Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [82]
Mallory was frowning. “That isn't in the report.”
“I know. When Tim Helton gave us a description of his wife, he said brown hair. Just that. The photo he gave us shows a brunette. And none of the people we've talked to in the area described her as blond.”
“But she was blond last Christmas.”
“According to her brother.”
“Shit. Does the chief know?”
“I was just about to call him. He should be getting to the Helton farm any minute now.”
“Call him. He needs to know Rose Helton just moved a step closer to the victim profile.”
The Helton dairy farm seemed as deserted as the main house when Isabel and Hollis parked their car near the gates to the barn area and got out. Standing at the front bumper of the car, Isabel absently checked her service weapon and then returned it to the holster at the small of her back.
Automatically, Hollis followed suit.
“Storm's coming,” Isabel said, pushing her sunglasses up to rest atop her head as she looked briefly at the heavy clouds rolling in. The day had started out hot and sunny; now it was just hot and humid.
“I know.” Hollis shifted uneasily. Storms always made her feel especially edgy. Now, at least. It made her wonder if Bishop had been entirely joking when he'd once told her that some people believed storms were nature's way of opening up the door between this world and the next—like a steam valve relieving pressure.
“And this place feels very deserted to me,” Isabel added, looking around restlessly.
“You're not picking up anything at all out here? I mean, it's not just no voices, is it? It's nothing the usual five senses can't get?”
“Just the usual five. I'm getting nothing, no sense of anything that isn't visible to me. Dammit. I can't even tell if Helton is anywhere near. He could walk up behind me and I wouldn't feel it. And I've been able to feel that since I was seventeen years old.”
“Don't worry, I'm sure it's temporary.”
“Are you? Because I'm not.”
“Isabel, even without the psychic edge, you're a trained investigator. You'll just have to . . . use the usual five senses until the sixth one comes back.”
Eyeing her partner, Isabel said, “Do I detect a certain satisfaction in your voice?”
Hollis cleared her throat. “Well, let's just say I don't feel quite so useless as I did before.”
“Fine pair we are. Two psychics who can't use their abilities. Bishop couldn't have seen this one coming.”
“Look, we're cops. Federal agents. We'll just be federal agents and use our training to look for Helton,” Hollis said practically. “When Rafe gets here.”
Isabel looked around her, frowning. “Where is he? Rafe, I mean. And is it just my internal silence, or is this place way too quiet?”
It really was peculiarly still, the hot, humid air surrounding everything in a heavy, smothering closeness.
“Pretty quiet for a working dairy farm, I'd say. But it's just a guess on my part.” Hollis studied the cluster of outbuildings and surrounding pastures. “Maybe all the cows are out in the fields. That's the deal, isn't it? They're milked in the morning, then go out and eat grass all day?”
“You're asking me?”
“Somebody told me you rode horses, so I just figured—”
“What, that I'd know cows? Sorry. You get milk from them; that's all I know.” Isabel drummed restless fingers on the hood of the car. “Time to be a federal agent. Okay. We checked the house first and got no answer at the door. At either door. Both doors are locked, and we have no probable cause to enter.”
“Can we enter the barns without cause?”
“Being federal agents, we have to walk carefully, at least until Rafe gets here; under the mantle of his local jurisdiction, we can do more.” Isabel eyed the cluster of buildings. “The barns that are open are fair game, I'd say. That big central barn looks closed up, though, at least on this end.”
Before Hollis could comment on that, they both saw Rafe's Jeep turn in at the end of the long driveway.
“No luck at the house?” he asked as soon as he got out of the vehicle.
“No,” Isabel replied. “And haven't heard a sound out here.