The Book of Cold Cases(21)

Ransom took the newspaper from her and put it back under his arm. “I’ll never understand why Mariana made the choices she did. They must have seemed like the only choices possible to her, I suppose. Still, now she’s gone, and we have to deal with the fallout.” He glanced at Beth. “I’ll be honest. Because of all the times in your life, now is the time for honesty. Could I believe that you did it? That you killed those men, just by looking at you? Yes, I can believe it. Easily. It’s a good thing I can believe it, because I’m going to look at all the same angles as someone who thinks you’re guilty. And you’re going to get a fair trial.”

The wind stung Beth’s face, crawled down her neck. She looked at the ocean.

“Julian died in that house,” Ransom said. “There are times I look at it and I can still see him, standing in a hallway or coming out the front door. I can still see Mariana, too. If I believed in ghosts, which I don’t, I’d believe that those two are still in that house, which is why I can’t bear to go in there. I’d rather stand out here in the rain. But it doesn’t change the fact that they’re dead and their daughter is still alive. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to let the jackals eat you, Beth.”

Beth swallowed. “Get me out of this,” she told him. “Not just for me. Get me out of this so I can lay the ghosts to rest.”

Ransom paused, and then he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “I intend to try.”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


September 2017





SHEA


“Telekinesis,” I said.

“What?” Michael’s tone was thick with disbelief.

“Telekinesis,” I said again. “The ability of a person to move physical objects with their mind. According to the research, it can sometimes be deliberate and sometimes subconscious, brought on by extreme emotion or stress. Some people have even reported telekinetic powers during sleep, when they’re completely unaware of it. The person is asleep, and they’re still making things move.”

Michael cleared his throat. I was on the bus, but it was nearly empty and I was sitting at the back, where no one could hear my crazy ranting. “Shea, you’re trying to tell me that Beth Greer isn’t only a serial murderer, she’s also a psychic?”

“I’m saying it’s a possibility,” I replied. “That’s all. I looked up the research, and—”

“What research? The entire theory is a load of bullshit.”

Of course that’s what Michael would think. He was a cop. Deep down, I thought it was bullshit, too—I’d never believed in psychics, ghosts, demonic possessions, or any of it. But still. “I saw what I saw,” I said. “The taps turned on by themselves, and the cupboard doors opened.” Telekinesis wouldn’t explain the blood I’d seen in the sink, which I hadn’t told Michael about. But there had to be an explanation for that. There had to be.

“It’s an old house,” Michael said. “The pipes in my apartment make weird moaning noises at night, but that’s all it is. Pipes.”

So Michael lived in an apartment. I hadn’t known that. Ever since he’d mentioned a divorce, I’d wondered if he lived in an apartment or if he still lived in their house, if they had one. “This wasn’t pipes,” I said. “This was taps being turned on.”

“Well, it wasn’t telekinesis, either,” Michael said. “Maybe Beth was trying to distract you.”

I blinked in shock as the bus turned a corner, heading for downtown. “You think Beth rigged some kind of deliberate setup?”

“Why not? It’s her house. She’s had forty years to put in any switches or levers that she wants. You’re dealing with a liar, Shea. Please remember that.”

I closed my eyes, feeling two distinct sides of myself at war. On the one hand, I absolutely did not believe in ghosts or the supernatural. It was regular, everyday earthly evil that kept me up at night.

But on the other hand, to believe it was a fun-house trick was to believe that Beth Greer had some strange, psychopathic wish to deceive me. And—I could admit it to myself—I didn’t want to believe that.

I didn’t want to believe she was a liar, and I didn’t want to believe she was a serial killer. Which was exactly what Beth wanted.

“I can go over there and check it out, if you like,” Michael said.

“No.”

“Are you saying no because you don’t want to ask for help from a man?”

“That isn’t it.” That was kind of it. “Beth and I have only just started talking. If I bring someone over to dismantle her house, looking for levers, she’ll stop talking to me.”

“Of course,” Michael said. “The carrot and the stick. That works entirely in her favor.”

Once again, I pictured Michael as an old-school gumshoe, sitting on a park bench somewhere, trying to look casual as he followed a subject. He was holding a newspaper in front of his face, watching from behind it. A turtleneck—I definitely pictured him in a turtleneck. Dark brown, with a blazer over it. The picture was so vivid it felt real. “Beth has held up her end of the bargain so far,” I argued. “I’m on my way to interview Detective Joshua Black right now.”