And she's probably right, Brent thought.
"What does she do for a living?" Brent asked.
"She works for one of the tour companies, unofficial manager for an absentee owner. They're good, I understand. They do history tours, with an emphasis on ghosts and spooky stuff. And she's a native," Massey told him. "Of New Orleans, I mean," he added hastily. He frowned suddenly. "What the hell made you show her Tom's picture, anyway?"
"Just a hunch," Brent said.
"Tom was dead. She couldn't have seen him last night," Massey said. "Tell me you don't really believe she could have seen a ghost?"
"She saw something," Brent said evenly.
"You really are one of those psychics, huh?" Massey said.
"No. I'm not a psychic," Brent told him.
"Then… ?" Joulette asked.
"A researcher."
"Yeah?" Joulette pressed. "What kind?"
Brent smiled, shaking his head. "Let's just say 'different' for now, huh? I don't want to alienate you before we get started. I get the feeling you're both good at what you do. I'll bet your CSI folks are good at what they do, too. I just come at things from a different angle."
"We've got plenty of voodoo in New Orleans already," Joulette drawled, challenging him.
"I don't practice voodoo," Brent said evenly.
Both detectives studied him, and Massey said, "Whoever or whatever you are, your boss is apparently in with me bigwigs. We have the FBI in on this, too. Lots of agents, one main liaison between the departments. Guy's name is Haggerty. And he says you're definitely not a fed. In fact, he has his panties in a knot about you being here."
"Oh?" Brent said. He wasn't surprised that the FBI had men on the case—they'd lost one of their own.
"Yeah, Vince Haggerty isn't into mumbo jumbo," Massey responded.
Brent ignored the mumbo-jumbo part. "You're conducting separate investigations?" he asked.
"Not really," Joulette said. "Haggerty has access to everything we've got. But the guy is a real loner. He wants to work on his own, and doesn't want to share what he has. He will give us whatever he's got eventually. If we can find him. You'd think Owen and I grew up in the bayou and never went to school, the way he acts. Or," he added bitterly, "that I should still be saying 'Massuh' when I talk to the guy."
"So, here we are," Massey said. "Marc and I working two cases… and in neither case do we have so much as a semisolid lead to anything. At least in Garfield's case we can hit the clubs, get some help from the narcs. As to the Andrea Ciello case, well, I'd hoped Nikki DuMonde would be able to give us something solid. All she did was hand us a ghost."
Brent was silent for a moment, then lifted his shoulders and let out a sigh. "I think I'll take one of Miss DuMonde's tours," he said.
"That's how you're going to find a killer?" Joulette said skeptically.
"I think your murders have something to do with one another," Brent said flatly.
"We don't even know that the girl's death was a murder. What makes you think the two deaths are connected?" Massey said. "A fed, undercover, and a former junkie. What motive could connect them?"
"I don't know. But you're looking at two heroin overdoses."
"Hey, he's a psychic," Joulette told Massey.
"Look, guys—" Brent began.
But Joulette started to laugh. "Hey, go for it, man."
"Yeah, you do what you have to do," Massey said.
Brent arched a brow.
"We actually kinda like you," Joulette explained. '"Cause you're not some superior fed."
"Next to him, hell, you can bring in all the ghost busters, voodoo priestesses, palm readers… whatever. You want 'em, you bring 'em on," Massey said.
"Great. Well, then, gentlemen, let me get to it. And I swear, what I know, you'll know," Brent promised.
Brent left the station thinking the two of them were probably laughing at his expense.
But what the hell, they liked him.
Things could be worse.
Dr. Boulet was a man of about forty. He was pleasant, nicely dressed and comfortable to talk to.
He did have a couch, but he also had an easy chair.
"Am I supposed to lie down?" she asked.
"If you like. Or just take a seat."
She chose the chair.
"So what's the problem?" he asked.
"I'm seeing dead people."
"Do you want to give me a few details?"
