“I thought I’d been clear when we spoke that I was confident Skye wasn’t involved in anything,” Mr. Lester protested.
“Just standard procedure,” Detective Chan assured us, his look telling me he didn’t trust me an inch. “Everything checked out. You were working that night. Your boss confirmed it.”
My boss, Gerry, must have been thrilled to have the cops visit. He and the dishwasher Ben had a thriving weed distribution business running out of the kitchen of the Burger Barn. In the cooler behind the giant tub of mayo, there was a Doc Martens shoebox full of marijuana measured out in Baggies and rolls of cash. I hoped the sight of the two detectives made him shit his pants. It would have been sweet revenge for all the times he “accidentally” brushed past me behind the counter, his hand lingering on my ass.
Mr. Lester tapped the table with his finger. “I want it to go on the record that while Skye may be forgiving, I find your reaction offensive. Skye didn’t have to come forward. If she was involved, what possible reason would she have to share this information?”
Detective Chan shrugged and turned back to me. “It’s our understanding that you don’t know Paige Bonnet. Is that correct?”
“I guess.” I bit my lip, trying to look frightened, which wasn’t exactly requiring too much effort. I’d read somewhere that most innocent people are nervous around the police. If you act too calm, it makes them suspect you. I shifted in my seat and looked up at the detective through my bangs. “We go to the same school, and I see her in the halls and around town. Everyone kinda knows Paige, you know?”
“But you two didn’t socialize or have any classes together?” Detective Chan pressed.
“Nope. I doubt she knows who I am.” I made a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not exactly in her league.”
“Remember, no person is better than another,” Mr. Lester said, interrupting. “You’re as good as anyone else in that school.” The rest of us glanced at him and then ignored what he said.
Chan didn’t break eye contact. “I’ll be checking with people at your school. If you two ever had a fight, or if she bullied you, you’d be better off telling me now.”
I shook my head.
Mr. Lester snorted. “I assure you Paige and Skye don’t have a history of any sort. Negative or positive. If I’d known she was going to be treated this way, I would have brought her concerns forward anonymously.”
Detective Jay waved off Mr. Lester’s umbrage. “Detective Chan is just being thorough. Let’s focus on Paige and how we can help her. So these images and the number—” Detective Jay pointed to the photographs on the table. His fingernails shone in the light, and I was willing to bet he buffed them. “These details just came to you.”
I nodded.
Mr. Lester patted my hand. “As I told you when we spoke yesterday, Skye has always had a gift.”
“Tell me more about this gift.” Detective Jay leaned forward.
“I get feelings about things, stuff I have no way of knowing about, but I do. I always have.” I held his gaze just a beat into being uncomfortable and then went back to staring at my hands. There was a tiny scab on the side of my index finger. I really needed to stop chewing on my fingers. Every few months I would make a stab at growing out my nails, but it never lasted.
“So you know things,” Detective Chan said, making finger quotes around the word know.
I smiled as if I hadn’t noticed his sarcasm. “It’s not magic or anything. My mom says lots of people have the same skill, but they don’t always realize it. They call them hunches, intuition, or lucky guesses. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bit of the ability. I bet a lot of police officers do. It could be what made Detective Jay go out to the airport yesterday.” Detective Jay nodded thoughtfully. He was a believer; I could smell it on him.
Detective Chan chuckled. His thick dark hair looked almost wet in the overhead light. “He does make some pretty good intuitive leaps. We’ll have to start calling him the Psychic Detective.” The two cops shared a glance, like a long-term married couple used to teasing each other.
“Nothing years of experience won’t teach you too.” Detective Jay pushed his sleeves up.
“There’s some interesting research being done on psychic phenomena,” Mr. Lester added. “I read an article last night by a fellow out of Cornell University who thinks, neuropsychologically, psychic abilities make sense.”
“Is that so,” Detective Chan said.
“Can you get me a copy of that article?” Detective Jay shot Chan a look. “It’s important to keep an open mind. Worst thing for a detective is tunnel vision.” He and Lester exchanged emails. Detective Jay was my best bet. I glanced over and realized that Detective Chan was scrutinizing me.
“Have you had any other . . . hunches?” Detective Chan tapped his pen on the pad of paper in front of him. “Anything else you can tell us about Paige?”
“I’ve been trying. Ever since I heard about her car, I’ve been freaking out.” I wrung my hands. “Do you think she’s okay?”
“Hard to know. We’ve released to the media that there were signs of a struggle and some blood in the car.”
I pulled on the hem of my shirt. The room was growing too hot with all four of us crammed inside. The idea of how the blood got there made me cringe.
“I haven’t had any other visions, but I’m pretty sure there were two people involved,” I offered. I was about to shift again when I caught myself. I couldn’t afford to look too uneasy. Trying to constantly guess how I should come across left me feeling like I was balanced on the tips of my toes every second.
“Can you tell us anything about those two people? Men? Women? Black, white, Hispanic? Age? Shabby or well dressed, anything?” Detective Chan asked.
I shook my head sadly. “I’m sorry. No.”
“But knowing there are two of them might help, right?” Mr. Lester pulled on his beard.
“Sure,” Detective Chan said. “We’ll put out a BOLO for two people with no other description. That should narrow it down.”
Detective Jay shot Chan a dirty look. “Of course it helps. At this stage in the investigation, we don’t know what will be useful. What’s important is that we keep this communication channel open. If you think of anything, Skye, anything at all, you can call me. I’m the lead on this case, and it’s my number one priority.” He slid his card across the table. There was a number scribbled on the top. He tapped it with his finger. No wedding band. However his ring finger was dented, like he used to wear a ring all the time. “That’s my cell. You can reach me anytime if you’ve got something. It might seem irrelevant, but we still want to know.”
As I took the card from his hand, I turned my head to the side. “Your wife recently left you?”