Fire In The Mind: Leonard Wise Book 1 Page 3

  “What is it?” I asked. “Now is there something hanging from my nose?”

  She giggled. “No, it’s just that you are younger than Jon, but Lenny you seem much older.”

  I looked at my teacup. “Maybe I’ve seen more of life than I should.”

  “It’s probably just your beard,” Jon said.

  Tuesday morning, I shaved it off.

  It was something to see my bare face again. I had the beard the entire time I lived in California, and it sometimes had become sloppy and long, but I usually kept it close-cropped and well trimmed.

  Jenny was right. Removed, it took years from my appearance.

  Tuesday, I wandered on my own as Jenny had to go back to work. It was good for me to be alone. I needed to center myself in the new surroundings—and practice my speech.

  So Tuesday night, with the lecture over and done, I came offstage for the last time ready to relax for the rest of my visit.

  “Len, that was great!” Jon said. “You received the best response of anything we’ve done this entire year.”

  Jenny came up alongside her husband and held my face to give me a quick peck. I rose, blushing.

  “That was great, Lenny!” she said, giddy and breathless.

  The light in her eyes unsettled me.

  “Come on, Len,” Jon said, “we have to meet and greet.”

  “What?” I said, unsure of what he meant.

  “All the lecturers do it. We have coffee and cake in the next room, and you try to act like an intellectual.”

  “I don’t do impressions,” I said as they dragged me off.

  We walked down the corridor and into a small anteroom set up with folding tables laden with food and urns of coffee. Many of the listeners were there, and I was pulled quickly away from the Baines by people who wanted to question me about points I’d made.

  Lectures are hard enough when I am in control of the situation, but parties annoy me. So many minds, which all put out a constant chatter, like background noise. So many thoughts to surround and suffocate me.

  Does he like me…?

  I knew this dress made me look fat…

  I wonder if my guy is for real. He can’t be that nice…

  All around me. Many people have a fear of groups, but mine is based on the fact that I can’t completely shut out all the voices, all the feelings. I can’t even be sure which mind each thought comes from.

  I focused on the image of white walls to separate me from the invasive psychogenic yammering. I slapped on a fixed smile, shook hands, and tried to listen to real voices, not the ones intercepted by my brain.

  One drink would stop it. Just one good sized belt of scotch or a nice snifter of brandy and the voices would stop. Then I could relax. My mouth went dry with the desire for the taste of any fermented beverage. But, I focused on my breath, made myself listen to words, and calmed down. I moved from person to person and gave the best responses I could off the top of my head.

  Danger…

  The buzz came unexpectedly, and I lifted my head from a conversation to look around the room.

  “Uh, Doctor, are you all right?” said the matronly lady who had been telling me about her personal psychic, who had predicted she would be at the lecture tonight.

  “Uh, fine,” I said and turned my attention back to her. “Would you excuse me…” I walked a few steps away.

  “But I didn’t tell you…” she started to say, then her escort distracted her.

  I gazed around the room and tried to find the source of that buzz. It had been brief but powerful. The problem was that if I opened myself up completely, I’d be drowned in the soup of the collective mental prattle.

  “That was a very nice speech,” a woman’s voice said.

  I turned to see a petite African-American woman behind me, standing next to a man six feet tall and rail thin.

  “Thank you,” I said, and as I looked into her kind eyes, I couldn’t help but smile.

  “You made everything so clear and easy to follow,” she said.

  “I wanted to get the ideas across, not impress people with my vocabulary.”

  All three of us laughed. I noted that they were both older, at least sixty, perhaps more. The woman was in a dress, neat but plain. The man wore a suit that had seen better days but had been well cared for, and he added a dashing bow tie that only made him look skinnier.

  “So, what brought you? You two appear to be a little old to be students.”

  This drew another laugh, and the tall black man held out his hand, which I shook happily. “Not at all, Doc. I work here. I wanted to see the guest lecturer that all the fuss was about.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Oh, are you a professor?”

  The pair exchanged a pleasant look and the woman said, “He’s the custodial engineer.”

  I frowned as I tried to comprehend the title.

  The man moved close to me and said quietly, “That’s a fancy name for a janitor. I’m Jim Stevens and this is my wife, Ronnie.”

  I smiled. “I would think you would be tired of this place if you worked here all day.”

  Jim shrugged. “The kids are grown and on their own, and Ronnie and I like to go to things like this.”

  “Especially your speech. You are truly a gifted speaker,” Ronnie added.

  “Thank you. So, Mr. Stevens—”

  “Just Jim, Doc.”

  “I guess you’re looking forward to the summer, maybe some time off?”

  “Nah, I like to work. In the summer, I work at a state facility.”

  Ronnie frowned a bit. “They call him in during the year, too. Sometimes for overnights, an’ I don’t like that.”

  Jim shrugged again. “It’s hard to get folks in on the overnights. I don’ mind.”

  “Well, nice meeting you both. I’d better keep mingling.”

