Psych:Mind-Altering Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

information? Maybe you could save us all a lot of time and just let us know who killed the victim."
    The rookie's throat muscles throbbed as if he were fighting to keep his lunch from coming up. He'd seriously overstepped and he knew it. O'Hara might have joined Lassiter in torturing the kid, until she noticed the dark, wet patch on his uniform shirt just above his badge, and a small beige smudge next to it. Then she understood.
    "Tears don't stain unless you let them, Officer Randall," she said, reading his nameplate. "But foundation is a bitch to get out of blues. That's the mother?"
    The officer's face went from white to red like litmus paper dunked in lemon juice. "She asked me," the officer started. "That is, she's upset. Understandably upset, since it was her daughter and--"
    "Unless she was understandably upset because she killed her daughter," Lassiter snapped.
    "I didn't think--"
    "We're well aware of that, Officer Randall," Lassiter said.
    O'Hara could see a real danger that the rookie's tears would soon be joining those of the grieving mother on his shirt. "It's all right, Officer," O'Hara said. "Comforting grieving survivors is part of the job. Just make sure to keep in mind what the most important part of the job is. Now, where's the body?"
    O'Hara could sense Lassiter's irritation without glancing over at him. He wasn't done hazing the rookie yet. But something about this scene was troubling her, and she couldn't figure out what it was. There was nothing new to her about tragedy striking in the best neighborhoods, at the most fortunate people, on the most beautiful of days. Still, ever since they got the call she'd had a rumbling in the back of her mind that this was going to be bad, and she needed to find out just how much.
    "Follow this path down the stairs," the officer said quickly, before she could change her mind. "At the end of the house turn right onto the deck. There's a sliding door to the laundry room. She's inside."
    "Thank you, Officer," Lassiter said with exaggerated politeness. "You may go back to comforting the bereaved. But do us one favor. If she should happen to say something--anything--jot it down with a little note about the time, would you?"
    Without waiting for an answer, Lassiter turned and headed toward the stairs. O'Hara considered saying something reassuring to the kid, but really, what was the point? He had screwed up, and he deserved everything her partner had said to him, along with several of the things he'd wanted to but didn't.
    O'Hara followed Lassiter down a steep, narrow flight of concrete steps that plunged down the hill alongside the white stucco wall. Halfway to the garden there was a door set into the side of the house. Out of habit Lassiter jiggled the knob and found it locked, then continued down.
    At the bottom of the hill the path led onto a small, flat parcel of garden surrounded by a high hedge of cypresses. The space had clearly been landscaped by pros some time ago, but since then it had been allowed to go wild. A patch of roses was overrun by weeds, while the gate to the caged vegetable garden had been left open and deer had eaten everything inside down to the roots. Something had gone wrong in this household even before today's tragedy, and O'Hara made a mental note to check whether it was financial or medical or something else that might concern their investigation.
    "This way," Lassiter said, gesturing to the wooden deck that came off the path. She followed him to a sliding glass door that had been left open and stepped through.
    She hadn't thought much about what she was walking into. A basement converted into a laundry room or a hobby den, most likely. If she'd asked above she might have learned that the house's lowest level had been converted into a apartment for the owner's daughter.
    But whatever she might have learned would have done her no good once she stepped through the door. She might as well have plunged down the rabbit hole or passed through the