Beyond belief Read Free

If you refuse to believe that, then maybe they should throw you off this case.”
    Howe put a comforting hand on her arm. “There's no need to get upset. I'm in charge of this investigation. We've just asked Detective Bailey to come here and see if he can help explain what happened.” He turned to Joe. “Do you want to take another look at the scene?”
    Joe nodded. Howe would obviously have better luck finishing Eve Chandler's interview alone.
    He left the house and walked toward his car. It was colder now, and a harsh, biting wind had kicked up. He opened his trunk and pulled out a large black suitcase. Its leather finish was worn and scuffed, and the brass latches and hinges were tarnished. It was his spirit kit, which he used to inspect the scenes ofséances and psychic demonstrations. Made up of an odd assortment of sophisticated test equipment and ordinary household items, he generally kept it in his car trunk, where it would be handy for both his police investigations and his debunking work for the university. The last time he left it at the station, some joker had plastered a
Ghostbusters
“no ghosts” insignia on its side, and the sticker had adorned the case ever since.
    He carried it back into the study, where the police videographer was filming every inch of the room with a digital camera. The still photographer was now chatting with a few of the officers who came to gawk at the sight.
    The nervousness among the officers had given way to morbid humor. Joe overheard cracks about Nelson's taste in decorating, and how a nice tapestry might have been a better match for the wall.
    They were trying to be funny, but he could hear a slight edge in their voices. Lieutenant Powell had probably been right about his men getting the shit scared out of them.
    Joe had just popped open the suitcase's lid, when Howe walked into the room. “Where's Eve Chandler?” Joe asked.
    “Passed out downstairs. Between the Valium and you running her all over the house, she was wiped out. Thanks for neutralizing my witness, Bailey.”
    “You'll get more out of her tomorrow anyway.” Joe pulled a small black box about the size of a hardcover book from the spirit kit. Its high-impact plastic case surrounded a five-inch view screen.
    Howe squinted at the instrument. “That looks like a bomb squad gadget.”
    “It is. It's a McNaughton handheld sonar pulse reader that I grabbed from the bomb squad's scrap heap. It's a little out of date, but it still does the job.”
    “What
job?”
    Joe attached a battery pack to the unit's top edge. “It tells me if there's anything on the other side of these walls I should know about. It throws out sonar waves that detect any mass behind scanned surfaces. It was made to find explosives, but it also works to detect flying rigs, projectors, or anything else phony spiritualists use.” He screwed a telescoping rod onto a bracket on its base and extended the rod out to its full eight-foot length. He flipped the red power switch, and the unit revved to life with a high-pitched whine.
    The other cops in the room stopped talking as he slowly swept the reader across the walls and ceiling.
    Ping … Ping … Ping …
    Joe took note of a few spots where the sonar reader detected areas of greater mass. He was hoping to find some evidence of a contraption that could have sent the sculpture flying into Nelson, but the readings indicated only support beams.
    He glided the reader along the wall where Nelson was impaled. No significant variances.
    Damn.
    He put down the reader and pulled out a large aerosol can. He turned toward the other cops. “Are you guys finished in here?”
    One of them nodded. “Knock yourself out.”
    Joe sprayed the can high on each wall and over the entire ceiling.
    Howe snorted. “If it's the smell you're worried about, that usually isn't a problem until the corpse has been around for a few days.”
    “It's not room deodorant. It's phosphorous clearcoat.”
    “What?”
    Joe was