“Marlene Rodriguez?” I venture.
“Yes?”
“I’m with the Fullerton Police,” I show her my badge—yes, Sherbet gave me one years ago, though I question its authenticity. “Your son made a statement to us this morning, and we have a few follow-up questions. May I come in?”
She hesitates, then steps aside. The house is small but cozy. The TV’s on mute, tuned to a local news channel. A framed photo of her and her son sits beside a mug half-full of what appears to be cold tea. I sit on the arm of a nearby recliner and watch her sit on the couch, clutching the throw pillow like a life vest.
I don’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, I reach out with my mind, and soon see what she sees, know what she knows.
There are no secrets with me, unless someone is immortal. Every police department should employ someone like me; in fact, I’ve often considered offering my services far and wide. But in my heart, I know the system works best when good cops trust their instincts, when fair judges weigh the evidence, and when both sides argue passionately for what they believe is right. Yes, I’m putting a lot of faith in the good of humanity.
The system isn’t built for a mind-reading vampire who can see straight into the soul. But, in my small corner of the world, I’m happy to help when needed.
“You’re scared,” I say gently, to which she flinches. “You think Jamie really did it, that your son murdered your friend.”
Her eyes widen with some semblance of hope. “But didn’t he?” she whispers.
“No,” I say softly. “He didn’t.”
Tears fill her eyes. “But... he confessed.”
“To protect you.”
Her hands tremble. “Oh, God…”
I lean forward. “Marlene… what do you know about Trent?”
She stiffens.
“I saw your boyfriend in Jamie’s memory admitting to what he did. Threatening your life if Jamie didn’t go along with the plan.” I hold her gaze. “You’ve been with him for how long?”
“You... you saw it in his mind?”
“I should probably mention I’m a psychic vampire and ace mind reader,” I say, then promptly erase this exchange from her mind; instead, I add. “I’m a psychic for the police. I see things, know things. I’m pretty good at what I do. I know, for instance, you had two cups of coffee with Chobani vanilla creamer this morning. You made some oatmeal but you didn’t actually eat it.”
“Oh, my...”
Next, I command her to believe what I’m telling her, then ask her again to tell me what she knows about Trent, which will save me from a lot of time digging around in her mind.
She swallows. “Met him almost two years ago. He’s… intense. But good to me. He gets angry sometimes, but...”
“But what?”
Her voice lowers. “He didn’t like Kayla. She used to live with me. He said she was nosy. Said she stared at him too much and was always in the way.”
“Was she your friend?” I say.
Marlene nods slowly. “Yeah. She used to babysit Jamie. I’ve known her for many years. She had this big, goofy laugh… always lit up a room.”
Her throat tightens. “But she wasn’t safe here anymore. A few months ago, she and Trent had a fight. He hit her. I wasn’t home when it happened... and came back to find her sobbing. She told me he threatened to kill her. Said he’d make her disappear. So I asked Jamie to take her in. He’d just gotten his own two-bedroom apartment. I knew he needed money help, and she could pay for her room. Anyway, it was just going to be for a little while. Until she could find her own place. Jamie didn’t balk. I think he always had a little crush on her.”
“Then Trent showed up at Jamie’s place,” I said. “I can see into people’s minds, Marlene, I can read their thoughts. I want you to believe me when I say this. Do you believe me? Good. I saw Trent threaten your son and admit to killing Kayla. I saw his confession. He thought he would get away with it, and for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to threaten Jamie to confess to a murder he didn’t commit.”
Her breath catches. “That’s just so crazy...”
“Crazier than your son killing your friend and his new roommate, a friend he had a crush on for probably many years?”
Memories flood into her mind, no prompting needed by me: Trent coming home late on the night in question, going straight to the garage, running the washing machine and dryer, the sharp smell of bleach wafting through the house.
