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All in the Mind 1

Episode 8 written by Janet
Original air date:

Disclaimer: The characters in the following fan fiction do not belong to me. They belong to CBS and Viacom and other powers that be. I am only using them for the purpose ofwriting this story. No money is being made from this writing it is for entertainment purposes only. And now on with the show...

ALL IN THE MIND

"You want to do what?" Steve was incredulous and his usual professional demeanour had temporarily deserted him.

Sitting opposite him, Max and Andrea Hamilton's faces showed differing responses to this outburst. Andrea sat, pale faced and silent, shrunk down in her seat whilst Max sat stiff backed, spots of red colouring his cheeks.

"We want to bring in a psychic. She rang us the other night after seeing the newspaper article about Fiona's murder. She said that she had had a vision," Max answered.

"A vision of all the money she is going screw out of you," Steve muttered to himself.

Captain Newman, in whose office the meeting was taking place, heard the comment and threw his Lieutenant a frown. He looked back at the couple opposite him trying to gauge how serious they were in making their request. By the looks on their faces, he thought, they were very serious. He sighed to himself, whenever psychics got involved in murder investigations there was always an abundance of publicity. Trouble was , he thought ruefully, it always made the police look ridiculous.

"Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, I'll arrange for Lieutenant Sloan to meet with her. Can you give me her name and contact number please?"

At his Captains words Steve sat bolt upright in his seat and his face, like Max Hamilton's earlier, coloured red.

"Captain!" he exclaimed.

"That is an order Lieutenant," Newman responded, a 'don't argue with me' tone in his voice.

"Sir," Steve's monosyllabic reply did not fool his superior in any way.

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Leona Gray sat in her small, but beautifully decorated apartment, waiting for the arrival of the police lieutenant who was in charge of the investigation into Fiona Hamilton's murder. It did not take her proven powers of clairvoyance to know that this meeting would be extremely hostile. The hot drink she had made for herself half an hour earlier sat, growing ever colder on the coffee table in front of her.

A loud, peremptory rap on her door caused Leona to jump and she kicked the table, sending coffee all over her magazines.

"Hang on!" she called, pulling handfuls of tissues out of a box and dabbing, ineffectually, at the rapidly spreading puddle of brown liquid.

A second, even louder, knock was heard and she gave up all pretence at clearing up and made her way across the room. Leona wasn't sure what it was she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't the gorgeous blue-eyed hunk that stood in her doorway. Although closer inspection of those eyes revealed two deep pools of cynicism which, Leona knew, would be difficult to negotiate safely.

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Steve had arisen that morning in a state of severe irritation. He had spent the previous evening downloading his annoyance to Mark. Unfortunately, Mark did not hold the same views about psychics as his, more cynical, son and Steve had gone to bed very frustrated with the world.

He decided to forgo breakfast with Mark and drove to Bobs for coffee and donuts.
Luckily Jesse was on duty at the hospital so he was able to get in and out without any explanations. Driving to the address that the Hamilton's had given to him, Steve let his imagination run riot and by the time he arrived Leona Gray had taken shape and form. In his mind she was short and rotund, clothed in a myriad of rainbow coloured silks and satins, none of which did her figure any favours whatsoever. He had also gone so far as to imagine her apartment. There would be multi coloured walls with hangings everywhere and the whole place would smell of sandalwood.

Stepping out of the lift at the fourth floor Steve walked along the pale grey carpeted corridor towards Apartment Seven. Rapping on the door he waited. From inside he heard a muffled curse and what sounded like someone patting something. He knocked on the door again, louder this time, and had the satisfaction of hearing footsteps moving towards him. The door opened and Steve was stunned into immobility, for the vision that he had created in his head disappeared in the split second it took him to look into Leona Grays face.

Steve looked at his notebook, convinced he had the wrong apartment, "Miss. Leona Gray?"

"Yes, I am Leona Gray. I take it you are Lieutenant Sloan," she answered.

"Yes," Steve replied.

"Come in," Leona said, gesturing Steve into the apartment.

