Deadly Premonition, Sarah Spillman Police Procedurals: Book 9

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

“You gotta be kidding me, Sarah. We’re interviewing a psychic?” The skepticism dripped from Ernie’s voice.

I shrugged as I leaned back and put my hands on my desk. I was talking with my partners, Ernie Moore and Spats Youngfield about this oddball lead we had to investigate. Denver Police procedure: never ignore a lead, no matter how far-fetched. “That’s right. She called in and said she has to report something from a vision she had.”

“What vision?” Spats asked.

“In all my years on the force, I’ve never talked to a psychic,” Ernie said.

“And that’s a lot of years.” I grinned at him.

He threw a piece of crumbled-up paper at me. “Very funny.”

“I had a partner one time who talked to a psychic,” Spats said.

“Oh yeah, was that the same partner who came up with your nickname?” Ernie asked.

“Spats” – aka Roland Youngfield – is known to dress to the nines, and sometimes borders on a ’30s gangster-style look. Thus, the nickname from years ago. But it had stuck, and “Spats” he was to all of us. Today’s ensemble was a rust-colored suit with a cream-colored shirt and striped tie. Ernie, on the other hand, appears to be the stereotypical slob detective with his worn brown suit and a tie that has long since gone out of style. But both are sharp detectives, and I wouldn’t want to work with anybody else.

Spats ran a thumb along the lapel of his jacket. “As a matter of fact, it was. But that, as we say, is immaterial. Anyway, a guy came into the station and said that he’d had a premonition of a woman being murdered. The details were so vague, it could’ve been anyone.” He exhaled loudly. “My partner looked into the psychic’s claims, checked around, but it didn’t go anywhere. And no body that fit the very ambiguous description of the woman was ever found. That’s about all my partner said.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t expect much from this woman, but we can’t dismiss it. There’s always the possibility that she could have committed a murder, and she’s trying to throw us off.”

Ernie picked up his coffee, blew on it, then took a gulp. “That wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to throw off the police.”

Spats looked at me. “What’s the psychic’s name?”

I glanced at a note on my desk. “Dora Reading.”

Ernie arched an eyebrow. “Dora Reading? Is that her real name?”

I smiled. “As far as I can tell. I did some quick research on her, and she doesn’t have a record. She’s got a Facebook page that shows she works at a small metaphysical bookstore on Sheridan Boulevard. We can find out more about her when she gets here.” I glanced at a clock on the wall. “Which should be in about fifteen minutes.” I pointed at Ernie. “That’s why I want you with me. You’ve got a way with women; you keep them at ease. We’ll take her into an interview room so our conversation’s recorded, but I thought it would be a good idea to have someone else hear what she has to say.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Ernie jerked a thumb toward Spats. “But I think he’d be better at this.”

“Why?” Spats asked.

Ernie grinned. “Because I don’t want to.”

Spats tapped a paper on his desk. “You’re out of luck. I have to meet with the DA this morning.”

Ernie puffed out his chest. “I guess that’s okay. Sarah probably wants the best with her.”

“Well, true,” I said with a smile.

Spats laughed and just shook his head. “Oh man, it’s getting deep in here.”

“Actually, Spillman,” Ernie grew serious as he looked at me. “Maybe you should interview the psychic. I’m not sure I could keep a straight face trying to talk with her.”

“Okay, no problem, but I still want you there.” Ernie nodded agreement. I understood his hesitation. “I’m not sure what I think about psychics, either. I know there have been cases of psychics helping in unsolved crimes, but I’ve never worked with one personally.”

We chatted until my desk phone rang, the front desk sergeant announcing the arrival of Dora Reading. I instructed him to escort Ms. Reading to an interview room and hung up. I glanced at Ernie.

“Showtime,” I proclaimed.

Ernie stood up, and we headed for the door.

“Have fun,” Spats said.

“You’re just jealous,” Ernie called over his shoulder.

CHAPTER TWO

Spats’s laugh followed us as we headed down the hall to an interview room. A petite woman with long black hair waited, her hands laced together on a cheap metal table. She looked up nervously.

“Ms. Reading,” I said. “I’m Detective Sarah Spillman, and this is my partner, Ernie Moore.”

“I’m Dora,” she said.

If she was aware of video equipment in an upper corner of the room, she didn’t show it. Ernie and I sat down.

I smiled at her. “Dora, if it’s okay, we’re going to record this interview.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.” Her voice was soft and slow, as if she were considering each word before she spoke. I quickly appraised her. I knew from her background check that she was in her mid-fifties, but she didn’t look it, her porcelain skin without a wrinkle, her dark eyes bright. I caught a whiff of a floral fragrance, not overpowering, but enough to drown out the antiseptic odor of the sterile room. She spoke again. “I’m sure you don’t interview psychics every day.”

“That’s correct,” I said.

Ernie shifted his bulk in his chair and softened his expression. Dora glanced at him, then back at me. I raised my hands.

“Why don’t you tell us why you’re here?” I said.

