“The servant who called me in said you were feeling under the weather. What’s wrong, Emery?” Morrissey said as he entered the room. “Who’s this guy?”

“Jeffrey Sacks. Emery sat up and glared blearily at Morrissey. “Twenty years ago, his sister was murdered… by the governor – who was then merely running for office – in the garden that you said couldn’t possibly be a crime scene.”

“I’m sorry I’m wrong, but we need more than a vision from you to prove murder, aside from the fact that it would be inadmissible in court…” Morrissey shrugged.

“I know that,” Emery snapped. “She’s buried under the tiles. I watched it happen – twenty years after the fact.” He looked at Jeffrey and frowned. “I don’t suppose that’s admissible either though.”

“We need evidence besides your visions, Emery. We can’t wantonly dig up people’s yards on your say-so,” Morrissey said patiently. “Are you having an attack?”

“Nah, it’s a spell,” Emery replied. “I’m fine.” He stood and sighed. “How do we get evidence?” His eyes darted at Jeffrey and he looked ready to say something but then shook his head.

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