Steve entered through the door and looked around the room in which he found himself. It was nothing like he had envisioned. The walls were painted a pale peach colour and there wasn't a wall hanging in sight nor could Steve's nostrils find the slightest hint of sandalwood. Leona herself was nothing like his imagination. She was tall, slim and her taste in clothes, had he not known what she actually did for a living, would have led Steve to think she worked in an office somewhere. His roving eyes alighted on the spilt coffee which had now reached the edge of the table and was slowly dripping onto the cream coloured carpet. Inclining his head Steve said, "I'd clean that up if I were you. Coffee stains are the worst things to get out."

Quickly kneeling down, she grabbed another handful of tissues and began dabbing at the stain. Steve stood watching as Leona finally rid her carpet of coffee. Her long honey-blonde hair, thick and lustrous draped itself around her face and Steve was aware of a desire to reach down and tuck it gently behind her ears. As if Leona could read his thoughts she looked up at him, a gentle blush suffusing her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring Steve's outstretched hand and walked past him, taking the sodden tissues to the kitchen. She stood, for a long moment, leaning her warm forehead against the coolness of the refrigerator door. Knowing that Steve had been looking at her had nothing to do with her abilities, rather it was wholly due to her awareness of him as only a woman can be aware of a man.

Walking back into the lounge Leona found that Steve had moved over to her desk and was scrutinising the photographs on the wall behind it.

Unable to restrain herself, given Steve's obvious hostility Leona quipped, " Satisfied customers."

"Satisfaction accompanied by a big fat cheque no doubt," he replied.

"This is not my livelihood Lieutenant," Leona responded, despite herself she was stung by the obvious inference that she did what she did for money, " I work in an office downtown and only use my gift simply to help people."

"But people must give you money," Steve persisted.

"Money, no. Gifts, yes sometimes." Leona was icy. She had begun to think that Steve had begun to warm to her, but obviously not.

"Look Miss. Gray, I don't like psychics," Steve began, only to be interrupted by a sarcastic 'no!' from Leona.

He frowned and continued, "However, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton want you involved so......... here I am."

"I understand that you don't like psychics," Leona began, "very few police officers do. They deal in things that they can see and touch. I deal with things that can't be seen, can't be touched and they find that very hard to understand. It doesn't make it any the less real though."

As that was very much what his dad had said to him the previous evening Steve couldn't prevent a rueful grin from flitting across his face. Leona saw that grin and relaxed a little.

"You've had this conversation with someone else," she said.

"My father," Steve acknowledged, "he has a very open mind to everything and is willing to explore every avenue."

"He must be a very special man," Leona replied.

"That he is," Steve said, his love for his father showing in those three words.

"I love my dad too," Leona answered, pausing a little before continuing, "Would you care to sit down?"

"Thanks," Steve moved a cushion from one seat to another and sat down.

"Can I tell you about what I saw?" Leona asked tentatively.

Taking a deep breath Steve nodded his agreement.

Settling herself into a large, cosy armchair and tucking her feet up underneath her, Leona began, "I had heard about the disappearance of Fiona Hamilton on the news. When I saw her photograph I had a fleeting impression of being in an enclosed space and for a few seconds I had problems breathing, like there was a heavy weight pushing down on my chest," she paused to look at Steve, trying to gauge his response.

Satisfied that he was still listening Leona continued, "The feeling went off so quickly that I ignored it. I have had experiences like that before and nothing came of them."

"So what was it that made you phone the Hamilton's?" despite his scepticism, Steve was impressed by Leona's sincerity.

"It was after the discovery of her body that I had another 'flash' as I tend to call them. The Hamilton's had mentioned an email address that they had specifically set up for anyone with any information, so I wrote to it and a few days later I heard back from them. " Leona continued, " I saw an image of a neon sign. I'm not sure but I think it was a bar sign. It kept coming back to me over the next few days but I couldn't seem to make sense of the sign. I knew that I was seeing letters but they seemed odd somehow. Then I realised that I was seeing them backwards, like in a mirror. The car that Leona was found in, was it hers?"

If Steve was surprised at the question he hid it admirably and simply answered, "Yes it was, why?"

"Because when I got the flashes it is always from the victims point of view. I realised that I was seeing the sign in Fiona's rear view mirror and that she was driving away from the bar."

