Double Take

engage my dear parents for me in dialogue, pass along to me what they were saying and feeling, their advice and counsel on business problems, for example. My father was an incredible businessman, and I value his opinions. Our sessions were deeply meaningful to me.”
    Cheney sat forward, picked it up. “Do you find Soldan Meissen as helpful as Dr. Ransom, sir?”
    Thomas Pallack turned thoughtful, perhaps a pose, Cheney didn’t know, but he watched the man carefully. Pallack fiddled with an expensive pen, tapped it against an onyx paperweight, buying himself thinking time, Cheney thought. He saw Sherlock was watching Pallack as intently as he was.
    In point of fact, Sherlock had formed a picture of Thomas Pallack in her mind in the preceding days and she realized now she wasn’t that far off, except for his eyes. They weren’t the eyes of a megalomaniac or a political ideologue, they were dark gray turbulent eyes, a brooding poet’s eyes maybe, or a killer’s eyes. She didn’t know which. She shook her head at herself. No, Thomas Pallack was an extraordinarily successful businessman, very rich, still in full control of his empire at nearly seventy, accustomed to using his power. It was possible he was nothing more than he appeared—a man with one clearly insane obsession, but many people had obsessions or fixations of some kind. He’d communicated with his murdered parents for many decades now, but he was still able to run an empire. And there was something about him that drew you, that made you want to listen to him, hear what he had to say.
    The silence stretched on for a moment. No one attempted to break it. Thomas said finally, “You asked me about Soldan Meissen, Agent Stone.” He frowned, shook his head. “I doubt this means anything, but there is a lot at stake so let me be completely honest. There is something about Soldan that sometimes shakes my confidence. I can’t tell you what, exactly, only that I am never quite as satisfied at the end of our sessions as I was with August. Soldan is quite legitimate, I know that. He has proved many times that he can contact my parents. They speak through him to me, and yes, I recognize their words and expressions, their sly wit, their endearments. Soldan isn’t a fraud, if that’s what you’re after.”
    “Then what is the problem, sir? Do you think he isn’t telling you everything your parents wish him to?” Sherlock asked.
    Pallack shrugged. “Come now, three FBI agents, and you’re actually taking this seriously? You’re considering that one can really talk to the dead?”
    Savich’s face and voice were both expressionless. “We’re not really asking about that, but about your perceptions of him.”
    “That’s an improvement over the not-so-subtle ridicule of those fatuous boneheads at the SFPD. They didn’t for a minute believe August was the honest-to-God real deal. I don’t think they had anything but contempt for him or any of his friends and colleagues. They wouldn’t have cared all that much that he was killed except that he was famous and had high-powered connections. The media spurred them on since they found the psychic angle all very sexy, and so the cops had to go through the motions.”
    Julia said, “They seemed to care enough when they had the handcuffs all ready to snap on my wrists.”
    Thomas Pallack looked at her. “They focused on you, Julia, for the simple reason that they could understand the motive you might have—a beautiful young woman married to a very successful, very rich older man. They had no grasp whatever of who and what August really was about, how he couldn’t help making some enemies among the living when he communicated with the dead. So they aimed at you. The black widow, yes, the fools could understand that because they’d seen it immortalized by Hollywood, and accepted it to be true. Ridiculous of course to anyone who knew you, knew August, knew what was vital and honest in him, but there you have it.
    “I am very sorry it has required attempts on your life to force the police to revisit August’s murder to find a tie-in. And not simply local law enforcement, even the FBI. Actually, I don’t understand how you are involved. Shouldn’t this be strictly a local matter?”
    Savich said easily, “We were asked to bring in a fresh eye, Mr. Pallack. This is what the Criminal Apprehension Unit at the FBI is designed to do. We come in only at the request of the local police.”
    Sherlock said,