Roy Johansen - Beyond Belief

C harles paced in the narrow aisles of the Stone Mountain General Pharmacy, a mom-and-pop store in a small neighborhood strip center. It was taking forever to get that damned prescription filled.

He'd managed to have a doctor friend write it up for him. Ness had assured them that Jesse's condition was not life-threatening, and that he'd soon get an inhaler from one of his own discreet sources. Screw that. It was taking too damned long. The guy was a billionaire, for Christ's sake. Couldn't he just buy a pharmacy?

Charles and Myrna had discussed it and decided to get an inhaler of their own and keep it nearby. If Ness came through with one, fine, but at least they'd be prepared if Jesse had a sudden attack.

He admired Ness, but he'd seen his weaknesses as a leader in the past few weeks. Charles had never met Garrett Lyles, but he'd begun to wonder if the man was such a psycho after all; maybe he was merely rebelling against Ness's timidity.

In any case, it felt good to get away from Ness's estate for a while. Today was the first day he'd been away in almost a week. He'd been spending most of his time in the pit, his name for the elaborate holding facility Ness had built below his main house. It had been worth it for a chance to be near the Child of Light. And things would improve when the permanent facility was completed on Ness's island in the Caribbean.

He glanced toward the back of the store. The ancient pharmacist was in his long, narrow booth, apparently working on the prescription. Didn't those damned inhalers come ready made?

The electronic door chime sounded. Two police officers entered the store.

Charles's heart jumped. He slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the handle of his revolver. Don't freak out, he told himself. The cops probably just came in for a soda from the vending machine.

Charles tried to appear interested in the laxatives in front of him. The cops were walking his way. Fuck.

They stopped next to him. Can we have a word with you, sir?

As Joe and the task force of cops and FBI agents walked into Nelson's foyer, they heard an eerie clanging echoing from down the hallway.

What the hell is that? Howe asked.

Joe pointed toward the kitchen, and the group walked in to find the hanging pots and pans swinging wildly and clattering into one another.

Howe walked around the island, gazing up at the rack. They're moving just like Nelson's girlfriend said they were. How is that happening?

Before Joe could answer, there was a crash from the hallway. And another.

They rushed into the corridor just in time to see a plate fly through a doorway and shatter on the floor. The remnants of two other plates lay nearby.

One of the feds stepped toward the doorway. He ducked as another plate flew out and shattered against the wall behind him.

A little too close for comfort, Joe said.

The agent leapt into the room and switched on the light. The others gathered to see what he'd found.

Nothing. Just the dining room set, china cabinet, and wet bar. The agent went to the windows, drew the heavy blinds, and checked the windows. Locked from the inside.

Fisher grinned. There aren't too many windows that lock from the outside, kid. He turned to Joe. Okay, how'd you do it?

The pots and pans were clanging in the kitchen again.

I didn't do it, Joe said.

Howe tried to ignore the sounds from the kitchen. You expect us to believe it's Jesse Randall?

No, but somebody wanted Dr. Nelson and his girlfriend to believe that in order to lay the foundation for his supposedly psychic murder.

Who would want to do that?

I'm not positive yet. But I can tell you how.

Another plate flew out of the dining room and shattered. Everyone turned to look. This time they saw that a ceiling panel had been moved aside and a hand was waving at them from above, just inches from the china cabinet and a stack of plates.

Joe moved a dining room chair under the opening and helped his assistant down. Suzanne, dressed in a black body suit and covered with dust, hopped to the floor.

She smiled. Sorry about that third plate. I threw it a little closer than I realized.

This is Suzanne Morrison, Joe said. Believe me, she's an expert in the art of illusion.

She made a face at him.

He smiled. I'll let her explain how she did this.

Suzanne described the suspended ceiling and her technique just as she had discussed with Joe the night before.

After she finished, Howe nodded. I'm impressed, Bailey. Not only that you guys were able to figure this out, but also with the fact that you were able to find a beautiful woman who's just as interested in this weird stuff as you are.

Yeah, but was she able to tell you how Nelson was murdered? Fisher said.

Joe put the chair back at the table. No, but in a way, Jesse Randall did.

Fisher gave him a strange look.

And after we get the results back from a search warrant I had issued this afternoon, we may even know who did it.

Gerald's portable phone beeped, and he answered it. Gerald here. He listened, then said, Okay, we're on our way. He cut the connection.

What is it? Joe asked.

There's a hostage situation at a pharmacy in Stone Mountain. The perp just tried to get the same corti-costeroid inhaler that Jesse Randall uses.

Charles crouched behind the pharmacy counter and tried to decide how many cops he'd spotted in the parking lot. Twelve? Fifteen?

Too damned many.

He'd screwed up big-time. He'd killed a cop and let the other one leave to call in the entire squad. He should have killed them both.

No. He shouldn't have drawn his gun in the first place. They'd only wanted to ask a few questions about the prescription. He could have bluffed his way through it.

There was no way out of this.

Now, taunting him behind the counter, was the bulletin urging area pharmacists to call the local police whenever a first-time Pulmicort Turbuhaler prescription was presented. If he'd only known.

Ness probably knew. That's why he was being so damned careful.

At the far end of the counter, bound by threaded packing tape, the elderly pharmacist was trembling. There's a back way out of here, he said.

I'm sure they have that covered too.

Charles stared at his gun. The same gun he'd used to kill the helicopter pilot that morning. It was all Ness's fault. If he hadn't decided to kidnap Jesse, none of this would be happening.

He peered over the counter again, and a chill ran through him. The cop he'd shot was gone. He was sure he'd killed him. Where the hell was he?

Charles turned to look at the small black-and-white security monitor just in time to see the wounded cop rise from behind a coin-operated blood pressure machine and take aim with his revolver.

Joe, the Atlanta P.D. task force, and the feds arrived on the scene as the wounded officer was being transported to a waiting ambulance.

A burly local cop introduced himself. Chief Edward Pine, fellas. We got everything under control here.

Where's the suspect? Joe asked.

Inside with the paramedics. My man put two bullets in im. You know, we've been running down these prescriptions for a couple days now, they've all been legit. You don't think this guy?

Who is he? Gerald asked.

We think his name is Charles Lane. That's who his car is registered to anyway, andhey!

Joe, Howe, and the others bolted into the pharmacy.

They ran past the racks and stopped abruptly at the back counter.

Jesus, Howe said.

The suspect's torso was sopping in blood. A paramedic team was trying to stop the bleeding.

We have to talk to him, Joe said.

He's busy, one of the paramedics replied.