We were about a mile out from Scranton when Karl said, "Getting late."

  I glanced at the dashboard clock. "Yeah, double shift is almost over. The chief won't pay for triple overtime, even if I had any energy left to do it. Which I don't."

  "Yeah, I guess what-his-name, Jamieson Longworth's 'pad' will have to wait until tomorrow night." Karl scratched his chin. "Unless he has his pet wizard drop a boulder on us while we're asleep."

  "If he was able to do that, he'd have done it by now."

  "You hope."

  "Yeah. I hope. But if you think about it, he probably hasn't–"

  The police radio crackled into life. "Car 23, car 23, this is Dispatch. Do you copy? Over."

  Whoever's riding shotgun handles the radio, so Karl reached out, snapped off WARM 590 AM, and picked up the mike.

  "This is 23," he said. "Copy just fine. Over."

  "That isn't Sergeant Markowski, is it? I'd know his voice. Over."

  "No, this is Renfer, but Markowski can hear you. He's driving. What's up? Over."

  "I've got a phone call just come in for Sergeant Markowski. The lady says it's urgent. Do you want me to patch it through to your vehicle? Over."

  Turning my head a little, I could see Karl looking at me. "Ask if she's got a name," I said, "or knows what it's about."

  "Did the caller ID herself?" Karl asked. "Over."

  "Affirmative. Says her name is Joanne Gilbert."

  "Doesn't ring a bell," I told Karl. "Have her leave a number, and I'll–"

  The radio dispatcher spoke again. "Caller says she's Rachel Proctor's sister."

  I checked the mirror, then put my foot on the brake and began easing us over to the shoulder of the road and a complete stop as I said to Karl, "Tell them to put her through."

"Hello? Hello?"

  "This is Detective Sergeant Markowski speaking."

  "Oh. Uh, hi. My name is Joanne Gilbert. Rachel Proctor, who I guess works with you, is my sister."

  Her voice did resemble Rachel's. Joanne Gilbert sounded like someone who was trying very hard to stay calm.

  "Gilbert would be your married name, then," I said.

  "That's right. I live in Warwick, Rhode Island, but I've got a... message... for you from Rachel."

  "Is she there with you now?" My fingers were suddenly tight around the microphone. "Because I really need to–"

  "No, sir. I haven't seen Rachel in a couple of years. We were going to get together at a big family thing last Christmas, but then one of my kids got sick... you know how it is."

  "Yeah, I guess I do. So, how did Rachel get in touch – email, phone call, what?"

  Silence. I let it go on for a little bit, then said, "Mrs. Gilbert? You still there?"

  "Yes, I'm here. It's just that this is a little... what happened was, Rachel got in touch by making me write the message down with my own hand."

  This time the silence was on my end. Joanne Gilbert didn't let it last long. "Detective, if you work with Rachel, I guess you must know something about witchcraft."

  "More than I ever wanted to," I muttered.

  "Excuse me? What?"

  "Sorry, Mrs. Gilbert. I got distracted for a second. Yes, I'm pretty familiar with witchcraft."

  "Then you know that the basic Talent is genetic. You're either born with it, or you're not."

  "Yeah, I'm aware of that."

  "But the Talent itself is practically useless," she said, "unless you get training in how to use it."

  "Right."

  "Rachel made the decision to develop her Talent. I didn't. I wanted a normal life. But we've both got it. The Talent, I mean."

  "And all this has something to so with the message you got from Rachel." I was in no mood to listen to lengthy explanations about stuff I already knew.

  "It has everything to do with it, Detective. Look, when we were kids, Rachel and I used to play around with our ability. Nothing serious, just for our own amusement. One of the things we could do, anytime we wanted, was what they call automatic writing. We didn't even know it had a name."

  "One person writes what the other one is writing, even though they can't see each other."

  "Exactly. I gather it's a form of clairvoyance."

  "So, this is how you got Rachel's message, through automatic writing?"

  "I was sound asleep. What is it now, almost three? This was like twenty minutes ago. Rachel showed up in my dream, which isn't all that unusual. But all I could see was her face, and she was looking right at me. Wake up, Jo-Jo, she said, very seriously. Wake up and get a pen and paper. She kept saying it over and over, and finally I did wake up."

  "I guess 'Jo-Jo' is some kind of pet name?" I asked.

  "It's what our family called me when we were kids. So, I got out of bed, put my glasses on, and stumbled downstairs. There were some pens in the kitchen, and a pad of notepaper. I got them, and sat down at the kitchen table. As soon as the tip of the pen touched the paper, my hand started moving – writing – of its own accord."

  "Do you and Rachel communicate this way often?"

  "Not since I was twelve, or thereabouts."

  "So, what did you write down?"

  "I'll read it word-for-word." I could hear paper rustling, then she said: "Urgent you call Det. Stan Markowski, Scranton P D 717-655-0913. Tell him: Stan, I didn't hurt those poor cops. Kulick did. I was his instrument. He's very strong. I can only regain control like this for brief periods. You must stop him. We're hiding...

  "And that's all of it," Joanne Gilbert told me. "As soon as I wrote hiding, the ink line was yanked away, right off the edge of the paper. I waited a little while, to see if she was going to come back, but she didn't. So I figured I'd better get moving and do what she asked me to. Rachel doesn't use words like urgent very often."