"Was she alone?" Steve wanted to know.

"I haven't ever seen anyone else but I got the very strong impression that Fiona wasn't alone and that she was relaxed."

"So she knew who she was with?"

"I couldn't say that for certain," Leona replied, pleased that Steve seemed to be taking her seriously at last, "but I do feel that she felt no apprehensions at that point."

Deciding that he had been 'touchy-feely' enough for one day Steve chose to concentrate on finding out the name of the bar.

"Do you think you could work out the name of the bar?"

Leona lowered her eyelids over the dark blue orbs that had stunned Steve earlier and brought the 'flash' to sharp focus in her minds' eye. She saw the neon sign flashing in her head. "I see a small 'z', no that's an 's' at the end of the word. Then there's a small 'd' no, sorry a 'b' followed by a small 'o' and 'B'. The rest of the letters are capitals but they are a bit fuzzy."

All the time that Leona was speaking Steve had been writing down the letters in his notebook. Writing down the last letter he looked at the word in mild disbelief, "Bob's?"

"Yes, that's it."

"If I suggested something for the capital letters, would you simply be able to confirm them or would you just see what I say?" Steve asked.

Unsure as to why Steve was asking her that Leona answered, "I might see what you suggest."

"Okay," Steve said, thinking for a few seconds, "how about if I asked whether all three letters were different?"

Leona had closed her eyes again but, at Steve's words they shot open and she said, "No, two are the same! Two B's. How did you do that? Are you sure that you don't have psychic powers?"

Shaking his head in disbelief and laying his notebook down on the table in front of him Steve said, "At this point I truly wish I had. Unfortunately it's more mundane than that. I know the place that you have seen. It isn't a bar, it's a restaurant called BBQ Bob's."

"How do you know?" Leona was more than curious.

Steve sighed and then answered, "Because I co-own it."

Leona was frowning.

"What's the matter?" Steve wanted to know.

"If you own that place then maybe I was picking the vibes up from you and not Fiona Hamilton at all."

For a minute or so there was silence as both Steve and Leona sat digesting the thought. Suddenly Steve sat upright and said, "You had the 'flash' before you met or even heard of me. Surely you don't pick up vibes from people you don't know?"

Leona's shoulders dropped as she relaxed on hearing those words, "You're right."

Steve stood, "Now that I have a place to start I'd better get going. Thanks for your help."

After Steve left, Leona sat for a long while just leaning back against her chair with her eyes shut. She wasn't seeing a flashing sign though. She was seeing a tall, handsome man with the most piercing blue eyes she had ever come across.

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Steve finished speaking and sat, waiting for a response from across the desk.

"She thinks Fiona Hamilton was picked up by her murderer at YOUR restaurant!" Captain Newman was incredulous, "Does that place have an invisible magnet for all the nutters and low-life's of LA?"

"Not all of them!" responded Steve.

"So what do you intend to do?"

"I'm going to take Fiona Hamilton's picture and canvas our customers. It might be an idea to show it to our regular Thursday night crowd as that was the night she disappeared."

"Okay," Newman responded, "get to it."

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Two evenings later Steve found himself in a very unusual position. He was behind the counter at Bob's taking money from his numerous customers and yet he was on duty. For every time he took money from the Thursday night regulars, and there were many of them, he showed them a photograph of Fiona Hamilton in the hopes that someone would recognise her. So far no one had shown any recollection. Steve was getting frustrated, he had been sure that at least one person would have remembered her. He looked at the clock; the hands showed that the time was 10.16pm.

"Hey, c'mon Steve," came an amused voice in front of him, "you aren't usually so slow in taking my money."

Dragging his gaze back to the familiar couple standing in front of him Steve smiled, "I'm sorry, I was a little distracted there for a while."

"What's up?" Jessica Tatler, the female half of the couple, asked, "you've not been with it all evening and what's that photo you've been showing people?"

"I'm sorry," Steve apologised again, " I'm working on a murder investigation at the moment and that photo is of the victim. I have been hoping that the Thursday regulars would have recognised her."

"Why are you checking here?" Jim Tatler, Jessica's husband asked.

