She heard Dillon say, “I think if this guy is a pro we might catch him, and Cheney says that was the impression he got.”

Maitland tapped his fingertip on the image of the man’s face in the sketch. “Look at those dead eyes—the sketch artist nailed that. Okay, we’ve used the facial recognition program now on a good half-dozen sketches—and come up with hits. See what you can do with this.”

Ruth knew Dillon was anxious to do just that. “I’ll get back to you on this, sir.”

Maitland, still strong enough to take on his four grown sons, stretched his back and said, “What a mess this is going to be. The SFPD is going to have to go digging again into all the people Ransom harmed or killed over the years with his free medical advice.”

“He didn’t give much medical advice,” Savich said. “His big rep was as a medium, and that means he communicated with the dead.”

Maitland grunted at that. “I remember reading that Edgar Cayce told cancer patients to use peach pits. Now, how about money trails?”

Savich said, “Always lots of them, but to my understanding, the SFPD didn’t find anything definitive on the widow.

“August Ransom’s estate was short on cash and long on property. His mansion in Pacific Heights must be valued at eight figures, so bottom line is the widow isn’t poor.”

“Like everyone else, I always thought she killed her old man. What was he, thirty, forty years older than his wife?”

“Something like that. And now someone tries to murder the widow. Maybe she was simply a loose end, or maybe she found out something she shouldn’t have. Cheney and the local SFPD will be looking into that.”

Maitland gave him a look. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Cheney Stone isn’t going to drop this and walk away, and that means you’ll involve yourself too. All right, keep me posted, boyo.”

“I don’t know whether Cheney wants us directly involved yet,” Savich said. “But it sure sounds interesting, doesn’t it, what with the psychic medium angle? Do you know, Sherlock’s read a good deal about psychic mediums.”

“Does she believe it’s all a con?”

“Whenever I ask her what she thinks, she starts singing the theme to The Twilight Zone. I don’t think she’s taken a stand.”

“Has she read any of Dr. Ransom’s books?”

“Very likely. I’ll ask her.”

“I understand they sell well, most of those sorts of books do. Fact is, Ransom was one of the most famous psychic mediums out there.”

Savich said slowly, “I wonder if maybe he made a deal with his wife, like Houdini did with his.”

“A code, you mean? And only if a medium can tell her the code can he or she be believed?”

Savich nodded slowly. “Something like that. If there really is anything to find out from Julia Ransom, Cheney would be the one to find it. He saved the woman’s life. That’s got to give him some sort of bond with her. I’m sure that’s what the locals will think too.”

“I’ll speak to the SAC in San Francisco, tell him to give Cheney free rein on this deal if the SFPD wants to involve him. Keep me posted, Savich.”

Ruth knew she should back off fast, but her feet were nailed to the linoleum.

Jimmy Maitland nearly ran her over when he came out of Savich’s office. He grinned. “Ruth, how’s it going? How are Dix and his boys?”

“Ah, good morning, sir. Everyone is fine. I’m driving to Maestro for the weekend to watch Rob pitch in a big game against the hated Panthers of Crescent City.”

Maitland shook his head. “Baseball, basketball, football, snow-boarding, driving my car—my damned boys littered the landscape with their broken bones. Dix might wish they’d take up a rock band, or something that’d be safer.” He waved to Sherlock, who was discussing a bizarre Little Rock, Arkansas, murder case with Dane Carver. He remembered that Dane and Cheney had gone to Loyola Law School. He wondered which one of them had ranked higher in his class.

“Hey, Ruth,” Savich called out, “come tell me what you think of this sketch.”

CHAPTER 10

Ruth knew Dillon was perfectly aware that she’d been eavesdropping, and yet here he was letting her off the hook, even involving her. She looked down at the sketch smoothed out on his desktop. A good-looking black man wearing glasses—he looked focused, like he knew exactly who he was and where he was going in life. She said without hesitation, “He’s a pro. And since we’ve got lots of pros entered in the database, the chances are good we’ll get a name. Look at those eyes—this guy is empty to his soul.”