“You know her as Gail Bernard. To be honest, I’m a little disappointed. Being a psychic, I’d expect you to know those things.”
“I’m a psychic, Mister Darling, not God. I don’t know everything, and the girl I’m talking about didn’t give me a name.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So this is someone who walked up to you on the street with a message for me.”
“Not exactly,” he said. “What do you say? Tit for Tat. You listen without interrupting me and I answer your questions.”
I felt as if I was being played, but it was also obvious I wasn’t going to get any answers about Destiny if I didn’t listen. I leaned back into the chair, laced my fingers together, and placed my hands behind my head. “Go ahead. Lay it on me. I’ll listen to what you have to say, but I don’t promise I’m going to believe you.”
“I have been cursed with a rare gift, Mister Darling. The gift has made me a wealthy man, and I consider it God given. I wouldn’t give it up for anything, although it often leaves my nights riddled with dark visions and nightmares.”
“I heard you were afraid of the dark.”
“I’m not afraid of the dark. Sometimes the visitors I have are frightening, but more often than not they’re afraid, like I am. I see dead people at night, Mister Darling. They come to me in my dreams, and occasionally, when I can’t sleep, they come anyway. It’s always at night, I never know ahead of time when they’re going to seek me out, and I can’t avoid them.”
His eyes seemed to bore right through me, as if he was daring me to doubt him. I wondered if I’d been wrong. Maybe Elvis wasn’t trying to con me. Maybe he was nuts.
“You sound like you believe what you’re telling me. What I think is you need to see a shrink. Maybe he can help you.” I lowered my hands and used the armrests to lever myself to my feet. “I don’t believe a ghost visited you with a special message for me.”
“You told me you’d listen to what I have to say.” There was disappointment in his voice, and a twinge of accusation.
I looked at my watch, and slid back into the chair. “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
There was a look of relief on his face and he threw me a tired smile before going on. “I received a visit from a young girl last night who told me you blame yourself for her death. I didn’t get a name but she was maybe fifteen or sixteen, blue eyes, blond, cute. Do you know this girl?”
I knew her all right. Celine Stewart came to me in my dreams too, only she didn’t talk to me. She pleaded with me through sad eyes, silently accusing me of screwing up, but she never spoke. I don’t think I could have handled her voicing her feelings about me.
I took a deep breath in an effort to contain my anger, and still my voice rang out. “The Detroit News and the Free Press carried the story of Celine’s disappearance and probable death. Her picture was in the paper and her father was vocal in blaming me for her death. It wouldn’t take more than a couple of phone calls to get this information. Hell, the researcher we have working for our agency could have found that kind of information in five minutes.”
“Why would I do that?” Elvis asked.
I jumped up and slammed the palms of my hands on the desk in front of me. Elvis didn’t flinch and this made me angrier.
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re a sick bastard who gets his kicks out of messing with people’s minds. Maybe you thrive on other’s miseries. Maybe I’m a challenge to you. I’m a non-believer and you need to convince me I’m wrong.”
“Or maybe I’m the real thing.”
“I don’t buy it.” I turned and walked toward the door.
As I reached for the doorknob Elvis called out, “She said you’re not to blame.”
“Thanks, but you’re not going to convince me.”
“He’s not her real father,” Elvis said. “She said her mother left the stores to her.”
For the first time, I felt unsure of myself. I glanced over my shoulder and watched him wipe the table where I’d been leaning. He didn’t look up until he’d folded and dropped the tissue into the trashcan.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“It’s what she said. Look to her stepfather. She claims he killed her mother and when she accused him of doing so, he killed her too.”
“I’m not sure Stewart is a stepfather, but even if he is, the FBI shot the kidnapper.”
“I know. It was the gardener,” Elvis said. “She said he was following her stepfather’s orders.”
“Nice try,” I said. “But the F.B.I. never considered Myron Stewart to be a suspect. There was never anything said about her not being his daughter. And there was never any talk of him killing his wife.”
“Celine’s real father died in a car accident two months before she was born. Myron adopted her when she was a baby.”
I shook my head. “We both know you’re making the whole thing up, but I have to admit you’re good. You’ve done your research, and if I were an ordinary mark you’d have convinced me.”
“I have nothing to gain by doing such a thing. You may not want to believe it, but I’m the real thing. Celine wants her stepfather convicted. She wants peace, and she wants her body found.”
“The police looked,” I said. “And I spent weeks looking for her even after we were pretty sure she was dead. The FBI figured she was being held prisoner somewhere and when the gardener was killed there was no one to feed her or free her. I’m sure she died a pretty horrible death.”
“She didn’t,” Elvis said. “Her stepfather killed her before he even called you.”
I wanted to believe him. There was nothing I would have liked more than to know I hadn’t caused her death. But the truth of the matter was, I still didn’t believe in psychics.
“You’re slick,” I said. “Your research fits your story like a puzzle piece.”
“No research. She’s in a deep hole beneath a barn. She doesn’t like the dark.”
“I guess that makes two of you,” I said. Now that it was time to get to the reason for my visit, I was regretting my confrontational manner. I’ve always hated people who take advantage of the weak and to me that seemed to be the definition of this psychic. Still, I wanted his help so I forced myself to smile. “Now it’s your turn. I need to ask you some questions about Gail Bernard.”
He nodded toward the chair I had vacated. “Please sit back down.”
“And if I don’t want to sit?”
Elvis reached out and touched a button on the top of the desk I hadn’t noticed before. Almost immediately, the door behind me opened. “In that case,” Elvis said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask Dom to show you out.”
Dom walked in, the floor shuddered and the lilac scented monster stepped up to my side. He took hold of my arm and squeezed, sending arcs of high voltage pain down to my fingers.
I gritted my teeth, held back a groan, and said, “If your lap dog doesn’t let go of my arm I’m going to break his fingers. After I finish with him, I’m going to come around the desk and break something else.”
We traded stares, and he gave a short nod. Dom released my arm and my fingers began to tingle when he moved away from me.
I sat back down, fighting the urge to massage my arm. Instead, I slid my butt to the edge of the seat and leaned my elbows on the desk. “So where are the diamonds now?”
Elvis tilted his head back and gave me a strange look. “What diamonds?”
“Either you’re a damn good liar or you’re not quite the psychic you claim to be. I thought for sure you’d know why I was here.”
“I’m a psychic, not a mind reader. I don’t have a clue what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Destiny, the girl you know as Gail, told me she left some diamonds with you. You were supposed to sell them for her.”
Again, he looked confused. “I’m a psychic, why would I be selling diamonds?”
“For twenty percent. I understand they’re worth a small fortune. The person she stole them from wants them back.”
Elvis pushed his chair away from the desk, swiveled it to the side and stared up at the ceiling. “Your story explains some things,” he said.