  “Nice meetin’ you too, Doc,” he said with a smile as the pair of them wandered off.

  Several other groups pulled me in, and all the while, I tried to locate the source of my buzz with no luck. The crowd subsided, and I drank a cup of the bad coffee.

  “So, do you really believe that psychics can be an integral part of an investigation?” a deep voice behind me said.

  I turned to see the speaker. It was the man from the front row. He was my height, perhaps an inch taller, still rumpled, and his clear blue eyes burned into me like a laser. Yet I received none of the brain chatter from him. He was totally focused on my answer.

  “Why, yes,” I responded, a bit unnerved. “I think someone sensitive to the mental energy, specially trained as an investigator, could be a remarkable help.”

  “You know someone who can do that?” he said almost as an accusation. “Someone who could actually do what you say?”

  “Yes,” I shot back, not cowed. “Me.”

  “You?” he frowned.

  “This isn’t a bunch of theory to me,” I said. “I live what I spoke about. I’ve been involved in research—”

  He held up his hand. “I know. I read up on you before I came. Haunted houses and the like. I’m talking about investigating a crime—not ancient history.”

  I blinked. “The techniques are the same. I don’t see that a recent event would be any different. Can you tell me why you’re asking?”

  “Hmm. Right to the point. I like that,” he said. His hand went into his jacket and extracted a leather billfold, then he flashed a gold shield with a police identification card. “Doctor, I’m Detective-Sergeant Bill McGee. I’m with the Mountainview police.”

  My eyebrows went up. “How can I help you, Detective?”

  He glanced about, checking the room with the practiced eye of a cop. Then he spoke in a low tone. “If I were to ask you to become…involved in a case, Doctor, could I trust you to keep it confidential?”

&
nbsp; I frowned. “Why?”

  Again, he glanced about the room, just to make sure no one was close enough to hear. “Unorthodox methods—well, they wouldn’t go over very well around here. If my captain found out that I was talking to a psychic…” He shrugged his massive shoulders.

  “I’m technically a parapsychologist, but I get your point. It might not inspire confidence from your superiors.”

  He nodded. “I’ve only been with the force for a year. And I have—” he smiled “—a colorful background. But I’m stuck on a case, and when I read about you online, I decided to hear you speak.”

  “That’s very kind—”

  “Kindness has nothing to do with it, Doctor. Let’s just say I’m willing to try anything at this point. Hell, I’d deal tarot cards or throw runes if it would help.”

  “Well, nice to know I’m in the same category,” I smiled.

  He smiled back. “No offense. But if you can…”

  “I’m in town for a few more days. Tell me how I can assist.”

  “OK. Come by the Mountainview police station tomorrow—first thing,” he said, his jaw becoming set.

  “Tomorr—” I said, surprised. I thought fast. “Would you give me access to the crime scene and forensics?”

  “Of course. Just so you know, I intend to tell anyone who asks that you are a forensic pathologist.”

  “No problem,” I said, as I recalled the days I worked on cadavers in medical school. With my training, I would be able to speak the jargon with any coroner I ran into. “What kind of case is it?”

  “Murder. Can you handle that?” he said, his eyes daring me.

  “Well,” I said, not taking the bait. “I’ll do the best I can.”

  He took my hand in a firm handshake. “Thanks, Doctor. I’ll meet you at the Mountainview Police Department at oh-nine-hundred!”

  I disentangled myself from his grip and nodded as I fought the urge to salute. As he left, I noticed the room was almost cleared out, with only a few volunteers left to help Jon and Jenny.

  “What was that about?” Jenny asked as I approached.

  I met her eye. McGee wanted to keep my involvement with the case a secret. I trusted Jenny, but I didn’t know if I was even going to be any help.

  “Old friend,” I lied. “I’m meeting him for breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Oh?” she said and watched me closely. “It’s nice that you ran into him.”

  “Yeah, nice.”

  I rode home with them, and Jon offered to drop me off downtown the next day.

  I lay in bed, sleepless. I was finally going to be involved in a police inquiry. I’d succeeded in cases with Doctor Kohl, but this would be the first time I worked on a criminal investigation.

  And a murder, no less.

  This was what all the practice to hone my abilities with Doctor Kohl had been about. Now I would find out if I could use them in ways that would work in the real world.

  four

  As we drove downtown Wednesday morning in his SUV, Jon glanced at me and said, “Len, I’m telling you that was a great show last night.”

  “Show? Here I thought it was an educational experience.”

  “Yes, it was studious, intelligent, thought-provoking, and all the other PhD crap you want to call it. But it was a great show. I got calls from three newspapers about interviews with you, me, the school. I’m telling you, your entire approach to parapsychology and energetic reading is the right thing at the right time. This could do wonders for fund-raising.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  “Help? It’s a godsend this time of year. By spring, everything is old hat, and the students are only interested in graduation. To get this much interest…”

  “I’ll do anything you need.”

  “That’s great.” He glanced over from the road and patted my shoulder. “It’s also nice to see you again. And Jenny is so impressed by you.”

