"Well?" Zinnia asked. "Is that what you wanted, Nick?"
"Yes." Nick closed the journal very carefully. He felt a little dazed. "Yes, it's what I wanted."
"Then, if you don't mind, Polly and I will be on our way." Omar picked up the attache case with both hands.
Polly gave Zinnia a relieved smile. "Thank you, Miss Spring. It was very nice of you to help me with all this. I feel much better now that it's over."
"Good night," Zinnia said. "And good luck."
Nick said nothing. He gripped the journal and watched Omar and Polly hurry back to the other car.
Zinnia stood quietly beside him as the pair got into the vehicle and drove off down the park road.
"Time to go home," Zinnia said finally.
Nick shook off the dazed sensation with an effort of will. "Yes."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He opened the passenger door for her.
"You're acting a little strange."
The sharp claw of panic slashed across his senses. Had she guessed that he was a matrix? In the next breath he realized that she was concerned, not nervous. "It's hard to believe I've finally got the journal. I wasn't even sure it actually existed."
Zinnia's eyes were luminous in the moonlight. "I understand."
He closed her door and went back around to the driver's side. He put the journal carefully into the back seat and got behind the steering bar. He sat quietly for a long moment, composing his mind.
"Thank you," he said at last.
Zinnia smiled. "When was the last time you had to thank someone for doing you a favor, Mr. Chastain?"
"I offered a reward for the journal. You're entitled to it. I'll see that you get it."
"You have a real knack for ruining the moment. I don't want your money, Mr. Chastain."
He realized that he had offended her. He gazed steadily ahead through the windshield. "I got the journal. Polly and Omar got fifty thousand dollars. You're the only one who didn't get anything out of this. Why did you get involved?"
"It came under the heading of unfinished business." Zinnia settled back in her seat. "And it's still not finished."
Something in her tone of voice put him on full alert. "What does that mean?"
"Morris's killer is still on the loose."
"Five hells. It isn't your job to find him." Nick turned to face her. "Leave it to the cops."
She rested her head against the back of the seat and stared out into the darkened park. "What if the police are looking in the wrong place?"
"Stay out of it, Zinnia."
"Morris was a matrix."
He flexed his fingers impatiently. "I'm aware of that. It's got nothing to do with solving his murder."
"But it does, you see. People, cops included, tend to dismiss matrix-talents. No one understands them."
"I know," he said stiffly. "But has it occurred to you that matrix-talents may prefer it that way?"
"Everyone says they're paranoid, reclusive, secretive," Zinnia continued as if she had not heard him. "Some people think they're borderline crazy. But I've worked with enough of them to know that they're quite sane."
Nick stared hard at her moonlit profile. "They are?"
"Yes, but they live their lives under a constant and very unique kind of stress. No one who isn't a matrix or who hasn't focused for one can possibly comprehend the incredible struggle they go through to control their psychic energy."
"No kidding." He was disgusted by the unmistakable note of sympathy in her voice.
"It's a very different, very powerful form of paranormal energy. Matrix-talents obsess on patterns of any kind. They can get lost in them for hours on end. The problem is that their instinct to see the underlying design in everything, the need to make connections, sometimes causes them to see patterns where most people think that none exist."
"In other words, they become paranoid."
"Who knows? Maybe they simply see deeper and more clearly." She shrugged. "Or maybe they are inclined toward paranoia. There simply has not been enough research done on them or on the handful of prisms such as myself who seem to be able to work with them."
Nick hesitated. Curiosity finally overrode his good sense. "How did you learn that you could focus for matrix-talents?"
"I had a friend in college who was a matrix. She and I practiced together for hours. Interestingly enough, the more we worked together, the more relaxed she became with her talent."
Nick spread his fingers and gripped the back of the seat. "She didn't go super-paranoid?"
"No." Zinnia smiled slightly. "Okay, she's a bit more suspicious than most people. And she does tend to overanalyze everything, but, then, so do a lot of non-matrix-talents. She's doing just fine, though. She's working in a think tank which has a prism on staff who can focus fairly well for her. She's happily married and expecting a baby."
Nick could feel the tension gathering in him. "What class is she?"
"Linda is a class-four or -five."
"Mid-range." His excitement faded.
"There are almost no high-class matrix-talents," Zinnia reminded him. "In fact, the one I picked up briefly in your casino was the only one I've ever encountered who was stronger than Linda. By the way, did your security people find him?"
"No. But there were no big winners last night. Whoever he was, he didn't break the bank."
"Lucky for you. Just the same, I wish your people had caught him."
"Why?"
She glanced hastily at her watch. "It's the general principle of the thing," she said with patently false unconcern. "It's very late. You'd better take me home."
"About Fenwick's murder," Nick said deliberately. "Promise me you'll let the police deal with it."
"There's not much else I can do."
"Don't give me that. I can almost feel you making plans. What are you thinking?"
"Nothing."
"Five hells." Nick reached out and caught her chin with his hand. He forced her to look directly at him. "Tell me."
"Well, it just occurred to me that now that Morris is dead, Polly and Omar are free to marry."
Nick stared at her, astounded. "Polly and Omar? Wait a second. You don't actually believe that they had anything to do with Fenwick's murder, do you?"
"Why not?" She sounded aggrieved by his lack of support. "They couldn't marry as long as poor Morris was alive."
"Polly and Omar are obviously involved in a longstanding affair. Why would they suddenly decide to murder Fenwick after all this time?"
"I don't know." Zinnia's jaw was set in stubborn lines. "But you have to admit, it's a possibility."
"An extremely remote one. I'd estimate the odds at about the same as those of the Curtain reopening in our lifetime. Damn it, Zinnia, I do not want you messing around in a murder investigation, do you understand?"
She tilted her head, gazing at him as if he were not making sense. "Why are you getting worked up over this? Whatever I decide to do, it's none of your business."
"Do you want to know why I was furious when you phoned me an hour ago?"
"You told me why. It was because I made arrangements for us to purchase the journal in a dark, deserted park."
"That was just the icing on the cake," he said through his teeth. "I was pissed long before you even picked up the phone."
She watched him with an unwavering gaze. "Why?"
"Because. You. Never. Called."
She stared at him. "But I did call."
"Only because Polly asked you to get in touch with me."
"Let me get this straight. You expected me to call earlier? Before I heard from Polly?"
"We were going to talk about searching for the journal and the killer together, remember?"
"Like heck we were," she shot back. "You were just trying to manipulate me with all that gooey blather about joining forces. You wanted whatever information I might have had concerning the whereabouts of the journal but you had no real intention of helping me find Morris's killer."