She nodded. “I’m a psychic. Over the years, I’ve developed clairvoyant abilities. I had visions as a child, ones that no one believed. I’ve seen ghosts. Then I began to see visions of events that hadn’t happened yet. And believe it or not, those things in my premonitions happened, but I kept my clairvoyance to myself. Then I finally started telling people what I was experiencing. I gave advice, started doing psychic readings, taught classes on intuition. And the visions kept coming.

“I’ve had visions, premonitions, and intuitive sensing for a long time now, and I give advice to people by telling them what I see, feel, hear, or know about them. I’m sure not everyone believes in psychics and psychic phenomena, and I certainly understand that. But in this situation, I felt I needed to say something.”

I tipped my head. “What situation?”

She inhaled slowly. “Yesterday I saw a vision – a premonition of a future event. It was very disturbing, and I thought you should know.”

She didn’t seem to want to give the details, so I prodded her. “Tell me exactly what this premonition was, please.”

“I’ve never had such a clear vision.” Another dramatic intake of breath as she collected her thoughts. “Normally, I see things, but the details aren’t very specific. I might see a vision of someone going up stairs and opening a book, which later turns out to be a woman going into her attic to look at a photo album. I’ve been able to describe objects in a person’s house, even though I’ve never met the person before, let alone been in their home. But in this case, I very clearly saw a murder.” She gnawed at a fingernail in a very unladylike manner.

Even though I was skeptical about psychics, she had piqued my interest. She was obviously nervous talking about it. I glanced at Ernie. He gave a slight shrug, but remained silent.

“Tell me more,” I said to her.

She shifted in her chair, closed her eyes, and concentrated. “I saw a building, vague at first, and then I realized it was an old warehouse, old and decrepit, windows broken out, rusted doors, peeling paint. Blue and yellow in the windows. Long since abandoned.” She opened her eyes. “It reminded me of some of those abandoned warehouses on Fortieth Street, just east of I-25, near the railroad tracks. North of downtown. Are you familiar with them?” Ernie and I nodded, and she went on. “I drive by there once in a while. Anyway, in the vision, I saw blue and yellow in a window.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, or if she was just telling us an elaborate tale.

“I don’t know. After I saw the warehouse, the vision suddenly changed to inside the warehouse. I saw a large room, a few rickety tables, some broken chairs. Dust and dirt were everywhere, and there were faded red walls. Papers blew in a breeze. And … it’s there, all around. I sensed death.”

She shuddered.

I waited a moment, then repeated, “Death?” I hoped I didn’t convey the skepticism I felt.

“Not just death. Death is part of life, part of the process. My visions of death usually let me know someone had passed, or that the person in my vision needs to be careful. Sometimes the death can be symbolic, an end to a loveless marriage or a relationship or a hated job.” Her breath hitched in her throat, and the room was still. She placed a hand to her forehead. “But this vision was particularly disturbing. I could almost smell something fetid. A man was there. He wore khakis, and he was obviously scared.” She shut her eyes again. “Then the vision broadened, and I sensed another figure in the room. I couldn’t see him as well, just a dark aura about him. He was evil. I’ve never sensed something that clearly before; a vision so focused.” Her eyes flew open. “They were arguing. The man in the khakis seemed to know something was about to happen and his mouth opened. Then I clearly saw a gun. The figure raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The man in the khakis fell back!” She suddenly put a hand to her chest. “At that moment in the vision, a sharp pain suddenly bashed me in the chest. I’ve never felt something like that before, something so visceral.” She stared at us. “Death had won.”

She lapsed into silence. I glanced at Ernie again. His eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t sure what to think of Dora or her vision. I wasn’t sure about it, either, but I had a lot of questions.

“Could you describe this fearful man in more detail?” I began.

“He was dressed nicely, khakis and a blue shirt. He seemed nicely groomed. I couldn’t get a sense of what he was doing, but he’s afraid. I could feel his heart pounding.” She ran a hand over her face and stared at the wall. “I know that sounds silly, but it’s true. I felt his heartbeat. I could see the fear on his face. Why would someone who’s dressed like that be in an old warehouse?”

I ignored that and fired off questions of my own. “This … vision … was that specific?” She nodded, and I went on. “How old was this man? What color was his hair? Was it long or short?”

“Um … his hair was short, and brown,” she replied. “I think. I’m not sure how old he was … just a man.”

I had a notepad, and I jotted that down. Then I looked up at her. “How did you know this man in khakis was actually shot?”

She put a hand to her chest. “I felt the impact.” She locked eyes with me. “That’s never happened to me before. Like I said, I might feel things, have an instinct about something, but I’ve never had such a visceral feeling in a vision before.”

I wasn’t sure what to think of that. “You saw blood on the victim?”

She shook her head. “No. I only saw that he fell backward.”

“You didn’t see any blood at all?”

“No.”

“Did you recognize the victim?”

“I didn’t. I have no idea who he was.”

“You’re sure the shooter was a man?”

“Well, I guess I’m not sure.” She faltered. “I assume it was a man, but I suppose it could’ve been a woman. It was more a figure with a gun. There was evil all around him.”

“Do you know what kind of gun?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much about weapons.”

