"It can be challenging," Quentin admitted.
"Yes, I imagine it can. And you're letting me in on it because I am-presumably-psychic as well?"
"We wanted all our cards on the table," Kendra said. "In our experience, psychics outside our unit become much more comfortable working with us once they understand that we understand what they've been going through."
Maggie glanced at John, who was expressionless, then lifted a brow at Kendra. "And do you understand?"
"Frankly, you're a bit outside even our experience, Maggie. We have an empath in the unit, but he's nothing like as strong as you seem to be."
"Or as… uniquely focused," Quentin added. "Is it only violent experiences you pick up on?"
Unlike the two of them, Maggie did hesitate before replying, but finally shrugged and said, "That's strongest, maybe because that's where I've had to concentrate all these years. Places where violent events have happened, people who've experienced trauma and violence. I can usually sense other emotions when I try, but more dimly, and they don't… affect me… the way violence and pain do."
Matter-of-fact but not without sympathy, Quentin said, "Not only is there actual pain and all the traumatic emotions, but it drains you just the way it would if the event had actually happened to you."
She nodded. "Sometimes I just get a little tired, but other times I seem to need to sleep ten or twelve hours before I feel normal again."
"And it's all the senses, isn't it? You feel what they did, see what they did, smell what they did-everything."
Again, Maggie nodded, very conscious now of John's silent attention. He'd told her that Andy had confirmed what she had picked up at the Mitchell house the previous day, but he hadn't said whether the confirmation made any difference to him. And in the presence of the two agents she was guarding herself, so she had no idea what he was feeling.
Kendra said, "It's the same when you bond with victims? When they relive what happened to them?"
"More or less. Sometimes their own minds have… dulled the sharp edges of the pain, and it isn't so intense. Other times their emotions nearly overwhelm me, and I can barely concentrate to ask them questions or listen to their answers." She drew a breath. "Not a lot of fun."
Deliberately, Quentin asked, "So why do you do it? Why do you put yourself through that kind of ordeal, Maggie?"
"Why do you?" she challenged.
He smiled faintly. "My abilities don't hurt me, generally speaking. I don't suffer. But you do. So why do you keep opening yourself up to that kind of suffering?"
Before Maggie could even begin to answer, John's cell phone rang, and she felt his gaze on her as she muttered not quite under her breath, "Saved by the bell."
John said hello, then listened for a moment. His face hardly changed expression, but something in his voice warned them when he said, "All right. We're on our way."
It was Quentin who asked, "What's happened?" "Andy wants us at the station now." John kept his gaze on Maggie. "Thomas Mitchell just received what appears to be a ransom note from the man who kidnapped his wife."
CHAPTER TEN
Andy greeted them at his desk but led the way immediately to the conference room, where two more detectives rose to meet them. Or, rather, to meet John; Maggie obviously knew both and murmured hello to Jennifer Seaton and Scott Cowan and then took a seat at the long table while they were being introduced to John.
He wasn't so preoccupied by meeting new people that he didn't notice Maggie had isolated herself, choosing a chair between two others that each held large file boxes. When the introductions were over and everybody sat down, he deliberately moved one of the file boxes and sat beside Maggie.
She sent him a quick glance but otherwise kept her gaze fixed on the blank bulletin board placed several feet away from the other side of the table. He didn't have a clue what she was thinking, but he knew stress when he saw it and he saw it in Maggie. From the moment she'd shown up at the hotel this morning, he'd been absolutely certain that something else had happened, something that had shaken her badly.
Was this it? Had Maggie realized somehow that she'd been wrong in saying Samantha Mitchell was in the hands of the Blindfold Rapist? Or was it something else?
"I have three more detectives on the case full-time," Andy told them, "but right now they're out trying to find out if this note is legit. Since the rest of us are here, I thought now would be the time to go over a few things." He pushed the plastic-bagged piece of paper toward John. "I want to know what you two think about this."
The note was block-printed on what looked like an ordinary sheet of notepaper torn from a pad, and the message was chillingly simple.
IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR WIFE AGAIN IT'LL COST YOU 100K
There were three smears on the paper-two that looked like black fingerprint powder, and one that looked like blood.
"Prints?" John asked.
"Yeah, couple of real clear ones. One of my guys was with Mitchell when he got the note, so it was handled properly. The prints likely belong to whoever sent it. We're checking the state and federal fingerprint databases. So far, no matches, but we just got started looking."
John slid the note over to Maggie. "Is he stupid, or just an amateur?"
"Well, that's part of the problem we're having with this whole kidnap thing. Mitchell, he's all ready to pay the so-called ransom, but we've got quite a few questions. I'm sure you can guess what they are."
"Why a kidnapper would have asked for such a ridiculously small sum from somebody like Mitchell," John said. "Why he would carelessly put his own fingerprints on the note. How somebody that seemingly incompetent could have beaten a first-class security system in order to snatch Samantha Mitchell out of her own house, leaving virtually no evidence behind. How am I doing?"
"Full marks," Andy said. "That's pretty much what we thought."
Maggie pushed the bag away from her and murmured, "But?"
Andy nodded. "But. That is blood on the note, and the type matches Samantha Mitchell's. We can try for a DNA match, but that'll take weeks. My hunch is the situation's going to get resolved long before we'd get the results."
"How was the note delivered?" John asked.
"Just stuck in his mailbox on top of the regular mail. Nobody saw anyone near the box except for the usual mail carrier, and she swears she didn't put it there. I'm inclined to believe her, especially since she's been at her job for fifteen years without so much as an unauthorized sick day."
John thought about that. "Nobody saw anyone… I assume we're talking about the press? Don't they still have the house staked out?"
"Yeah. And tried to interview my guys instead of answering the questions, damn them. But the bottom line is, they didn't see anything unusual. Not especially surprising. With a bunch of them milling around near the end of the driveway-and the mailbox-it wouldn't have been too hard for somebody with a camera around his neck to wander past the box and pause for a half a minute without being noticed."
Maggie stirred slightly. "Andy, do you believe Samantha Mitchell was kidnapped and is being held for ransom?"
"Can't say that I do. Everything we know about her disappearance matches the M.O. of our guy, and if I'm certain of anything, it's that he doesn't give a flying fuck about money."
Jennifer said, "Scott and I agree with Andy. We think the rapist snatched her, and he's not going to get all helpful and leave us his fingerprints at this late date. So the question is, who sent the note?"
"Somebody who knows the rapist?" John suggested. "Or, hard as it is to believe, somebody who read all the news reports and decided to try to cash in on a disappearance?"
Andy grimaced. "That last is the most likely, we think. Helluva world we live in."
"What about the blood?" John asked.
Scott shrugged. "The guy could have pricked his own finger and just got lucky with the blood type. I mean, except for the way he left the note without being seen, he isn't coming across as too bright, is he?"