Falling Awake

1
    a funeral always made for a bad day. Knowing that it was probably his screwup that had put Katherine Ralston into the ground made things a whole lot worse for Ellis Cutler that afternoon.
    He was supposed to be able to predict the actions of his quarry. Everyone who had ever worked with him said he was a major dream talent. Hell, he was a legend back at Frey-Salter, Inc., or at least he had been until a few months ago, when the rumors started up.
    But in spite of his track record, the grim truth was that it had never even occurred to him that Vincent Scargill might kill Katherine.
    “May God in his infinite mercy grant to Katherine’s family andfriends the serenity and peace of mind that can only come from the sure and certain knowledge that their loved one is at last in a safe harbor. . . .”
    Katherine had been murdered in her apartment in Raleigh, North Carolina, but her relatives had brought her body home to this small town in Indiana to bury. It was ten o’clock in the morning, but the muggy heat of a Midwestern summer day was building fast. The sky was heavy and leaden. Wind stirred the old oaks that stood sentinel in the cemetery. Ellis could hear thunder in the distance.
    He kept apart from the crowd of mourners, occupying his own private space. The others were all strangers to him. He had met Katherine on only a handful of occasions. She had been hired after he officially resigned from his position at Frey-Salter to pursue other interests, as Jack Lawson put it. He still freelanced for Lawson, however, and he allowed himself to be dragged back half a dozen times a year to conduct seminars with the new recruits. Katherine had attended a couple of his workshops. He recalled her as an attractive, vivacious blonde.
    Lawson had told him she was not only a Level Five dreamer, but also a whiz with computers. Lawson loved high-tech gadgets but had no aptitude for dealing with them. He had been delighted with Katherine’s skill.
    Ellis felt like a vulture standing at Katherine’s graveside. The malevolent cloud cover made the wraparound, obsidian-tinted sunglasses he wore unnecessary, but he did not remove them. Force of habit. He had discovered a long time ago that darkglasses were one more way of keeping a safe distance between himself and other people.
    The solemn service did not last long. When the final prayers had been spoken, Ellis turned and started back toward his rental car. There was nothing more he could do here.
    “Did you know her?”
    The voice came from behind and a few yards off. Ellis halted and looked back over his shoulder. A young man who appeared to be in his early twenties was approaching swiftly across the wet grass. There was a churning intensity in the long, quick strides. He had Katherine’s blue eyes and lean, dramatic features. Katherine’s personnel file had mentioned a twin brother.
    “We were colleagues,” Ellis said. He searched for something that might sound appropriate and came up empty. “I’m sorry.”
    “Dave Ralston.” Dave halted in front of him, bitter disappointment tightening his face and narrowing his eyes. “I thought maybe you were a cop.”
    “What made you think that?”
    “You look like one.” Dave shrugged, impatient and intense. “Also, you’re not from around here. No one recognized you.” He hesitated. “I’ve heard that the police often attend the funeral when there’s been a murder. Some theory about the killer showing up in the crowd.”
    Ellis shook his head once. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
    “You said you worked with my sister?”
    “I’m affiliated with Frey-Salter, the firm where she was employed in North Carolina. My name is Ellis Cutler.”

    Recognition and suspicion quickened in Dave’s expression. “Katherine mentioned you. Said you used to work as some kind of special analyst at Frey-Salter but that you’d left to become an outside consultant. She said you were practically a legend.”
    “She exaggerated.”
    Dave stared hard at the cream-colored, generic-looking Ford parked under an oak. “That yours?”
    “A rental. Picked it up at the airport.”
    Dave’s mouth twisted in frustration. Ellis’s intuition told him that the young man had been busily memorizing the license plate until he discovered the car was a rental.
    “You probably heard that the cops think my sister was murdered because she interrupted a burglary in her apartment.”
    “Yes,” Ellis said.
    He hadn’t just heard the theory, he’d