I smiled. “That’s okay. What happened after the victim was shot?”

She bit her lower lip. “The vision ended. I don’t know anything else.”

I made note of that. “You don’t know what happened to either person in the warehouse?”

“No. I felt the pain in my chest and the vision died.”

Interesting choice of words, I thought but didn’t say. “Did your vision give you an idea of motive?”

“I can’t say.”

“You can’t say or you don’t know?”

She blushed. “I don’t know.”

“Can you describe the warehouse in more detail? Are you sure it was a warehouse?”

She nodded. “It was definitely a warehouse, probably a couple of stories high, with a brick exterior and broken windows. Just like abandoned warehouses you’d see in pictures. And inside the room, the walls were red.”

I made more notes, not sure if I believed any of what she was telling us. “Does the red color mean anything?”

She gave that some thought. “I don’t know.”

I kept my tone neutral. “I’m wondering if the red was actually on the walls, or if it’s symbolic of something … like death.”

For the first time, her calm demeanor cracked with a hint of exasperation. “Detective, I wasn’t trying to interpret the vision, I am only telling you what I saw, what was there in the warehouse.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But if you were interpreting the vision, would the red mean anything?”

“I don’t know.”

“And this warehouse may be on Fortieth Street?”

“The vision didn’t give me an address.” She realized her clipped tone, and she softened. “I sensed the warehouse was in that general area near the railroad tracks near Fortieth Street.”

“Here?” I pointed with my pen at the table. “In Denver?”

“That’s my sense.”

“Based on what?”

She eyed me. “My intuition.”

“Did you visit the warehouse?”

“No.” A little headshake.

I wasn’t quite sure she was telling us everything. I waited, and she stared at me. “Do you think this vision took place now, not in the past?” I went on.

She ran a finger along the table as she thought. “I assume present day. The man’s clothes appeared to be modern.” She pursed her lips. “That’s my hunch.”

“A … hunch.” I thought for a moment. “Do you feel like you’re in any danger because of this vision?”

She shook her head. “I’m not worried for myself, just for that man. If you could figure out who he is, you might prevent …” She left the rest unsaid.

I didn’t want to tell her that her details were vague enough that I had little hope of finding who the potential victim would be – even if I believed her vision – which I wasn’t sure I did. I looked at Ernie to see if he had any questions. He shook his head. I turned back to Dora.

“Just out of curiosity, is Dora Reading your real name?”

Her chin tipped up. “It is. I know it’s funny that a woman whose last name is Reading does psychic readings, but it’s true.”

“That is interesting,” I murmured. “Is there anything else that you’d like to tell us?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure you probably think I’m a kook, but the vision was real. I hope nothing happens to that man.” Her face pinched. “I wish I knew more.”

I took down her contact information. “We appreciate your telling us about this,” I said as Ernie and I stood up. “We’ll certainly look into it, and if you think of anything else you might’ve missed telling us, feel free to call.” I handed her my business card.

Dora got up as well. She was smaller than I realized, barely over five feet. She ran her hands up and down her arms.

“I hope I never have a vision like that again, Detectives. Trust me, it’s not something you want to experience.”

I didn’t say anything as I opened the door. Ernie headed back upstairs, and I led her back to the lobby. I thanked her for her time, then joined Ernie at our desks. He slowly shook his head as I sat down.

“Do you believe her?” he asked.

“She’s certain what she believes.” I stared at my notes for a moment before I looked at him. “I’m not sure what to think. Does she know about a murder that’s already occurred, or is she a murderer who’s trying to throw us off? Or did she really have a premonition of a future murder?”

He leaned forward and started typing. “I’m checking the databases, and I’m not seeing any reports of a murder at a warehouse.”

“Let me Google that.” I got on my laptop as well, and both of us spent a few minutes researching. Then we looked at each other.

“I got nothing,” he said.

I shrugged. “Me either. I don’t see any reports of anyone being shot and killed last night, and recent shootings were not at a warehouse. Not in Denver, anyway.”

He ran a hand over his face. “And if it occurred elsewhere, well … I don’t know how we’d find out.”

“Right.” I gazed out the window. It was a beautiful late-June day, and we’d recently wrapped up a complicated and exhausting investigation of a murdered woman who had ties to a twenty-year-old cold case. We’d done good work on that, but for now, our docket was clear. I held up a hand. “There’s nothing more pressing right now, so how about we do a little driving around some of the warehouses near Fortieth and look around. The last thing I want is for us to dismiss this woman, then find out there was a murder as she described, and we hadn’t followed up on her premonition.”

“That could be cause for a demotion,” he said. He picked up his keys. “I’ll drive.”

 

These are clean mysteries with no gore, bad language, or sex. Each book is a complete mystery, but as each book builds on the prior stories, you will enjoy them best if read in order. In this episode, a local psychic has a jarring premonition of murder and tells homicide about it. The story gets very complicated with mergers, acquisitions, international finance, and some significant risk. It is a fascinating mystery with too many moving pieces. I have been binge-reading the series and see no reason to stop, now! ~Reader review