  “I’m impressed by her, Jon,” I said, and wondered if I should ask my next question. “Tell me, when you started dating—did you notice the resemblance?”

  “Resemblance?”

  “To Cathy,” I explained.

  “Who…Jenn?” he said, a puzzled look on his face. “What do you mean?”

  “Well the hair is different and she’s shorter, but I saw it right away.”

  He shot me a quick glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Len. Jenn doesn’t look like Cathy at all.”

  . . .

  I was dropped off just past Bloomdale Avenue, across from the Mountainview police station, at oh-eight-fifty-five, as McGee might put it. In the lot and adjacent streets, I could see traditional black and white police cruisers among different makes of cars.

  The building itself was a large, angular structure that rested on the corner of Bloomdale Avenue and Valley Road, with a curved tower that faced the larger street. It was built with a light tan brick, granite foundation, and impressive pillars lined up along the front facade.

  Carved into the stone over the main entrance was Mountainview Municipal Building, but a newer sign next to it read Mountainview Public Safety Building. This accommodated the fact that the municipal offices had moved to a new building years earlier.

  It appeared that the fire department was on the second floor with the police department dedicated to the entire larger first floor.

  I walked toward the front of the building which was one of the entrances to the police station. I was wearing a dark blue suit with a plain tie borrowed from Jon. It was big on me. We were the same height, but he had an extra twenty pounds or more. But I had worn my own good Harris tweed jacket the previous night, and I wanted to look more formal. My long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and I tried to look as intelligent and forensic as possible.

  Actually, it looked more like I was going to a funeral. I hoped it wasn’t mine.

  I was grateful there was only one step to the door, as going up steps are my biggest challenge, especially without a handrail. Going down is a lot better because I can jump steps if I’m in a hurry.

  McGee stepped out as I climbed the step and gave me another of his engulfing handshakes.

  “Morning, Doctor. Glad to see you made it.”

  “Couldn’t stay away. Where to?”

  “You wanted to see the crime scene? I can take you,” he said and stopped. “You need to look over the case folder? I left it at my desk.”

  He’s testing me… flashed in my mind.

  “No, thanks. I wouldn’t want to get too much information. It might interfere with my impressions.”

  He smiled. I’d passed the test.

  “Good, let’s go,” he said as we walked around the side of the building. We passed a pair of large bay doors that I assumed housed the fire engines and headed for one of the cars parked in the lot. I looked up and noticed a storage company next door to the police station.

  It was a much taller edifice, constructed from red brick, and it looked as if it was built at the turn of the century. As I looked up, I noticed that the side wall was unbroken by windows, except on the very top floor. There, several new ones reflected the morning sun. There was a name emblazoned on the front of the structure, done in individual tiles to spell the word “LEACH.”

  We got into an unmarked car, a large white Chevrolet coupe with “City of Mountainview” on the license plates, and drove off. McGee turned on the street and aimed toward the more fashionable Upper Mountainview section, where trendy shops overlooked stately mansions.

  In a short period of time, we pulled into a small parking lot behind several small buildings that housed shops. One of the buildings was cordoned off with yellow tape bearing the words “Police Scene – Do Not Cross.”

  McGee reached into his pocket and took out two pairs of latex gloves, handing one pair to me.

&n
bsp; “Can you work with these on?” he asked.

  “Won’t affect me,” I said. “Is this to help maintain my forensic identity?”

  “The forensic team has been through the place over and over…but I wouldn’t want to accidentally contaminate evidence from either of us touching something.”

  “I understand.”

  We approached the building tentatively. It was obviously the site of a fire. The windows on the first floor were gone, and large scorch marks rose up the walls above the empty sills.

  “Was the whole building gutted by the fire?” I asked as we approached. I could see the blackened wood through the large openings but caught the glimmer of glass on the second and third-floor windows.

  “No, the fire was contained to the first floor. But it was pretty devastating.”

  “Arson?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” McGee snickered.

  “Fair enough,” I said and smiled back as we drew closer. “I can’t promise empirical evidence. What I do isn’t an exact science—yet. I don’t know what I’ll get, and at this point, I may not know what it means.”

  “Not what you were saying in your speech last night,” he pointed out.

  As we drew close to the building, I saw that a uniformed officer stood outside next to a heavy metal door.

  “I believe I said the processes are being set up to make it more exacting. Imagine a hundred years ago with the art of fingerprinting. Energy reading is about at that point. We are only beginning to understand the applications,” I said.

  “Good Morning, Detective,” the uniformed man said, and McGee silenced me with a quick hand gesture.

  “Good morning…Hastings, isn’t it?” McGee said.

  “Yes, sir. Taking another look, sir?”

  “Hopefully the last one. When will this building be secured?”

  “They said this afternoon, but it was supposed to be done yesterday.”

  “Then I got here just in time,” McGee said. He turned to me and added, “Shall we have a look, Doctor?”

  “Thank you, Detective,” I responded as I followed him in through the metal door, which Officer Hastings held for us.