Page 78 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

As far as the police were concerned, Griffin, Calisto, and Asher had never been there, and we’d only called Ben for moral support after calling the ambulance. If they suspected anything was off, they didn’t say. No one except Baxter, Ben and me had touched anything—Ben had confirmed that—so unless a neighbor had looked out of their window in the early hours and seen men pile out of a car, there was no reason to question it. And really, were they going to doubt the word of one of their own? A superior, no less.

No surprise that we weren’t allowed to see Jamie since we weren’t relatives. His husband had been informed, but was in Edinburgh with their kids visiting family, meaning it would be hours before he arrived. If only Jamie had gone with him.

When two detectives came to speak to Jamie, Ben went in with them. By then Baxter had started pacing, nothing I said helping. I understood. Of course I did. Whatever Jamie could tell us might be the difference between remaining in the dark and discovering something huge.

Ben was gone for what felt like a week, though it was probably closer to an hour. He returned alone, his expression a strange one.

“What?” Baxter and I asked together.

Ben opened his mouth, then closed it again. A quick glance around the waiting room made it clear he didn’t want to say anything in front of strangers. He jerked his head toward the door, and we followed.

Finding somewhere private in a hospital turned out to be quite the challenge. Nobody could ever claim a hospital lacked people. We ended up in the car park, standing beneath a shelter meant for taxi pickups.

“How is he?” Baxter asked immediately.

Ben exhaled. “Weak. The doctors think his heart stopped for a period and then restarted on its own. It’s a thing,” he said in response to my frown. “Not a common thing, but possible. Lazarus syndrome. They think that’s the only reason he’s alive, that he was dead enough for the attacker to think the job was done, and then somehow revived enough to start breathing again.”

Baxter shook his head. “We should have checked. We should have—”

Ben cut him off gently. “He’s alive. That’s what matters. The doctors don’t believe there’s any brain damage, so he should make a full recovery. We’ve put a guard on his door just in case.”

I pulled Baxter against my side, and he leaned into me, resting his head against my shoulder for a few moments. “What did he say?” Baxter asked, his voice tight. “Was he able to tell you anything?”

Ben stared out across the car park. “He was able to tell us quite a lot, actually.”

I doubted Chinese water torture could have been any more excruciating than the silence that followed. Baxter cracked first. “And? You can’t say that and then stop. This is the guy who killed me. Who wants to finish the job.”

“The evidence,” Ben said slowly, “points to something… delicate. I’m just trying to work out how best to phrase it.”

“Fuck being delicate,” Baxter snapped. “I don’t need treating with kid gloves. Just spit it out.”

He was practically vibrating beneath my hands. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Just tell us. We can’t deal with something if people keep secrets. We’ve already told you he was standing across from Baxter’s flat. He knows where he lives. He knows things he shouldn’t. That’s why we’ve been staying in a hotel.”

Ben’s gaze shifted back to us. “How many brothers do you have?” he asked Baxter.

“None. I was an only child.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked. “What did Jamie say?”

“He let him in,” Baxter said flatly, “because he thought it was me.”

Ben grimaced, clearly having forgotten that Baxter was psychic. “You showed up at his door,” he said, “asking for help. Saying someone was after you. Except it wasn’t you. But Jamie swears it sounded like you. That’s why he opened the door.”

“Some people are good at impressions,” I said.

“That was my first thought too,” Ben agreed.

“But?” I prompted.

Ben sighed. “Jamie said the man also looked like Baxter.”

“Looked like?” I queried.

“Exactly like you,” Ben said to Baxter. “Only older.”

“That’s impossible,” Baxter said, pulling away from me.

“That’s Jamie’s story. A man who looked and sounded like you. Who forced him upstairs at knifepoint and made him call you. That’s why I asked about brothers. That would be the obvious explanation.”

“Why the phone call?” I asked, refusing to dwell on the part that made little sense. “What did he gain? If it was a trap, he could’ve waited for Baxter, but no one was there.”

“He wanted to mess with me,” Baxter said, with an impressive lack of emotion. “To show that even if I hide somewhere he can’t reach me, there are still people he can get to.” He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting the curls. “I’d be worried about Calisto if I didn’t already know he lives in the rich equivalent of Fort Knox. And if anything was ever going to happen to him, Asher would see it first.”

The statement made no sense to me, but I was getting used to that, so I didn’t question it.

“Do you have any answers?” Ben asked. “Because, much as I hate to throw your own words back at you, now’s not the time to keep secrets. We can’t help you if you keep things from us.”

Baxter shook his head. “I don’t know anything. I wish I did.”

Ben studied him with a detective’s practiced eye. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. He nodded. “Well, whoever he is, he’s facing an attempted murder charge. If you find out anything, call me.”

“We will,” I assured him when Baxter didn’t respond.

Ben’s phone chimed. He checked the message and slipped it back into his pocket. “I have to go.” He took a step back. “Stay in the hotel. Plain-clothes officers will be here soon to escort you to Lake’s house, so he can pick up some things. Don’t go anywhere else.”