But if her mother had been disappointed in her daughter's choice of careers, Leah herself was somewhat disillusioned by four years spent on the police force in Columbia; she discovered she did not like being a big-city cop. Too much violence. Too many depressing situations with unhappy, tragic outcomes.
Gordon said she'd picked the wrong career for a woman who believed happily-ever-after was the way stories were supposed to end, but the truth was that Leah enjoyed the work-mostly. She enjoyed helping people. So, when Columbia turned out to be too depressing for her, she decided a beach community would undoubtedly be more cheerful, less violent, and provide great fringe benefits.
Especially since she was that rare redhead who tanned instead of freckled.
She had landed in the Hazard County Sheriff's Department by virtue of a pin. With a list before her of law-enforcement agencies along the southeastern coast looking for experienced officers, she had closed her eyes and stabbed the paper with an open safety pin.
Hazard County it was.
Maybe a dumb way to plan a career, let alone a life, but it had worked out well for Leah. Because she liked her work now and loved the beach-community lifestyle. And she had a man she was fairly crazy about as well. Icing on the cake.
"And now," she said to Riley, bringing her story to the present and sounding aggrieved, "some murderous fiend has to come along and ruin paradise."
"Yeah, murderous fiends can really screw up your day," Riley said gravely. She was sitting on a corner of the conference table, idly swinging one foot, waiting for Sheriff Ballard to meet them there with the postmortem report. In the meantime, she had gotten Leah talking with a simple question or two about herself.
Leah sighed. "Oh, you know what I mean. It's not like I'm taking this murder lightly. Every time I close my eyes, I see that poor guy hanging out there in the woods. I feel queasy. And scared. Because if the maniac who killed him isn't a summer visitor, then chances are he's somebody I know."
Riley took another bite of the PowerBar she'd been eating, then said, "For what it's worth, I'd be surprised if this killer was a summer visitor."
"Shit. Why?"
"Because if he-or they-practice actual satanic rites, it's not something you usually just take on the road when you go on vacation. Not the extreme rituals, at any rate. Plus, secrecy is a really big factor, and that site was awfully public."
"So it could have been-what? A fake ritual?"
"Maybe a smoke screen. To hide the real motive behind the murder. And if that's the case, if somebody is using the trappings of the occult to throw us off the scent, then the reason is, most likely, to deflect attention away from someone who would otherwise be a logical suspect in the straightforward murder of this man."
Leah thought about that. "But we can't know if he had any enemies locally until we know who he is. Was."
"Yeah. So identifying him has to be a priority."
"It is. But so far, nada. The doc serving as our medical examiner gave us a preliminary report last night; he didn't find any identifying marks on the body. No old scars, no tattoos, no birthmarks. We ran his prints a second time just to be sure, but still no luck."
"I wouldn't expect his prints to be on file," Riley said.
"Any particular reason why?"
Neatly folding her empty PowerBar wrapper into a narrower and narrower strip, Riley said, "Because the head was removed."
Leah couldn't help grimacing, but said, "And so?"
"And so I've never heard of an occult ritual where the head of a victim was removed and taken away. And I can't see why that would be done other than to delay identification. That being the case, if the killer had any reason to suppose the guy's prints were on file, and obviously not being the squeamish kind, he would have destroyed the fingertips. Hacked them off, or maybe used a blowtorch."
Leah cleared her throat. "It's not a nice world where you live, is it?"
Riley looked slightly surprised, then smiled a bit ruefully. "I guess not. I don't think about it that way, most of the time."
"It's just a job?"
"Well…more or less. I meet some great people through my work. Have some interesting experiences, not all of them negative. I travel a lot. I do work I feel is important."
"Oh, no question about that." Leah lowered her voice slightly, even though they were alone in the conference room. "And you have a way to use the psychic stuff where it really means something, instead of working in a carnival sideshow or on one of those call-the-psychic hotlines."
"One of the most amazing psychics I know spent years in a carnival, telling fortunes."
"I didn't mean-"
Riley waved that away. "Oh, I know. But you're right-for some psychics, maybe most psychics, there aren't many ways to carve out a decent living using those abilities. That's assuming you even can use the abilities, and lots can't."
"Can't control them, you mean?"
"Most of us can't control them, or at least not reliably. My boss says that if ever a psychic is born who can control his or her abilities, the whole world will change. He's probably right about that."
"But that psychic won't be you, huh?"
"No. I've been using my abilities as long as I can remember, and it's still hit-or-miss. Even if my concentration is perfect and my energy level optimal, I may not get a damn thing. Other times I'm not even trying and get blindsided by a dump of information or emotions."
"You get emotions? Other people's emotions?" Leah hadn't intended to sound wary but heard it in her voice.
Riley frowned at the empty wrapper that was now a thin, folded strip; she tied it neatly into a knot. "Sometimes. Not the way an empath would, feeling what somebody else feels. It's just knowing somebody is angry or sad-or whatever. Even if it's all locked inside and they aren't showing any of it."
Leah studied the other woman, wondering what that must be like, to have that window into other people. Not that she wanted to know firsthand; she had trouble enough sorting through her own thoughts and emotions without adding in someone else's.
It wasn't something that appeared to disturb Riley. She was a curiously serene woman, Leah thought. Even out in the woods yesterday, in the midst of that horrific scene, her manner had been calm and matter-of-fact. And today the gun on her hip was worn casually with jeans and a light summer top.
She did not look like an FBI agent. Then again, Leah could imagine her in an army uniform only because Gordon had a couple of pictures of them together.
"Don't let those big eyes and that sweet voice fool you," he had warned Leah with a grin. "Riley hasn't got an innocent bone in her body. She's seen battle and she's seen the world, and she can take care of herself on any patch of it fate might see fit to send her to. Hell, I wouldn't want to tangle with her, armed or unarmed."
Something to bear in mind, Leah thought.
"Does being psychic really help?" she asked. "I mean, in an investigation."
Riley tied the plastic wrapper into a second knot, frowned at it as if wondering why she'd done that, and dropped it into an ashtray on the table behind her. "Sometimes." She hesitated, then met the other woman's gaze and said, "But maybe not this time. Just so you know, I'm more than a little off my game right now."
"Ash?" Leah guessed.
Riley was clearly surprised. "Why would you think that?"
"Just relating, I suppose." Leah laughed. "When I was falling for Gordon, I once came to work wearing two different shoes. I thought the guys would never let me live it down."
Riley smiled, but her eyes remained intent, questioning.
Interesting how clearly that came across, Leah thought. That silent question. Without actually intending to, she found herself offering an answer.