Page 30 of The Psychic

He headed out the door, back to the station.

Fresh in his mind was the memory of Veronica Quick from the day before.

Seeing her at the crime scene in that soaked poncho, her face half obscured by its hood, he hadn’t immediately recognized her.

She’d always been more myth than reality.

The girl who’d declared she was going to marry him, then developed a reputation for being a nutcase psychic, though her father was a lauded attorney with an eclectic practice, everything from venerated estate lawyers to down and dirty criminal defense ones.

Sloan didn’t really think Veronica had anything to do with her friend’s death, but she knew something.

So maybe she knew someone involved? It wouldn’t be the first time a person passed off information that they “heard” in an attempt to shield whoever “told” about the crime.

As he entered the squad room he saw that Chief Duncan was in his office.

The man had been gone of late, hobnobbing with the mayor and her posse.

Well, go ahead, he thought. I’ve got one foot here and the other with the sheriff’s department.

Abel Townsend, who’d changed from the massive screwup he’d been in high school, to become a more than capable lawman, a pretty damn good sheriff, was waiting for him to return.

But Sloan knew morale was down at the River Glen P.D.

ever since the chief had sided with the wealthy rather than the majority of the city’s citizens.

He also knew that putting Detective Haynes on administrative leave for basically solving the case was ass-backwards in every way.

So Sloan was a placeholder for Haynes and though he would’ve liked a full-time position, he was more interested in restoring faith and belief in the system.

Like everyone else here, he was keeping his mouth shut on the issue around the station.

Hopefully Haynes would be back at his desk soon, and Verbena’s mother’s health would improve, though he sensed that wasn’t likely.

In the meantime the new guy himself was going to do his damnedest to keep the investigative train on track and on time.

Might not work, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

He hadn’t alerted the chief about Melissa McNulty’s body being discovered yet.

Hadn’t seen the chief and, as Quick had pointed out, it wasn’t River Glen P.D.

’s jurisdiction. The crime would be investigated at the county level and Sloan would just be aiding them as he could.

Still, he owed the chief an explanation of where he’d been all day, even though nobody was asking.

With that in mind, he started toward the chief’s office, but Duncan—or Humph, as he was called around the station—was already around his desk and heading for his office door, meeting Sloan before he could enter. “I’ve got a meeting,” Humph said. “Can it wait?”

“Just wanted you to know I’m helping Sheriff Townsend on a possible murder case.”

“Abel Townsend. Friend of yours?”

“Classmate,” he said with a nod. He didn’t want to overplay the friend bit with the chief.

“You can tell me about it later.” And he was gone.

That done, Sloan was free to follow whatever came next. In River Glen, things had been quiet, pretty much since the moment he’d taken over a desk. He thought about it. Had Clint Mercer’s number.

He picked up his cell and put through a call to Mercer.

Clint worked in sales for a regional furnace manufacturing company.

Sloan waited, but was told by voice mail that Clint was unavailable.

He left a message, then decided to look up Brandy Mercer’s number.

He’d called Clint to clear the way for Sloan to connect with his sister, as he’d picked up that Brandy wasn’t wild about being interviewed. But then neither had been Quick.

Briefly he considered calling Quick for Brandy’s number, but there was no need. He could find it himself through the department.

You just want to talk to her again.

He made a sound in his throat, scoffing at himself. As much shit as he’d endured from her saying she was going to marry him, by all his friends and acquaintances, Clint Mercer and Abel Townsend included, you’d think he would want to stay as far away as possible.

He thought back to Abel’s comments last night about her. They’d planned to meet for a few beers and Sloan had just come from the meeting with Quick in which she had even given him her psychic reveal about the “woman in the clearing.” Abel had nearly spit out his Bud.

“So, the rumor’s true? She thinks she’s a psychic?” He twirled his finger by his ear.

“She helped Elena Verbena on a case. She was accurate.” Sloan found himself defending her.

“You’re buyin’ this?”

Not really. “I’m willing to listen.”

“If you’re bored in that little podunk town where we used to live, in that little podunk police department, come on back,” Abel had said before taking a long draught of his beer.

“River Glen’s not that podunk. And your department’s about the only one in the state of Oregon that’s overstaffed. I’ll stick it out till Haynes comes back.”

“So what fable did she tell ya?” Abel had then asked, switching gears.

Sloan hadn’t wanted to reveal Quick’s declarations about the crime to Abel.

It felt disloyal to her, somehow. He’d therefore reluctantly explained about the unidentified woman in the clearing, how Quick had described her as missing, how she’d wanted some kind of action on the part of the police.

He could tell Townsend was ready to go full-on “she’s a crackpot” on Quick, and Sloan had been short with Townsend.

He didn’t want to make Veronica Quick the butt of Townsend’s jokes.

This morning when Abel called, all amused barbs were gone.

A neighbor had found the body, just as Quick had described it.

He and Sloan had then both gone to the site, neither saying what was on his mind.

Abel had commented on the raw flesh around the victim’s wrists and it was the tech on site who’d suggested dog’s teeth had made the wound.

Then Quick had shown up with Brandy Mercer.

Sloan’s first thought: What game is she playing?

His second: She knows more than she’s telling.

His third: She can’t really believe this shit, can she?

Well, now he knew the third was correct.

Maybe the second and first, too, for that matter.

But whatever the answer, he had his own teeth in this case and he was going to find out who killed that woman in the clearing no matter who, or what, got in his way.

Didn’t matter whether it was the sheriff’s department or River Glen P.D.

, he was going to insinuate himself into the investigation.

Luckily, Townsend was more than amenable.

He might have to do a dance with the R.G.

chief, but he was already invested, so he’d be dancing like he was aiming for the mirror ball.