Chapter Sixteen
“What are you doing over here?” Goose bumps swathed River’s arms—before getting out of the car, he’d sensed Vicki nearby. He’d searched the line of bystanders for her face, but she hadn’t been there. Then his focus had been drawn across the cobblestones, and there she stood. Coincidence? Had to be. No other answer fit into his concrete world of facts and evidence. “How did you get past the police officer?”
Her eyes shifted, but not to the cop near the crowd. She scanned the Riverwalk. Who was she searching for?
“I was supposed to meet Becca at her shop, but she didn’t answer. I saw a crowd and came over. I saw the body and thought…I thought….” She turned toward where the victim lay.
“Me?” He shook his head. She really believes her predictions will come true. “I’m fine.”
“I see.” Her brows drew together, anxiety dominant in her eyes.
“Still doesn’t explain how you got past the officer.”
“Does it matter?” Her slender shoulder rose and fell. “You won’t believe me.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“There’s this guy I know.” She looked down the empty street behind her. “He’s…um, helped me out a couple times.”
“Where’d he go?” River ran a hand through his hair. Was she telling the truth?
“I guess he left.” She faced him, her eyes dark with worry.
River weighed her answer. Was the guy real? A breeze from the river scuttled over the ground and wafted the blonde tendrils framing her face. The sight brought a round of primal hunger low in his stomach. He swallowed, focused. “What’s his name?”
“Matthew.”
“Matthew what?”
“Just Matthew.” She hugged herself but held his gaze steadfast. “And he knew you. Said your job here in Savannah wasn’t an accident.”
River fought not to react. His mind sprinted, creating connections between the guy who’d approached him at The Yellow Rose bar in Texas and the murders in Savannah. Matthew had promised River’s life would change in ways he couldn’t imagine. At the time, he’d written the guy off as a nutjob obsessed with the Valentine Killer. But now? Oh, shit! Did Matthew follow me from Texas, murder those two girls? Shit. He even spoke about Kent as though he’d known him. Is Matthew the Valentine Killer copycat?
“Tall, clean-cut, in his thirties?” The question shot from his mouth. He needed to be certain they were talking about the same guy.
“Yes. Wears a dark suit.”
It’s him. Gotta be. River grabbed her by the shoulders, ensuring her full attention focused on him and only him. The coffees Vicki held sloshed in their cups. She tilted her face up but didn’t struggle to free herself.
“What did he say?” He spoke each word with crisp, staccato precision.
“He said I was supposed to help you.” She stared into his eyes, her gaze never wavering. “But I told him you didn’t believe me.”
River relaxed his grip and set her away from him. Was she an accomplice? Everything about her confirmed she spoke the truth, but the cop side of him wanted corroboration. “Anybody else see him?”
The corners of her mouth dipped down. “Yes.”
“Who?”
She indicated the line of gawkers. “Him,” she growled.
Leaving one hand on her, River turned to see where she pointed. He scanned the faces. When he passed over a heavyset man with glasses, the guy jerked and backed up two steps. Bingo.
“Stay here,” he told her and tore off over the uneven stones.
The guy saw him coming and bolted. River sprinted after him, hurtling the yellow police tape. When he hit the ground, he took less than half a dozen steps and grabbed the runner by the shirt collar.
“Where do you think you’re going?” River demanded.
“Nowhere.” The guy coughed and rubbed his throat. With his other hand he tucked the camera against his body, protecting it. “I’m a reporter. I’m doing a story.”
Well, hell. Maybe my luck just changed, and the reporter got a shot of the mysterious Matthew. Taking firm hold of the pudgy guy’s arm, he dragged him beneath the police tape.
“What’s your name?” River led him away from the crowd.
“Lenny Johnston. I work for UFOP magazine.” He tripped on a stone, but River bolstered him before he fell. “Did I do something wrong?”
“I have some questions, and according to this woman, you’re the man to answer them.” On nearing Vicki, he tugged Lenny around so they walked side by side.
Lenny bucked. “Jeez Louise! No way.”
“What the hell?” He stopped, tightened his grip on the reporter. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t let her near me.” He jabbed a finger in Vicki’s direction. He jerked and kicked, trying to get free. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Here, take the camera. I don’t care. Just keep her away from me.”
She stalked the dozen paces separating them, her knuckles white against the cardboard carrier. “How dare you point a finger at me, you hack!”
The pudgy runner backpedaled, tried to wrench free, but River held him in place. What the hell is up with these two?
“Stay back,” Lenny howled. Fear oozed from him, thick like congealed grease. Sweat ran down his face as he twisted around until he’d maneuvered behind River.
Great. Now I’m a human shield. Vicki better not throw that tray of coffee at this guy.
