Laura slammed a hand against the desk and stormed out of the mortuary, heading right out to the street and the short walk which would take her right next door to the Sheriff’s station. To where Nate was right now, waiting with their suspect.
Their suspect who, she now knew, had to be nothing more than a man who had an interest in myths and happened not to have an alibi.
Not the killer.
She rushed as fast as she could and found Nate standing outside the interview room, talking casually with a deputy who appeared to be doing their best not to hero worship him. She didn’t stop and certainly didn’t try to throw up any niceties. She just grabbed Nate by the arm and pulled him into the next interview room along, a private space where they could talk without anyone overhearing. This one was older. There was no two-way glass to look through. She reached up and flicked a switch on the side of the camera in the corner of the room, and then they were functionally alone.
“What?” Nate asked, looking more bewildered than irritated. Clearly, he knew that there had to be a reason behind her rudeness, which she was grateful for. She didn’t have time to apologize.
“It’s not him,” she said, without any preamble. “He’s not the killer.”
Nate made a wordless shout of frustration and slapped the table, holding his hand against his head for a moment. “Are you sure?” he asked when he dropped it.
“Yes,” Laura said. “I saw the vision again. It’s still happening. We haven’t changed a thing.”
“Goddamnit!” Nate shouted. “And you’re sure you’re not just seeing the past, or…”
“No, Nate,” Laura said. “Believe me, I’ve been through every possible permutation myself. In the vision I saw, there’s an edit to the book. Someone has written in it in red pen, circling one of the paragraphs. That wasn’t there in the copy we found in the library.”
“No, there wasn’t,” Nate said, grabbing his cell phone. “Let me check.”
“Check what?”
“I took a picture,” Nate said, scrolling across his screen and then spinning it around to show her. “The page on the kaboutermannekes. No marks.”
“There,” Laura said, pointing at the spot she knew she had seen in her vision. It hadn’t been clear enough to see in those conditions, but now… “It’s the part about the spirits being harmless—that they only help or don’t help in cases of shipwreck and death.”
“Why would that be circled?” Nate asked.
“Because of what was written next to it,” Laura said breathlessly. “LIE.”
“The killer believes that these little fairies can do harm?” Nate said. “Does he think he’s doing their work? Or…what is it?”
“They’re protective spirits, right?” Laura asked. “Maybe he wants protection. Maybe he’s…kind of, I don’t know…feeding them?”
“Giving them ritual sacrifices,” Nate said, refining the idea further. “Like an offering to ask them not to harm him, but to protect him.”
“That’s it,” Laura said. “I know it. I feel it. That’s right.” She did feel it—in her bones and in her gut. She wasn’t even sure whether that was a feeling from her vision or just the fact that she was a good detective, but this felt right.
“Well, then who is he?” Nate asked, frustration clear in his voice. “We’ve been through so many suspects. No one else came up in our investigation. Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” Laura said, biting her lip. “I just know he’s still out there. That vision—the headaches, I think they’re getting worse the clearer it gets. Maybe that means we’re getting closer to the time it will actually happen.”
“That’s a lot of maybe,” Nate said.
“I know.” Laura rubbed her eyes in frustration. “I just don’t know what to expect right now, with my visions messed up the way they are. It used to be simple. But I don’t know the rules anymore. Before it started to get weird, that was how it would be. The stronger the headache, the sooner it will happen.”
“Then we have to assume it’s the same,” Nate said. “What time was it in your vision? Do you know?”
“It was dark, but not full dark,” Laura said. “Evening. Twilight.”
“That’s not far from now,” Nate said, checking his watch. “Okay, if he’s there now, maybe we just have to find the building he’s in.”
Laura made a face. “You saw it last time too. There are too many buildings in that small area. And what if he just doesn’t answer the door? We won’t be able to come up with a warrant to break down every door. And if he did answer the door, how would we know it was him? How long would it take to go up and check every single attic?”
“Too long,” Nate said with a groan.
“That’s not all,” Laura said. “The coroner—she made a mistake. Elias Makks was drowned, not strangled.”