This was the part of the conversation that Steve dreaded every time showed the photo, "Because we have information that leads us to believe that she either had a date with or met her murderer here."

"Oh my Lord," Jessica responded, "that's awful Steve. Show me the photo."

Steve handed the picture over with no expectation of any recognition. Jessica looked down at it and exclaimed, "That's the girl who was sitting at the table next to us!"

"What!" Steve was surprised.

"Yes, I recognise her too," Jim Tatler agreed, looking over his wife's shoulder, "I remember thinking that she was very attractive and wondering what she was doing with a guy who looked old enough to be her father."

Jessica threw her husband a look.

He smiled and, putting an arm around her waist he pulled her close to him and said, "Nowhere near as attractive as you gorgeous."

Steve found himself smiling too, although a little wistfully for Jessica and Jim were in their early 70's and he found himself wondering if he would ever find that special someone to spend the rest of his life with.

"Can you describe the man?" he asked.

"He was wearing grey slacks and a dark blue short sleeved shirt. His hair was salt and pepper and he had a black moustache," Jessica said.

"If I took you down to the station, do you think you could work with a police sketch artist to give us a picture of this guy?" Steve asked.

"Sure thing Steve," both Jessica and Jim agreed, without hesitation.

Walking round to stand next to them, Steve looked down at them both and said, "You two are terrific, you know that?"

Calling out to Jesse that he was leaving Steve drove the elderly couple to the precinct and, less than two hours later he dropped them off at their apartment, a brand new picture of the main suspect sitting on his passenger seat. As Jessica and Jim were about to enter the main door of their building they were halted by Steve's voice, "Next Thursday," he called, "it's on the house. Anything you want, as much as you can eat."

Jim raised his hand in acknowledgement and the couple carried on into their building as Steve drove away.

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The next day Steve was on an early shift and much of it was spent making sure that the picture was distributed to all the black and whites and as many of the businesses surrounding Bob's as they could manage.

That afternoon he was found sitting out on the deck at the beach house when his mobile rang. Sighing, he picked it up from the table and spoke, "Sloan here."

"This is Leona Gray, are you busy?"

A shiver ran down Steve's spine as Leona's voice caressed his eardrum and he sat up in his seat.

"No, I'm not busy Miss. Gray," he said, "What can I do for you?"

There was silence down the phone line and, for a moment, Steve wondered if they had been cut off.

"Miss.Gray? Leona?" he asked.

"I'm here, Lieutenant," she replied, "I wanted to ask you a question and I'm not sure how to say it."

"I'm listening," Steve was intrigued.

"I was wondering if you would care to have dinner with me this evening. I'm not a bad cook and I thought we could eat here," Leona's voice was hesitant.

Steve smiled to himself. Leona had been in his thoughts quite a bit since he had met her, but he wasn't sure what she thought of him because of how he had acted when they first met.

"Lieutenant Sloan?" her voice came down the line again.

"Call me Steve," he replied, "and, yes, I would love to have dinner with you. What time?"

"About seven, if that would suit?" Leona replied.

"Seven it is," Steve said, "I'll look forward to it."

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Placing the receiver back on its cradle with perceptibly shaking hands, Leona sat back in her chair and attempted to calm herself down. It took longer than she expected and, by the time her thoughts were in some semblance of order, at least 30 minutes had passed. Exhaling loudly Leona stood up, retrieved her purse and jacket from where they sat by the front door of her apartment and exited, in search of the makings of a gourmet meal.

Several hours later she stood, hair plastered to her head from the heat of the cooker, stirring the sauce that she later planned to pour over the chicken. Glancing up at her frying pan shaped clock Leona gave the sauce a final stir, turned off the heat and went to shower and change.

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Driving along the same route as he had done a few days previously Steve was aware of a totally different set of emotions. Last time, he was really dreading meeting Leona Gray. This time he couldn't wait to get there and had to consciously slow his driving speed down so that he didn't end up with a ticket.

Parking his car, he reached into the back and pulled out the bottle of wine he had gone out and purchased after Leona had phoned him. Carefully locking the doors he made his way into the building and, slightly impatiently, rode the elevator to Leona's floor.
This time his knock on Leona's door was more by way saying 'hi' rather than the peremptory announcing of his arrival of the other day.

