"Touched something like what?"

"Like… a door he'd just passed through. Something on the shelf of a store. A theater seat he'd been in the night before. Or I might have bumped against him in the grocery store. Our eyes might have met for a moment on the streets. But – "

Ben interrupted. "Eyes meeting? Something so… impersonal?"

Cassie's head turned slightly toward him, but her gaze remained on her hands. "It's… a question of connecting. I've never been able to – to read anyone without some kind of connection. It's almost always a physical touch, either of the person or something the person came into contact with recently. An object. A bit of clothing."

"But eyes meeting?" Ben repeated. "Two strangers on opposite street corners – it could be as brief and simple as that?"

"Ben, do you mind?" the sheriff said.

"It's an important point, Matt. If all she needed to make this connection was a glance – "

Sourly, the sheriff said, "I know goddamned well what it means, Ben. A town full of suspects. Assuming, of course, that I believe any of this bullshit. So far I haven't heard a good reason to."

"Cassie knew someone would be murdered," Ben said. "She told both of us a couple of days ago. She called me this morning to tell me it had happened – and where."

"Yeah, and you know what I think about that. Maybe she was able to do that because she'd been there. Maybe she knew the details because she killed Becky Smith."

Cassie lifted her gaze for the first time. "No. I didn't kill her. I didn't even know her." Then a frown flitted across her brow. "But neither did he, really."

Ben leaned forward. "What? He didn't know her?"

Cassie turned her head and looked at him. "No. He'd been watching her. He knew who she was. He thought he knew… what she was."

"What do you mean – what she was?"

"Somehow… she wasn't what he thought. He was disappointed in her. Maybe because of something she'd said or done. He was angry at her. Enraged. Yet… I didn't get a sense of intimate knowledge. And I don't believe she had known him in any real sense before he grabbed her."

"She didn't know who he was?"

Cassie shook her head. "I can't be sure, but I don't think so. She might have recognized him as someone she'd seen around town, maybe even on a regular basis, but I didn't get the sense that she really knew him. He: might have done something to disguise himself, of course, though that doesn't seem likely if he knew he was going to kill her. As for what she saw, she was pleading with him not to hurt her, but she never said his name. If she'd known his name, if she'd recognized him, she probably would have."

"You get sound too?" the sheriff said.

Ben swore impatiently, but Cassie's gaze returned to him and a faint smile without real amusement curved her mouth. "Sometimes it's just like turning on a television set."

"Turn it on now," he invited. "Let's see what the bastard's doing at the moment."

"I wish it were that easy."

His chair creaked angrily as he leaned back. "Yeah, I thought so. Not quite like turning on a TV, I guess."

It was obviously an attitude Cassie had encountered before. "I'm sorry, Sheriff. I wish I could just flip a switch or say a magic word and climb inside this monster's head to get the answers you need." She drew a breath. "If he kills again, I'll probably connect again. Murderers like this one tend to get progressively more wound up and excited when the lust to kill starts building in them. Those powerful emotions broadcast strongly. Now… now he's probably in a cooling-down period. Very calm, maybe tired. His mind is quiet, contained. It isn't reaching out. And without a physical connection, I can't reach out to him."

Ben glanced at Matt but said nothing.

There was a moment of silence, and then the sheriff said grimly, " 'Cooling-off period' is the phrase those behavioral sciences boys at Quantico use. Miss Neill, are you trying to tell us we've got a serial killer here? On the basis of one murder?"

Cassie hesitated visibly. "I can't say for sure. I only know there's… something abnormal about him. About the way his mind works. And she was a stranger to him, or as good as. People who kill are almost always driven – by rage, hate, jealousy, greed, even fear. People who kill the way he did, using a knife, getting the blood on him… that can only be done in an extreme emotional state. It's hard to feel so strongly toward a virtual stranger, for someone whose life never touched yours in any meaningful sense. But serial killers… they have their own mad reasons to kill. And they almost always kill strangers."

"You seem to know a lot about the subject," the sheriff said.

"I've spent a lot of time around some very good cops. I learned as much as I needed to in order to try to help them. Enough so that it's been a long time since I had a good night's sleep." Her voice was matter-of-fact and without self-pity.

"Monsters," Ben murmured.

She glanced at him. "When I was a child, my mother told me that if I turned on a light, I'd see there was no monster hiding in the closet or under my bed. She was always right about that. Then. I'm all grown-up now. And the monsters in my life aren't under my bed. They're inside my own mind, where I can't shine a light on them."

The sheriff was unaffected by her words. "Ever talk to a shrink, Miss Neill?"

"Lots of them." Her voice was as dry and unemotional as his had been. "Sheriff, I can give you plenty of references. Testimonials from lots of cops on the "West Coast, all of them as hardheaded and rational as you are. They'll tell you that they were doubtful too, in the beginning. That they also suggested I talk to someone about these… voices and images in my head. And they'll tell you that time and experience convinced them that sometimes – not always, but sometimes – I could help them catch killers."

She drew a breath, her pale eyes fixed on his. "No matter what you believe or don't believe about what I can do, Sheriff Dunbar, there's one thing you can be very, very sure of. I hate this. I didn't ask for this, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. It is not a pleasant thing to be jolted awake in the middle of the night with the screams of a dying woman ringing in your ears and the smell of her blood so real, you expect to find yourself covered in it.

"It is not a pleasant thing to sit across a desk from hard and suspicious men like you and talk calmly about vicious crimes and monsters who can't be banished by the light of day or sanity. And it is more traumatic and debilitating than you will ever know for me to force myself to drop all the guards I've spent a lifetime building and climb inside the mind of something that is not human.

"So give me a break, Sheriff. I did not kill that poor woman, and since I did not, you will never find a shred of evidence against me. Now, I will give you the references I spoke of, and you can check them out or not. Believe them or not. If you want my help, I will do everything I can to help you. If not, I'll go back to my peaceful house and my peaceful life. And the next time I'm awakened by the screams of a dying murder victim, I'll pull my pillow over my ears and try my damnedest to ignore them."

Ben looked at Matt but said nothing. Cassie was obviously her own best champion, at least where her psychic ability was concerned, and if there was ever going to be any kind of understanding between her and the skeptical sheriff, it would have to be reached by the two of them.

It would not be easy.

"I don't believe in psychics, Miss Neill," Matt said. "And I don't trust you."

"That is your prerogative, Sheriff." She matched him stare for stare, and her voice was cool, her steel core suddenly evident. "Judge Ryan asked me to help, and I said I would. But I am not going to jump through hoops for you, especially when my help is not wanted. If you think I'm a killer, lock me up. When the next body turns up, I'll have a cast-iron alibi. Unless you do believe it's possible to walk through walls and bars."