She waved a hand in the air. "Ghosts."
"Have you always seen ghosts?" he asked, not blinking.
She smiled, lowering her head. "Only since my friend died. Or maybe right before she died."
"Why don't you tell me the story from the beginning."
She did, and he paid rapt attention, his expression grave. He took notes.
When she had explained it all—starting with the man in the café and ending with her recent shock at the police station—he quit writing and waited.
"That's it," she said.
"Do you really believe in ghosts?" he asked.
"I must—I'm seeing them now."
His smile deepened. "But you didn't—before all this?"
"Um… no."
"Even though you give ghost tours for a living?"
"I've always had a… sense, I guess you'd call it."
"A sense?"
She waved a hand vaguely in the air. "I don't know how to explain it. When… I'm in certain places, I can feel past events… even see something like a mist."
"Aha." He started to write.
"No, it's not an aha!" Nikki protested. "I've never actually seen a ghost before, and sure as hell, one never talked to me before."
"Someone important to you died tragically," he reminded her softly.
"Yes."
"Well, the mind is far more incredible than any computer. You might have imagined your dream, you see. It might have been implanted when you heard what happened, or even when the policeman came up to you. Take déjà vu for instance. We go somewhere, and we know we've never been there, but it's familiar. So… were we there in another lifetime? Or has the brain given us a memory that doesn't exist?"
"You're asking me?" Nikki said.
"I'm giving you suggestions. When someone close to us is killed, mere's often a matter of guilt. Survivor's guilt, it's called. She's dead, I'm not."
"But I don't feel guilty. I don't feel that I should be dead. I'm horrified that Andy died, and I'm angry. I'm furious that someone could do that to her."
At that point, he looked at his watch.
The sigh he gave then was everything she would have imagined, as were his next words.
"I'm afraid we're out of time. You might want to think about the things I've said. And schedule an appointment for next week with my secretary. Do you want something to help you sleep?"
"Pills?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive, thank you."
"Then we'll meet again. And we'll get to the bottom of this," he assured her cheerfully.
"So… I'm not exactly… crazy?" she asked pleasantly.
"The mind, as I said, is incredible. You've been through a terrible trauma. You want answers. You want an explanation for how something so terrible happened. There could be many reasons."
"Maybe ghosts really exist," she suggested.
"In our minds, of course they do. When we love someone and lose them, they're always with us, in a way."
"I don't love a stranger I never saw before," Nikki said.
"No… but the memory of having seen him not long before Andy's death might be confusing the picture."
"A logical explanation for everything," Nikki murmured.
"It can take some time to get all the ghosts out of our minds," he said, glancing at his watch again.
Nikki rose. "Thanks," she managed to say.
Julian was pacing the waiting room when she came out. He rushed quickly to her side. "Well? Do you feel better?"
"No, not really."
"Did he say you were having delusions or… well, what the hell did he say?"
"He didn't call me crazy. He talked about the mind playing tricks, and how I might be dealing with survivor's guilt."
"There you go."
"Right—and that explains why I saw a dead man? I still don't even know who he is—only that the guy who showed up at the right time showed me a picture of him. I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."
"Nikki, you are going to see the doctor again, right?" He sighed. "You need help."
"Sure. I'll see him again. Can we eat?"
A little later, over po'boys at Madame D'Orso's, Julian said, "Maybe you should take some time off."
"Why?" she demanded, staring at him.
"Well, we actually do ghost tours, no matter what we call them."
"We talk about history, and history includes the superstitions and rumors that have sprung up through the years."
"Yes, but don't you think that may be bad for you right now?"
"No!"
He sighed, sitting back. "Well, you're on for the eight o'clock tour tonight. You sure you're up to it?"
"Of course. Who's on with me?"
"Me. We can rotate, you know. I can lead the tour."
She smiled, shaking her head. "I'm not going to let the monster who did this to Andrea ruin my life, as well."
Julian was silent.