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the officer.
    He opened a plastic bag on the table, pulled out a small scarf patterned with coins, and laid it carefully across her palm.
    Like crossing it with silver , she thought. But her hand trembled as her fingers tightened around the wisp of silk. She closed her eyes. No one made a sound. After a couple of seconds she let out a relieved sigh and looked up at Wolynski , puzzled. “I sense someone happy, laughing. A very young girl, I think. Sorry, it's not the same girl as before. I don't know why.”
    Wolynski took the scarf back and held out the bag to her. “Would you try something else?”
    She reached in and pulled out a comb. Lulled by the scarf, she was off guard. Like a stone, she sank straight into the dream. “Water,” she gasped. “A lot of water. Dark, cold. I'm—she's standing in water. No, under the water.” Kate, unaware of her actions, raised her arms, palms down, in a high, loose gesture, her eyes wide and staring. “Her hair's floating around her face.” She paused, then whispered, “She's dead.”
    This time she was shivering, but not terrified as before. She dropped the comb on the desk, curbing a desire to wipe off her hand. “Take it,” she whispered.
    Martin asked, “Are you sure she's dead? Describe everything very carefully.”
    Wolynski retrieved the comb; Kate's shoulders sagged. She had been holding herself stiffly, watching the comb. She breathed more easily when the officer took it away. “Mostly water—a lake, I think. There were trees around her, sort of shimmering. Maybe I was seeing their reflection. That's all. Just her, staring, dead. I'm sorry, I can't help you any more.”
    “Could you see what she's wearing?” Wolynski asked.
    “It's too dark. But maybe her clothes are dark, too, because I can see her face and hands.” Kate slumped in the desk, her face in her hands. Then she added, “And more trees. Dead, lifeless. Different.”
    “Different? Dead? Like in the winter?” Martin asked.
    “No, just dead trees around her. The impression is vague, but the feeling of death is very strong.” The feeling of sadness was also very strong; she felt like crying. She realized then that she had accepted that the dead woman was Kelly Landrum.
    “Thank you, Ms—Kate.” Wolynski looked uncertainly at Kate, fumbled awkwardly with the bag, and then turned to Venice . “Now, would you try something, Ms. Ashburton?”
    “ Mrs . Ashburton. But you may call me Venice , young man.” Venice shielded her eyes with one gracefully arched hand and delicately lifted a red ribbon from his outstretched hand with the other. Abruptly, she uncovered her eyes and glared. “Paul! This belongs to a child. If this is a test, you have failed it. This ribbon does not belong to Miss Landrum.”
    The ribbon slid from her extended hand and drifted to the floor.
    The blushing officer picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket. “Please, take something else and try one more time.”
    Venice looked down her nose at him for a second, then smiled and nodded at him, a queen bestowing forgiveness. “I'm sure you are acting on your instructions. Give me the bag.”
    She took a small makeup brush this time, closing her eyes as before. “I feel the dark, cold water. Night surrounds a pale face. Hair. Dark, floating hair. Her eyes stare blindly at the moon. Dead, all dead . . . “
    Kate, still shaken from her own vision, couldn't tell whether Venice was seeing through her own eyes or through Kate's. She knew Venice was very suggestible. It probably didn't matter—if the police had been serious about testing them, they would have seen the two of them separately. Watching the policeman's face, Kate could tell he was skeptical. Even if he had been inclined to believe them, Venice 's dramatics would have made him think they were either crazy or desperate for attention.
    “That is all,” Venice intoned, spreading her arms wide.
    “Well, um, thank you all for your time.” Wolynski dropped the comb and