Ray’s shoulders slumped, her hands fell heavily on the table. “I knew it,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to know, I wanted to believe it was only a dream. But in my heart . . . In my heart I always knew. Poor girls. They never stood a chance.”
Mac leaned forward. He folded his arms on the table and studied her intently. “Nora Ray, you have to start talking. How do you know these things?”
“You won’t laugh?”
“After the last thirty-six hours, I don’t have the strength left in me to smile.”
Nora Ray’s gaze flickered to Kimberly.
“I’m even more tired than he is,” Kimberly told her. “So your secret’s safe with us.”
“I dreamt them.”
“You dreamt them?”
“I dream of my sister all the time, you know. I never tell people. It would only upset them. But for years I’ve watched Mary Lynn. She’s happy, I think. Wherever she is, there are fields and horses and plenty of sunshine. She doesn’t see me; I don’t know if I exist in her place. But I get to see her, from time to time, and I think she’s doing all right. But then, a few days ago, another girl appeared. And last night, a second girl joined her on the fence. I think they’re still figuring out that they’re dead.”
Mac’s expression had gone blank. He rubbed one large hand over his face, then did it again and again. He doesn’t know what to do, Kimberly realized. He doesn’t know what to say. However either one of them had imagined this conversation going, this wasn’t it.
“Are these girls aware of you?” Kimberly asked at last. “Do they talk to you?”
“Yes. One of them has a younger sister. She wanted to know if her sister would also dream about her at night.”
“Can you describe the girls?”
Nora Ray rattled off two descriptions. They weren’t exactly right, but neither were they wrong. A blonde, a brunette. People who claimed to have psychic ability often relied on generic descriptions to get your own imagination to fill in the blanks. Kimberly was feeling tired again.
“Do you see the man?” Mac asked Nora Ray sharply.
“No.”
“You just dream of the girls?”
“Yes.”
Mac spread his hands. “Nora Ray, I don’t see how that helps us.”
“I don’t either,” she admitted, her tone suddenly sodden and on the edge of tears. “But it’s something, isn’t it? I have a connection. Some kind of . . . I don’t know what! But I’m seeing these girls. I know they died! I know they’re hurt and confused and angry as hell at this man for what he did to them. Maybe I can use that. Maybe I can ask them more questions, get information on the killer, find out where he lives. I don’t know. But it’s something! I know it’s something!”
Her voice broke off raggedly. Her hands were now compulsively mashing muffin bits into the tabletop. She squished the soft dough harder and harder with her thumbs. It appeared to be her last link to sanity.
Kimberly looked at Mac. He seemed sorry to have agreed to this meeting. She couldn’t blame him.
“I appreciate you coming out and telling me this,” he said at last, his tone grave.
“You’re not sending me home.”
“Nora Ray—”
“No. I can help! I don’t know how yet. But I can help. If you’re still looking, then I’m staying.”
“Nora Ray, you’re a civilian. Now, I’m in the middle of a formal police investigation. It’s demanding and time-consuming and while I’m sure you mean well, your presence in fact will only slow me down, and—if you’ll pardon my French—fuck things up. So go home. I’ll call you when we’ve learned something.”
“He’s going to strike again. That last summer, he struck twice. He’ll do the same now.”
“Nora Ray, honey . . .” Mac spread his hands. He seemed to be searching for some way to get through to the girl, to make her understand the futility of her efforts. “The killer’s already struck twice in a manner of speaking. This time, instead of taking two girls, he ambushed four. Now two are dead, two are missing, and so help me God, I can’t keep sitting here and having this conversation. We are in the middle of serious