"So what is your take on the murder?" I asked.
"Consider this. Some perp thinks Youngblood is the real deal; the Psychic Tipster, so he cuts him up like pork roast, gets to the truth, and dumps him."
"End of threat."
"Maybe. But Youngblood was missing quite a few days. The guy had plenty of time to carve the truth out of him."
"What truth would he possess? He was fraud, pure and simple."
"A fraud, yes, but Youngblood did his homework. He tracked dozens of tips and put them together before he announced he was the tipster. We don't know what he might have dug up."
"So this killer senses the threat isn't finished. But who is the perp, as you call him? Do you think he's one of people we tipped about to the line?"
"Stands to reason, doesn't it? Who's afraid of this Psychic Tipster except a killer who knows what was tipped couldn't be learned by normal means? Everyone else is half-kidding about the existence of such a person but this guy knows he's for real. He knows there is someone or something out there that has weird and exceptional abilities. It must scare the shit out of him."
"But who is he? We've identified scores of these low live perpetrators."
"We can narrow it down. It's not one of the ones we've caught; they're in jail, for the most part. It's a serial abductor. It happened in sunny California."
"It's this guy! The Delaware-Alabama man Howie just saw! God, and now we have a description and plate number! We've practically got him!"
"Want to lose a quick five bucks? Just bet me that Alabama license plate isn't stolen. Maybe the Buick he was driving as well."
Common sense slumped back in as I could see his point. "So we have nothing," Betsy said, surprising Brennan who didn't know she was listening. "He got away again."
"Maybe we'll get lucky," Brennan said, but none of us believed it. Then he added with a smile in his voice, "You two are working late together. It's almost like your married."
"Don't go there," Betsy said. While we presumed Daniel Brennan and Merrill Cooms had gleaned much about our group from our many conversations, we continued to volunteer nothing concrete. However, we feared no threat from either, nor did we feel they wished to identify us. Both men called us each by alias names we'd made up early on but our individual functions remained unclear to them
"We have a description . . . chubby guy, dark hair and a mustache. That's a start," Brennan said, getting back to business.
"Are you going to release the description?" I asked.