Dad jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to head back to the office and see what I can dig up on this Randall Williams guy.”
I nod. “Mitchell and I will head to the church and see what we can find out there.” Randall works the night shift, and we’ll stay at the church until then if necessary.
“Good luck. And stay in touch if you find anything.” Dad gives a wave as he heads to his BMW.
“Same goes for you.” I open the car door and get in.
Mitchell’s phone rings, and his brow furrows at the unfamiliar number on the screen. I nod for him to answer it. With four open cases, the call could be about any one of the women we’re searching for. Any one of their bodies could have been discovered.
Mitchell answers the phone on speaker so I can hear. “Detective Brennan.”
“Detective, this is Pastor Evans.”
Mitchell and I share a look.
“What can I do for you, Pastor?”
“Lester didn’t show up for work today. No one has seen him.”
His voice is riddled with emotions, pain being the most dominant. His church is his family. He cares about every one of these people, and the loss of so many of them is taking a definite toll on him.
“We’re on our way there now, Pastor,” Mitchell says.
“Thank you, Detective. I appreciate you giving my church and its members your immediate attention like this.”
He may not be so happy about the attention the church is going to get soon. It’s clear the only way we’re going to solve this case is if I publicly reveal what I can do and read just about everyone and everything in that place. I can’t imagine this ending well.
Mitchell disconnects the call and puts the light back on top of his Explorer.
The entire ride to the church, my vision of Lester plays in my mind. It takes me a while, but by the time we reach the church parking lot, I’m gripping my seat belt. “Oh my God!”
“Not the place to use the Lord’s name in vain, Piper,” Mitchell says as he parks the car.
“My vision. I was wrong. Lester wasn’t asleep.”
“Is he dead?”
I unclick my seat belt. “No. He was unconscious.”
“So the kidnapper knocked him out.”
“Just like he knocked out Carmen in the park.”
“Are you sensing chloroform? Did you smell it in your vision of Lester?”
I shake my head. “No, but he was already unconscious, so I wouldn’t have smelled it.”
Mitchell drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Time to play a little game?”
I didn’t think I’d be up to using my abilities at all for the rest of the day, but thanks to Mitchell, I feel fine. I nod but hold one finger up in the air as I clear my mind. I lean my head back against the headrest, and once I’m ready, I lower my finger.
“What’s your least favorite animal?”
“Snake.”
“What book are you reading?”
“Murder, Murder Everywhere.”
“What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Why is the kidnapper using chloroform on the victims?”
“Because he needs to bury them before they wake up.”
“Where is he burying them?”
I can’t answer Mitchell’s question because my last response has me so shaken up it jostles me out of my meditative state. I turn my head to look at him, not sure how he was able to keep up his line of questioning after I dropped that crucial piece of information. “The killer is burying his victims. That’s why no one has discovered any of the bodies.”
“But where is he burying them?”
“It could be anywhere. His backyard.” That wouldn’t be a first for a case I’ve worked on.
“Are you saying that because you think its right?”
“No. I’m guessing now.” I tap the side of my head. “Things are cloudy up here again.”
Mitchell finally undoes his seat belt. “Let’s get inside and talk to Pastor Evans. Maybe he can help us find Lester and Randall.”
We pass a group of kids as we head inside. It looks like there’s a church preschool class going on and it’s recess or something. Luckily for them, the playground area isn’t near the cemetery.
The door to Pastor Evans’s office is open, which is unusual. Mitchell knocks on the open door anyway.
Pastor Evans looks up at us and rubs the front of his face with one palm. “Please come in.”
We step inside and sit down.
“Pastor, I believe Lester is already in danger. The kidnapper is using chloroform to knock out his victims and...” How do I say this to a clearly distraught minister?
“He’s burying them,” Mitchell finishes for me.
Pastor Evans narrows his eyes. “You mean he’s kidnapping people, killing them, and then burying the bodies?”
“No.” I swallow hard. “He’s burying them alive.”
Pastor Evans’s face pales to the point where he looks like a corpse. “A-alive? So they’re...”
“Pastor, time is of the utmost importance right now. We need to find Lester.” We don’t know when Randall buried him, so we don’t know if he’s run out of air yet.
“But you don’t know where they’re being buried, do you?”
Yes! I do. How didn’t I see this sooner? “Lester worked with Randall,” I blurt out.