Closing the distance, she stabbed her finger at the reporter, almost catching River’s shoulder. “You ruined my life, you bastard.”
“Well, at least I don’t murder people,” Lenny shot back. “I just write about it.”
“Whoa!” River barked. “Settle down.”
The guy danced about, working to keep River in the middle. “I don’t—”
River spun around. “Shut up. You say another word, and I’ll cuff your ass. Got it?”
With an eye on the blonde psychic, the reporter gave a hesitant nod.
River rounded on Vicki. “Will you please back up a little? Give the man some breathing room.”
“But he—”
He shot her a meaningful stare and credited her for closing her mouth. “Okay, then.” He rolled his shoulders. “I take it you know Lenny.”
“Yes.” She gave the reporter a fierce look. Her fingers curled around the carrier, bending the edges. Was the tray a substitute for Lenny’s neck? “He stalked me, wrote an article stating I was a killer.” She turned her attention to River, her eyes wide and sincere. “I’m not a killer. I’ve already told you. I have visions. I know when someone’s life is about to change. But I never killed anyone.”
The skirmish made sense now. River rounded on the reporter. “That true?”
“I wouldn’t call it stalking.” His hangdog expression indicated otherwise. “I did write an article. But everything in it was true. I was at the Three Bean Café when three women walked in. The girl dropped three pennies, and the shooting happened at three o’clock. It was all threes. I heard the gunfire when the girl shot a gang member who tried to steal her purse. She shot him three times.”
“So, Ms. Spiere didn’t actually pull the trigger?”
“No.” He glanced down at the camera in his hands.
“Was she anywhere near the incident when it occurred?”
“No.” He glared at Vicki, jabbed a finger in her direction. “But you’ve got to admit all the threes was way beyond coincidence. And when the shots rang out, everyone else dove for the floor. She didn’t even flinch. She knew it was going to happen.”
“Okay.” River sighed. The situation was reminiscent of a domestic. He hoped this one wouldn’t end with shots fired. “You’re both going to set this disagreement aside and focus on the situation at hand. A woman’s been murdered, and I need to find a guy for questioning.”
“Hey, man, you keep her from putting the whammy on me, and I’ll bring the guy to you myself.”
River frowned. “Whammy?”
“Yeah.” The guy backed up a step. “You know, the evil eye, a curse, a psychic death warrant.”
“Okay.” He faced Vicki. “No whammies on the reporter. Understood?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
When he faced Lenny, the tension had drained from his body, leaving him limp as a well-cooked noodle. River shook his head. The guy believed she possessed the power to kill him with a glance.
“Vicki says you saw the tall man who let her under the police tape.” He studied Lenny’s face.
“Yeah. That’s true.” His shoulders sagged. “I’d just realized I was standing next to her, well within her whammy range, and I freaked out. The guy just appeared, knew her name. She followed him over here.”
Truth rang in the reporter’s words. It was strange, though, how not just Vicki believed she was psychic, but Lenny had bought in as well. The guy had even written a story about it, purported he had proof. He must have something concrete to risk slander in a magazine. What had he seen?
“You took pictures?” He pointed to the camera in the guy’s hands. “Get a shot of the two of them together?”
“I started to.” Lenny shook his head. “But two joggers got into a tiff. When I looked back, the guy was gone. Saw you walking over.”
Damn it. The only option left was to work a composite. Maybe between River’s intoxicated memory and Vicki’s recent encounter they could produce a picture and get Matthew picked up for questioning.
River eyed Lenny. “You got a cell phone or something, some way to contact you if we have more questions?”
He produced a card from his wallet and handed it over.
“Thanks. We’re done here.”
“That’s it? I don’t get to see the murder scene or anything?”
River grasped Vicki’s elbow. “You come with me.”
“What?” Lenny squawked. “You’ll take a psychic murderer to the scene but not me? I can help you guys. I’ve seen the guy you’re searching—” His phone rang. As he scrambled to retrieve it from his pocket, he held up a finger.
“We’ll set you up with a sketch artist,” River offered.
Lenny nodded and punched a button on his phone. “Hey, Jolene. I’m in the middle of something. I’ll have to call you back.” He paused, listening.
With a shake of his head, River turned away just as Dauscher ambled their way.
“Hey, man,” the big guy called then jerked a thumb toward the reporter. “Something going on I need to know about?”
“Might have a lead. There’s a guy, Matthew, no last name, who’s been following Ms. Spiere and me. He might be our copycat.” He headed to the crime scene, Vicki at his side, balancing the tray of coffees. On a whim, he reached over and removed one.
“Hey,” she protested.
“Thanks.” He grinned and took a large drink. “Just how I like it.”