Inside the apartment Leona exited her bedroom having slipped on her favourite outfit, a figure hugging cream woollen dress with a cowl neck. She had just slipped on one strappy sandal when the doorbell rang and she hopped her way across the room trying to put the other one on without falling over.

Leona opened the door and Steve's breath caught in his throat for he had been unprepared for just how beautiful she would look. For a few seconds he stood there, like a statue, only unfreezing when Leona spoke to him.

"Hi, Steve. Come on in, dinner is nearly ready."

Sniffing the air as he entered the apartment Steve said, "Mmm something smells good."

"It's nothing fancy," replied Leona, placing the bottle of wine that Steve had handed to her on the beautifully laid table.

"Listen, when you spend most of your time eating on the run or working at a barbeque joint, then anything that is dished up on a plate that you haven't cooked yourself is a real treat," Steve responded grinning.

Later that evening comfortably filled with good food and wine, Steve and Leona in her lounge talking about nothing in particular. Sipping at his wine Steve looked across at Leona and asked, "So when did you to realise that you had psychic powers?" Leona looked warily across making Steve say, "I'm really interested."

It wasn't often that people expressed a genuine interest in that side of her life, so it took a couple of minutes for Steve to persuade her that he was serious.

Leona put her wine glass down on the coffee table in front of her and turned sideways in her seat tucking her feet underneath her, whilst one hand tucked a stray hair behind one ear. An action that, Steve thought, was very appealing.

"The first time it happened I was twelve." Leona began, "I had a beautiful black Labrador and we were bathing her one day she ran away. She was a very nervous dog and a car backfired outside. We looked for her for days but we didn't find her. One night about a week after she had gone I was sitting in my bedroom holding onto her collar, when I suddenly had this vision of Mindy, that was her name, sitting huddled under what looked like a big brightly coloured horse. In the centre of town was a park with a wonderful merry-go-round. My dad went there and found Mindy, she had got underneath it and hadn't been able to get out."

"Phew!" Steve was impressed, despite himself, "Are you able to, you know, do it anytime?"

"No I'm can't," Leona answered, "and I'm very grateful for it. Over the years I have made some friends in the psychic community, I suppose you'd call it, and some of them have visions all the time, they can't seem to turn them off. I don't think I could deal with that all the time."

"I suppose it's almost the same as being a cop and not being able to switch off from a case," Steve mused.

"Speaking from personal experience are we, Lieutenant?" Leona teased.

Steve pulled a face that acknowledged the hit.

For a few minutes they sat in companionable silence, then Steve looked at his watch and said, reluctantly, "I'd better go, I am on early shift in the morning."

Standing, Steve picked his jacket up from where it was draped over the arm of the sofa and put it on. Leona followed him to the door and stood back whilst Steve opened it. Turning to face her Steve said, "Thanks for a good evening, I've really enjoyed myself."

"So have I, Steve," Leona replied.

She was unsure what to do next but was saved from too much worrying as Steve leant in and gently placed his lips on hers, his arms snaking around her waist and pulling her close to his chest. All the while Steve deepened the kiss until Leona could do no more than lean breathlessly against Steve. Eventually, the kiss ended and Steve leant his forehead against Leona's with a smile and said, "I really must go now. Next time, dinner is on me."

Removing her arms from where they had, somehow, found their way around Steve's neck Leona asked, "There's going to be a next time then?"

"Haven't your psychic powers given you a hint then?" Steve chuckled.

Playfully swatting him on the arm Leona said, "My psychic powers tell me that a police Lieutenant, standing not too far from here, is going to be in pain very shortly."

"Pain?..............Ow!" Steve complained as Leona kicked him smartly in the ankle.

"Ha, that will teach you to mock my powers!" she laughed, pushing Steve through the doorway and as she closed it on him Leona heard him say, "I'll ring you tomorrow."

Leona went to bed that night to dream of blue eyes and strong arms.

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Jim Newman opened his office door and yelled, "Sloan!"