“They never actually worked the same shift, but they both worked in the...” Pastor Evans meets my gaze. “Dear Lord. Are you saying my church members are being buried alive”—his index finger jabs the top of his desk—“in this cemetery?”
And by one of Pastor Evans’s employees. If the church doesn’t close after all this, I’ll be shocked. “Pastor, do we have your permission to dig in the cemetery?”
He nods. “Yes. Please, go find them. Hurry. I’ll alert my crew to cease work immediately. But I must warn you the area with the sinkholes is extremely unstable.”
Mitchell and I stand up. “Thank you,” I say. I want to tell him we’ll find Lester in time. That no one else will die on church property, but I can’t. The death count isn’t over yet. I can feel it.
The minister picks up his phone as we exit the office. I’m sure he’s calling his workers to let them know we’ll be needing access to the cemetery and their equipment.
“Any chance you know how to use one of those machines?” I ask Mitchell as we step outside and the bucket loader comes into view.
“Can’t be that difficult, right? I mean, the graves must be freshly dug.”
“That’s true, but is Randall burying his victims in the old section with the sinkholes or in the new section? New graves would seem too obvious.”
“Thinking aloud again? Or are you onto something?” Mitchell stops short of the cemetery entrance.
“Not sure yet. What do you think?”
He looks out at the headstones. Several are overturned from the unsteady ground. “Old section. No one would notice it among this mess. He might even be hoping that the sinkholes swallow the bodies.”
A man in a reflective vest and hardhat walks over to us. “You must be the detectives Pastor Evans called me about.” He extends his gloved hand. “I’m Milton. I’m overseeing the project during the day shift.”
Working the day shift probably means he doesn’t know Randall.
Mitchell introduces us.
“I’ve told my crew to take the rest of the day off, so the place is all yours. Do you want me to stay and help out with the machinery, or have you operated one of these before?” He motions to the bucket loader.
Most of what I’m going to do involves sensing the victims. But having Milton around to do the actual digging isn’t a bad idea.
“Is it safe to drive that thing with the ground being compromised?” Mitchell asks.
“Depends where the grave is that we’re digging up. We have to do a lot by hand.” He motions to a pile of shovels near the cemetery gate.
Metal is one of the best objects for me to read because it tends to radiate energy. If Randall used one of those shovels, I might be able to tell where he dug the graves. “I think we can handle the digging. We’ll do it by hand.”
Mitchell cocks his head at me, and I slap my left hand down on his shoulder. “This one loves manual labor.” I smile at Milton, wanting him gone so I can read the shovels without an audience.
“Suit yourself. I’ll stick around inside with Pastor Evans in case you two change your mind and want some help.”
“Thank you. We appreciate that,” I say as he walks back toward the church.
“What are you thinking?” Mitchell asks.
I start for the shovels. “Randall must have used one of these, right?”
“True. But how well can you read the shovel if Randall wore gloves?”
“I can still do it.” I stop right before the pile of shovels. There are about eight of them. The odds that Randall used the same shovel each time are slim, so it’s possible he’s touched several of these. I reach for the first one and hold it in both hands. Closing my eyes, I allow the energy in the metal to flow to me.
Lester leans against the handle of the shovel, the bottom portion sunk into the ground.
Milton looks up from where he’s shoveling. “You can’t take another break, Lester. You just had one twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m exhausted. This is hard work.”
“Be happy it isn’t the middle of the summer. Or the dead of winter. The ground hasn’t had time to freeze yet.”
I drop the shovel, not needing to see more since the vision is about Lester and not Randall. “This would be easier if it were nighttime,” I say.
“Finding graves in the dark doesn’t seem easier.” Mitchell puts the shovel I discarded to the side. “Not to mention it’s much colder at night.”
“But the night crew worked with Randall. They’d be more helpful than Milton.”
“What I don’t understand is how Randall knows so much about all these church workers and members when he works the night shift. When does he even see them?”
“Call Pastor Evans. Find out if Randall is involved with the church in any other way. Also find out how long he’s been employed here.”
“So find out anything and everything I can.” He nods and removes his phone from inside his jacket.
I pick up the next shovel. Before I even start reading it, the anger radiating from the metal assaults my senses. The rage is so familiar I know Randall used this shovel. I close my eyes and brace myself for what I’ll see.
