Bound by Suggestion Read Free Page A

Mrs. J’s nice clean floor.”
     
    I sat back against the lumpy couch, breathing shallowly, a hand covering my eyes to blot out the piercing light. After more than an hour, two of my pills still hadn’t put a dent in the throbbing headache.
    The cops had already taken Mrs. Jarowski away. The ME had arrived and the crime photographer was still flashing pictures in the kitchen. The place was full of cops and the murmur of a dozen voices drilled through my skull.
    “Can I get you something, Mr. Resnick?” Lieutenant Brewer of the Buffalo Metropolitan Police stood over me. The chunky, balding cop still seemed taken aback that his case had been broken by an outsider.
    I squinted up at him. “No, but I’d appreciate if you could assure my privacy. Please don’t give the press my name. The last thing I want is publicity.”
    “Okay, but answer me this; how’d you know?”
    I sighed. “I don’t know how it works, it just does.”
    “The old lady waived her rights. Said she heard Ms. Devlin had signed a new two-year lease and decided she’d had enough of the noise. She lured the kid up here and made him quiet—permanently.”
    “And the chocolate milk?” Richard asked me.
    “The lure of a forbidden treat. Mrs. J ground up sleeping pills and had him drink it,” I said. “When he was dopey, she planned to smother him.”
    I thought about it—remembered what I’d seen when I’d touched her. Fury gave her the strength to hold the boy, who’d struggled in those last minutes. She’d sealed his nose and mouth with a wad of freshly pressed linen dishtowels, pinning him against the floor until his body slackened, his small chest no longer heaving. Then she’d heard Paula Devlin frantically calling for her son. Anna Jarowski sat beside the dead boy for a long time—triumphant in the knowledge she’d finally silenced her intolerably noisy neighbor.
    I looked up at Brewer. “I take it you haven’t searched the place yet.”
    “Call me paranoid, but I’m waiting for a warrant. No way do I want this thrown out of court on a technicality.”
    “You’ll find what’s left of the tricycle in one of the closets. She’s got a hacksaw. Been cutting it up and sneaking it out in the trash for the past eight months.”
    Dr. Marsh elbowed her way through the crowd in the kitchen. She’d been gone about an hour—breaking the news to the boy’s mother, no doubt.
    “How’s Paula?” Richard asked.
    “I gave her a sedative. Now that her mother’s here, I think she’ll be all right.” She looked at me. “How are you, Jeff?” Her icy veneer had melted, her best bedside manner now firmly in place.
    “Sick.”
    “But you’ve got to feel good about what you’ve done.”
    I frowned. “I made two women miserable. Why would that make me feel good?”
    She seemed puzzled by my answer, but I didn’t have the energy to explain it to her. “Dr. Marsh, you said another psychic came here. What did she tell Paula?”
    “That the boy was well and living in a small town down south, anxious to be back home with his mother.”
    Poor Paula.
    “Do you need me anymore?” I asked the detective.
    He shook his head. “Go home before you keel over.”
    I glanced at my brother. “Now would be a good time, Rich.”
    I moved on shaky legs. Richard and Dr. Marsh steadied me on the stairs. We ducked under the crime scene tape and they pushed me through the throng of press as we headed for Richard’s Lincoln Town Car.
    Dr. Marsh crushed her business card into my palm. “Call me.” Her voice was husky, excited, like a rock star’s groupie.
    Reporters and cameramen swarmed as she slammed the car door. Richard left her to deal with them, taking off with a squeal and leaving rubber on the asphalt.
    “Sharks,” he muttered.
    I leaned against the headrest and considered my first consultation. By all counts, a royal success.
    Then why did I feel so dirty?
     

Chapter 2
     
    It took two days for the hellacious headache to fade. Avoiding