“What did you see?” Jacob asked Boswell.
“How many times do I need to repeat myself—are you trying to trip me up or what? It. Her. The woman in the bedroom.”
Jacob cut his eyes to me.
“I just got a glimpse,” I said. No need to spin theories in front of the civilian, after all. He might grab one and run with it, and then I’d be the one responsible for his next maladaptive coping technique. “But it was enough. Thank you for your time, Mr. Boswell. We’ll take it from here.”
“But my security deposit—”
“We’ll look into it,” I said blandly. “And the next time I call you…answer the damn phone.”
Once Boswell finally left, Jacob locked the apartment door behind him with a decisive click. The hollow sound echoed off the bare walls.
“Ididsee something.” I shook out my hands like I could physically discard the lingering wrongness of that face. “But it was so fast…let’s just say I couldn’t pick anyone out of a lineup.”
Evelyn was already unholstering the SPECs case from her purse. “Since we’re here—and since there is something to see…. Would you indulge me?”
“Might as well try.” I slid the prototype on, then caught my reflection in the medicine cabinet as we passed the bathroom. Between my black suit and the thick-framed, reflective shades, I looked like I was playing a secret agent for Halloween.
I also caught Jacob watching me intently…and not just to admire the cut of my jib. Ever since his grandmother admitted to that cold war experiment she’d unwittingly signed up for, he’d been obsessed with finding tangible evidence of his talent. Never mind that it didn’t get more tangible than popping habit demons with your bare hands.
He needed tosee. And he wanted those SPECs.
It must’ve been killing him to be so close, yet so far.
I tapped the on-button, jonesing for Mood Blaster. But there was no comforting binaural thrum, and the vibrations against my temples were too subtle to feel at all. I scanned the bedroom’s landlord-white walls through the lenses. Three slow rotations, checking every last corner. Nothing. Not even a cobweb.
“Clear,” I said regretfully, peeling them off.
Jacob’s earnest eyes pleaded,Letmetry.But I dashed his hopes and handed them back to Evelyn.
“I’ll have the Records department dig deeper,” Jacob said. “If there wasn’t a woman on the lease, maybe there was an incident involving a guest. Or even someone here between tenants, like a painter or a realtor. Something accidental that wouldn’t have made the news.”
An image of the screaming face came to mind and I shivered. I’d seen more than my share of death.
It sure didn’t look like an accident to me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHILE RECORDS WAS chewing through the history of the building, we decided to pay a visit to the guy who lived in the haunted apartment before the mailman. I didn’t have high hopes for him, since he’d lived there the longest—well over a decade. So chances were, he couldn’t sense the screaming ghost in the bedroom. But, it was worth checking out. People are phenomenally good at rationalizing things they don’t want to know.
Can’t say I blame them. By the time we got to the car, I’d started to question whether I’d actually seen a ghost woman, or I was so eager to put this case to rest, I’d dreamt the whole thing up. My talent was impossible to ignore. Foolproof. Until it wasn’t. And I was left looking like a rank amateur jumping at shadows. Psychic ability was less like the standard five senses—either you saw something or you didn’t—and more like talent. And even I had my off-days.
The atmosphere in the car was pensive. I always hated looking useless in front of Carl. But I hated letting down Jacob even more. He cut his eyes to me. “You’ll figure it out,” he said simply.
He always knew just what to say.
Sergei Kostic lived in a rest home in Portage Park, wedged between an orthodontist clinic and a discount mattress store. The building had the aura of a faded Polaroid, and everything was some shade of beige. A bit worn around the edges, sure. But functional enough, if you didn’t mind the smell of industrial disinfectant.
Through the cafeteria doors, a bored bingo caller droned out numbers while players hunched over their cards like wartime cryptographers. An aide pointed out Kostic in the far corner. He’d been a tall guy, but now there was a permanent hunch in his back. He had a full head of snow-white hair most guys his age would envy. And he was guarding his bingo cards like they might try to escape.
I was the lead. It was up to me to do all the talking. “Sergei Kostic?” I projected as much routine boredom as I could muster as I flashed my ID. “I’ve got a few questions about your previous residence, if you don’t mind—”
From the corner of my eye, I saw the woman next to him topple from her seat, and I instinctively lunged to help her. Except the moment I blinked, I saw there was no one on the floor. For that matter, there were no bingo cards on the table…and the seat was empty.
Evelyn had tensed, and Jacob had shifted to help me. But both of them were watching me. Not the seat. Which was still empty.
But I’d seen the old lady fall. And I could even give a pretty detailed description Caucasian. Heavyset. With drawn-on eyebrows and unnaturally orange hair.