Damn sinners. All of you. You come here every Sunday, thinking that gives you a free pass. But He sees all. He knows what you do the other six days of the week. I know. I know none of you is worthy of this life. You belong in the ground, bugs feasting on your flesh.
“Piper!” Mitchell yells, ripping the shovel from my hand.
I’m about to yell at him for yanking me out of the vision but stop when I see the horrified look on his face. “What did I do?” I look around, trying to find any indication of what I did to freak him out so much.
“You swung this thing at my head.”
That’s why he grabbed it. “Oh my God.” I press my hand to my mouth. “Mitchell, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I was doing it.”
“I know.” He tosses the shovel aside.
“What are you doing? I have to read that again.” I start for it, but he grabs my arm.
“You’re not touching that shovel. His rage is consuming you.”
I’ve seen and felt murderers in visions before, but this guy... He’s completely unhinged. I can’t let him control me. I almost hit Mitchell. What if he hadn’t been paying that close attention to me in the vision and the shovel actually connected with his head?
“Piper, breathe.” Mitchell looks deep into my eyes, his hands cupping both sides of my face. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”
I don’t know how he knows what I’m so upset about. I’ve never had anyone know me as well as he does. It’s a little unnerving but also comforting at the same time.
“I have to find these people without injuring anyone in the process.”
Mitchell lets go of me and picks up the shovel he tossed aside. He stares at it before meeting my gaze again. “Can you use this to locate the victims without having another vision?”
“You mean use it like a metal detector except I’d be sensing similar energy instead?” That just might be crazy enough to work. I hold out my left hand. “I can try.”
When he sees which hand it is, he willingly relinquishes the shovel. “Is there any way I can ground you here so you don’t slip into a vision?”
I’ve never tried anything like that before, so I’m not sure it’s possible. “I don’t know. My plan is to sort of keep the shovel in my left hand and just hover my right hand near it so I can get a good read on the energy. Then we walk around until I feel the same energy coming from somewhere else.”
Mitchell narrows his eyes in thought. “What if...?” He walks to my right side, his gaze trained on the hand I need to read objects. “Sorry,” he says, “I know you’re going to hate this, but it’s all I can think of.” He laces his fingers through mine.
I can’t remember the last time someone held my hand, and I resist the burning sensation of tears behind my eyes. This isn’t the time to sulk about my lack of human contact thanks to this ability.
“Try not to read me, okay?” he says, bumping his shoulder into mine.
“Why? Are you having inappropriate thoughts again?”
“When am I not?” he jokes.
I smile, and he takes a step in the direction of the first grave. “Thanks,” I say. “For trying to help me through this.”
“We’re partners. It’s what we do.”
“I’m sorry I keep pushing you away every time we seem to be making progress as friends. I’m sort of conditioned to do that.”
“I assumed as much.” He gently squeezes my hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Piper. You may not see it, despite your abilities, but you’re helping me just as much as I’m helping you. I think I understand why my mom allowed herself to get on the plane that day. I think she thought she had to die or something bad might happen to my brother and me.”
“I think so, too. I got the sense your mother was afraid of her abilities and even more afraid of defying them. I’m sorry.”
He stops walking. “I spent years thinking my mom chose to die rather than raise my brother and me. For the first time, I see she chose to die because she thought it was the only way she could protect us. I never would have come to that understanding and the peace it gives me if not for you.”
“Damn. When did we get so sappy?”
“You don’t always have to resort to jokes, Piper.”
Yes, I do because I don’t like the way he’s looking at me or the emotions I’m sensing from him despite trying not to read him. He’s confusing his gratitude for feelings for me, and I can’t let that happen.
“You know that’s who I am. I can’t change, Mitchell. Just like I can’t help having these abilities or getting myself involved in cases like this. Speaking of...” I gesture to some overturned headstones off to our left. “I think we need to head in that direction.” I don’t actually sense anything. I just need him to focus on the case again.
Mitchell doesn’t say another word. He might not be psychic, but he’s clearly picked up on how uncomfortable he was making me.
We walk around as carefully as possible, trying to avoid sinkholes, which makes sensing energy nearly impossible. I’m not sure how the workers are moving these graves without tumbling into them. As if the ground can hear my thoughts, my foot sinks beneath the dirt and the earth swallows me.