Adam wrenched the steering wheel sharply to the left, sliding across two lanes of traffic and into a vacant parking bay. He took it too fast and at a crazy angle, his tyres buffeting the kerb and throwing him forward in his seat. All around he could hear car horns blaring, angry motorists signalling their displeasure, but he didn’t care. His attention was riveted to the voice on the radio.
‘… just before seven a.m. this morning. According to a source close to the investigation …’
Adam turned the volume up, his hand shaking slightly as he did so.
‘… the body had been extensively mutilated and the victim’s throat cut. Jacob Jones, an Illinois state’s attorney, was murdered in similar fashion less than a week ago and questions are now being asked of the investigation run by the CPD’s Bureau of Detectives …’
The words washed over him, but Adam struggled to process them. When he had parted with Kassie last night, nothing had been amiss, there had been no sign that a crime had taken place. It was just possible, of course, that the two crimes were not connected, but even that faint hope was now extinguished by the sombre newscaster.
‘We’ve had no official identification as yet, but we’re hearing that the victim is female, in her late twenties and from the West Town area. We believe that she was known to the authorities because of her work in addiction therapy and has been a resident of Chicago for some time …’
The bulletin continued, the newscaster going as far as she dared without actually naming the victim. But Adam knew exactly who she was talking about. Rochelle Stevens was dead, just as Kassie had predicted. How was that possible? Adam realized now that he had been clinging to the hope that Kassie would be proved wrong, that Rochelle would eventually surface, alive and well, forcing the teenager to confront the deeper reasons for her ‘visions’. But what now? What game was Kassie playing here? What did she know?
For the first time in his adult life, Adam felt adrift. Leaning forward, he turned the radio off, unable to listen to any more. A difficult, distressing day had just got a whole lot darker.