“Do we have any camera footage from around here?” Nate asked, from the other side of the car. Mills strolled a couple of paces in his direction to answer, and Laura took advantage of the moment to step forward.
“No, unfortunately nothing that covers the car,” Mills said. “There would have been one by the entrance, but apparently it hasn’t worked for a couple of years. The community center has never quite had the funds to get it fixed or replaced, so they say. I should think they consider it more of a priority now.”
Only half-listening to him, Laura reached out delicately and touched just the very edge of the car door with her fingertips. She had chosen a spot that she hoped had the least potential for ruining any evidence, but she needed to make that contact. She needed to see if she could trigger a vision.
Nothing.
Laura sighed, stepping back and quickly hiding the movement of her hand. Unless anyone had been looking directly at her, they wouldn’t have known she had touched it. It had been useless, anyway. All she felt here was death, and that wasn’t from her psychic ability. That was just soaked into the very air, the grim mood that surrounded the car.
“We should start by looking into their students,” Laura said. “Have you been able to cross-reference their class lists?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mills said. “That was one of our setbacks this morning. We have a full list of students for Lucile Maddison, the first victim. But Suzanna Brice’s class was not quite as formal. Students didn’t have to sign up ahead of time and could simply turn up when they liked, paying on the day. The manager of the center told us this morning that they don’t keep any records in the center, but that Suzann
a herself might have done so.”
“Then we’d better go and visit her home,” Laura said. “And that sister of hers.”
“You’re in luck,” Captain Mills said. “They’re both at the same place. Suzanna lived with her sister.”
“Then we’d better not waste any time,” Laura said, glancing at Nate and seeing that he was also done with the crime scene. “Let’s get over there now and see if she can provide us with the name of a suspect.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Laura knocked on the door and then stepped back patiently, putting herself back in line with Nate. They both faced the house with the expectant and yet sympathetic look of law enforcement officers fully aware they were about to speaking to a grieving woman.
It wasn’t the sister who opened the door, however. It was a police officer, one of Mills’, who nodded politely and allowed them inside. Mills and Thornton trailed behind them but hung back. As Laura followed Nate through the door into a sitting room sparsely decorated with mismatched furniture, they remained in the hall, talking in low voices together.
“Miss Brice?” Laura said, her gaze focusing on the woman who was seated on the sofa in the center of the room. She was pale faced, her eyes a contrast in red. She was holding a crushed-up tissue in one hand and staring into space, as if she was dazed.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, seeming to come back to herself. “Yes. Please, call me Vicky.”
“Vicky,” Laura said, with a reassuring smile. “My name is Agent Laura Frost.”
“I’m Agent Nate Lavoie,” Nate put in, holding out a hand to gesture to an armchair. “Do you mind if we sit down and ask you some questions about your sister?”
“Please,” Vicky said distractedly. She was gaunt, Laura thought as she sat down at the other end of the sofa, and older than the sister that Laura had seen in file photographs. Perhaps in her late thirties. She found her eyes drifting to the thin, long-fingered hands that clutched at the tissue, but could see no ring.
That was as good a place as any to start.
“We understand that you and your sister lived together, Vicky?” Laura said, hoping this statement would prompt the outpouring of an explanation.
“Yes, we’ve lived together for a couple of years now,” Vicky said, sniffing. “Actually, we grew up here. When our parents died, we both inherited half the house, and Suzie carried on living here. I came back after my divorce.”
Laura nodded. That explained the mismatched furniture; mental strain could obviously be attributed to the gaunt look Vicky had, like she’d had trouble keeping or putting on weight. “Did you get on well?” she asked.
Vicky gave a half-smile. It told of bitter pain, of a lifetime of love and good memories, of knowing someone so intimately you weren’t afraid to recognize their flaws. “We’re sisters,” she said. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. A lot better the past year, once we’d got over all the little irritations of living together again.”
Nate shifted slightly, raising his voice. “What can you tell us about your sister, Vicky? What was Suzie like?”
Vicky bit her lip, smiling through tears. “She was like the sun,” she said, breaking off to dab the tissue against her eyes. “She was so bright and fun and friendly. She got on well with everyone. She was always convinced she was going to be a star; I think we all were, really, but it just never quite happened for her.”
“She had dreams of being a big actress?” Laura prompted.
“Oh, yes. She even moved to Hollywood, you know? To L.A. For a while, anyway. But she couldn’t cut it. She was living on Mom and Dad’s handouts, working as a waitress, never quite managing to get the audition. When they died, I think that was a wake-up call for her. She came back and started teaching, instead.”
“How long ago was that?” Nate asked. He pulled a notebook out of his jacket pocket, making rapid notes.
“About five years, or so,” Vicky said, shrugging slightly. “She took to it like a duck to water, I think. Teaching. It turned out that was her real calling. She was such a people person.”