"Don't expect me to apologize," Metcalf told her.
"Like you, I don't believe in impossible things."
Lindsay decided it was past time to intercede. "Okay, Ms. Burke-"
"Samantha. Or Sam." She shrugged.
"Samantha, then. I'm Lindsay." It wouldn't hurt, she thought, to try to establish a less combative relationship; it was just a pity Wyatt couldn't see that. "Tell us something we don't know about Mitch Callahan's kidnapping and murder. Something that might help us catch the person responsible."
"I wish I could."
The sheriff said, "But your visions don't work that way. Damned convenient."
"Not at all convenient," she retorted.
"Then how am I supposed to believe-"
Lindsay got up and headed for the door. "Sheriff, can I talk to you outside for a minute, please? Excuse us, everyone."
There really wasn't much Metcalf could do but follow her, scowling, from the room.
Jaylene said, "Well, that was fun."
Samantha turned her head and stared at Lucas. "Thank you so much for your support," she said.
Lindsay didn't exactly drag her boss into his office, but she got him there quickly and shut the door behind them. "What the hell's wrong with you?" she demanded.
"Hey, watch the tone," he snapped right back. "We're in the office, not at your place or mine, and I damned well outrank you."
"Then fire my ass if you want to, but stop acting like an idiot," she told him. "Wyatt, she's not involved. You know that, and I know that. We wasted a hell of a lot of time yesterday trying to break her alibi, and we couldn't do it."
"That doesn't mean-"
"What? That she isn't involved?" Lindsay counted off facts on her fingers. "She didn't know Mitch Callahan. She's been in Golden barely two weeks. She has absolutely no criminal record. There is no trace anywhere around Samantha Burke or that carnival of the ransom money. Absolutely no forensic evidence ties her to the place where Callahan was grabbed or to his body and where it was dumped. And lastly, in case you hadn't noticed, she's not exactly a bodybuilder, and Callahan was a martial-arts expert twice her size. We didn't find a sign of a gun or other weapon in her possession, remember?"
"She did not see the future," he said grimly.
"I don't know what she saw. But I do know she didn't kidnap or murder Mitch Callahan."
"You can't know that, Lindsay."
"Yeah, Wyatt, I can know that. Fifteen years as a police officer tells me that. And nearly twenty years as a cop would be telling you the same goddamned thing if you'd just get past this rampant hatred of anybody you perceive as a con artist and look at the facts."
The sheriff stared at her.
Lindsay calmed down, but her voice was still flat and certain when she went on. "It'd be easier and a lot less painful to blame something like this on an outsider, and she's certainly that. She's an easy target, Wyatt. But, just for the sake of argument, what if you're wrong? What if she had nothing to do with it?"
"She's a viable suspect."
"No, she isn't. Maybe she was Saturday or yesterday, but we know now she couldn't have done it. She flat-out couldn't have. Yet you still had her brought in to answer more questions. And how many reporters are lounging around keeping an eye on the comings and goings here at the station? How many saw her brought in?"
His jaw tightened even more. "A few."
"Uh-huh. And just what do you think the anxious and worried people of Golden are going to do when they read in the papers that an avowed fortune-teller from a little carnival just passing through town is under suspicion for the kidnapping and murder of a local man?"
Metcalf was beginning to look unhappy, and not just because Lindsay was telling him how he should be doing his job. He was unhappy because she had to tell him. "Shit."
Quiet now, Lindsay said, "She doesn't deserve what might happen to her because of this. All she did was try to warn us. We didn't believe her, and I doubt we could have stopped the kidnapping even if we had. But either way, she doesn't deserve to have a target painted on her back."
He struggled with himself for a moment, then said, "It's not possible to see the future."
"A hundred years ago, it wasn't possible to land on the moon. Things change."
"You're comparing apples and oranges. Landing on the moon was science. Physics, engineering. Touching something and seeing into the future is…"
"Today's new-age voodoo, yeah, maybe. And maybe tomorrow's science." Lindsay sighed. "Look, I'm not saying I believe she did what she says she did. I'm just saying that there's a hell of a lot more going on in this world than we understand-today. More than science understands today. And in the meantime, all our police science and procedure says that lady didn't have anything to do with the kidnapping, and common decency as well as due process says we let her off the hook unless and until that changes."
"Christ, I hate it when you're right."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "And I love it when you admit that. The thing is, you have to go back into that conference room with two FBI agents and one maybe-psychic and try to salvage the situation."
"There's nothing to salvage. I might have gone overboard, but-"
"Have I ever told you how pigheaded you are?"
"Yes. Look, I am not going to apologize to her."
Lindsay shrugged. "So don't. Just move on. Maybe she'll be the gracious one."
"You're pushing it," he warned her.
Lindsay turned toward the door, saying dryly, "Just trying to make sure you get reelected. I like sleeping with the boss."
"What did you expect me to do?" Lucas demanded of Samantha, his voice a bit tight.
"Oh, I don't know. Vouch for me? Confirm that I am, in fact, a genuine psychic, all tested and validated and everything? Maybe say that even the FBI has legitimized psychics, so the good sheriff might want to table his hostility and pay attention."
It was Jaylene who murmured, "We had pretty much decided not to go into detail about the unit or our abilities."
"Right. And of course that decision had nothing to do with me showing up."
"No, it didn't," Lucas said.
"Bullshit. There can't be any taint of carnivals or roadside fortune-tellers to sully your precious unit's serious reputation; you don't have to remind me of that."
"Even you have to admit Metcalf would have taken you a lot more seriously if he hadn't seen a picture of you in that wild gypsy outfit."
"I wasn't born independently wealthy, Luke; I have to make a living. Please excuse me for using the only skill I have in the only way available to me. At the time, I really didn't have a whole lot of options."
"And I don't have a lot now, dammit. We're investigating a series of fatal kidnappings, Samantha, and we do not have time to educate every cop we have to work with in the reality of psychic abilities. Sometimes the best we can do is get in, do our jobs, and move on with as little discussion as possible."
"You're good at that, as I recall. Moving on without discussion."
Whatever Lucas might have replied to that cutting comment was lost-at least for the moment-as the sheriff and his detective returned to the room.
"Any progress?" Lindsay asked cheerfully.
Jaylene murmured, "Not so you'd notice."