Murder On The Mind

Murder On The Mind - Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

“Why come to me?” Hayden demanded, after I’d told him about the dreams and how they’d intensified once I returned to Buffalo.

“You’re in charge of the investigation.”

“What do you want? Publicity—your name in the newspaper?”

“That’s the last thing I want. I want to find out who killed Sumner and bring that person to justice.”

Hayden snorted. “Now you sound like the Lone Ranger.”

I got up. “Come on, Rich. I don’t need this shit.”

Hayden leaned back in his chair. “Now let me give you a scenario. Say a doctor, an expert on anatomy, held a grudge against a bank official. And say this doctor had considerable holdings at the bank. Let’s say he also had an accomplice, perhaps his younger brother—”

Richard’s eyes blazed, but he held his temper in check.

I didn’t.

“My brother is not a surgeon, and he’s not a butcher. And neither of us could hit the broad side of a barn with a bow. If you’re too narrow-minded to listen to what I have to tell you, so you can catch a goddamn murderer, you can just go fuck yourself, Hayden. Let’s go, Rich—”

“Wait. Tell him about the jogger.”

“What jogger?”

I had to take a breath to quell my anger. “I found a potential witness for you. One who may have seen the killer’s car the night of the murder. But, if you’re more interested in spinning fantasy—”

Hayden’s eyes betrayed his interest. “You got a name?” I gave it to him. He made a note. “Anything else?”

I sat down again. “What do you think of the murderer’s profile they printed in the paper last week?”

“We’re working on some leads,” he said evasively. He turned and rummaged through a cabinet behind his desk, then handed me a black plastic rectangle: a garage door opener. “Okay, Mister Psychic, get any vibes off this?”

“I can’t plug into this stuff like tuning a radio, you know.”

“Try,” he said. “We recovered it with the victim’s car.”

I clasped the remote, closed my eyes, and waited. What was I supposed to get? A lot of people had probably handled it. How was I supposed to single out the killer?

But I did get something.

An impression.

A figure, dressed in a dark hooded sweatshirt and dark jogging pants. I couldn’t see the face. The killer had pressed the button, and the garage door had slowly risen. Then the killer had jumped into the station wagon, pressed the button again, and the door descended. The station wagon roared to life and the remote was tossed onto the empty passenger seat.

I shook my head, handing it back to the detective. “Sorry.”

Contempt shadowed his eyes, but I wasn’t about to try to qualify my impressions to give him ammunition to shoot me down. He put the remote back in the cabinet.

“Anything else?

I shook my head and Richard and I stood.

“I’ll call this Linski guy.”

I headed for the door. “You do that, Detective.”

“And I’ll be sure to call you if I need you. I know where to find you.”