Steve looked up from his desk where he had been sifting through some reports and grimaced. The tone of Newman's voice did not bode well for an easy conversation.
Closing the folder that he had been reading he stood and walked across the squad room, entering his superior's office.

"Sir?" he questioned.

"Bring me up to speed on the Hamilton case Sloan." Newman replied, "The press have got wind of the fact that there is a psychic involved and they are wanting to talk to her."

"No!" Steve's reaction was instantaneous.

Captain Newman raised his eyebrows and Steve coloured a little stammering, "I don't think that it would serve any useful purpose, Sir. It could even put Leona in danger if her name is mentioned."

A muscle twitched at the corner of Jim Newman's mouth at his Lieutenants words but he managed to keep his tone even as he replied, "Okay Sloan. Just tell me where you are at the moment."

"The drawing that was done from the Tatler's description has gone out to all the black and whites as well as every precinct in the city. So far though, we've had nothing back. I'm going to take a copy of the picture and show it around the office complex where Fiona worked."

"Okay Sloan, get on with it. The quicker we solve this case the better I'll like it. I hate having the press sniffing around." Newman dismissed Steve, who stood and left the office.

Only stopping at his desk to pick up copies of the picture of the man the Tatler's had seen with Fiona Hamilton, Steve drove across town to the large office complex where she had worked. Drawing up outside the building about thirty minutes later Steve left his car and surveyed the 'glass monstrosity' as it was known locally. Built some thirty years previously by one of the trendier architects of the time it was hated by all who saw it and the majority of those who worked inside it. Walking in through the electronic glass doors, which opened with barely a sound, he made his way across to the reception desk. A young, beautiful brunette sat there with one of the modern 'over the head' ear and mouthpiece contraptions set on the back of her head, her fingers occasionally reaching out to press a button to answer a call or to pass an existing caller onto the correct floor or department. She looked up as she heard footsteps approaching and her eyes widened at the sight that greeted her.

"Good morning sir, what can I do for you?" she simpered, in a tone that left Steve feeling a little nauseous.

Her smile faded a little when Steve extracted his ID from his pocket and showed it to her saying, "Lieutenant Steve Sloan. May I see Mr. Martin Shires please?"

"Do you have an appointment, Sir?"

"No, I don't," Steve replied, then carried on quickly as the girl opened her mouth to refuse him entrance without one, "but if you tell him it's about Fiona Hamilton's murder, I am sure he will see me."

Five minutes later Steve was comfortably settled in one of the offices on the seventh floor, sitting opposite a very unhappy looking Martin Shires.

"I still can't believe that she is dead, Lieutenant Sloan," he said, "Fiona was one of my best workers, I am going to miss her terribly."

"I am sure that you will, Sir," Steve replied, " but what we need to do now is to find out who killed her and bring him to justice."

"Yes, I'm sorry," Shires replied, "what can I do to help?"

Steve passed the photo fit picture across the table and said, "Do you recognise this man?"

Looking down at the piece of paper that sat in front of him Shires said, "I'm afraid it doesn't Lieutenant. However, I'm stuck in this office for most of the day and don't always see everyone that comes through here. We have a lot of reps come through here and it could have been anyone of them or someone from another company."

Steve sighed, just for once he'd like to have the person he showed a suspects picture to say 'yeah, I know who that is' and his case would be solved in a heartbeat.

"Can I show this picture in your main office?" Steve asked.

"Certainly, Lieutenant," Martin Shires agreed, pushing his chair back and standing up, "We all want to find out what happened to Fiona as much as you do."

He led Steve out into the main office area and up to a large, pine desk. The smartly dressed woman sitting behind it looked up as they came to a halt in front of her and asked, "Martin, what can I do for you?"

Indicating Steve, Martin Shires said, "Monica, this is Lieutenant Steve Sloan, he is investigating Fiona's murder. He has a picture of a potential suspect that he wishes to show to everyone. Please give him every co-operation."

"Certainly, Martin," Monica replied.

She was true to her word and Steve later reflected that it would be nice to get that level of help on every investigation. Unfortunately, no-one recognised the picture and he left the building a few hours later feeling tired and very frustrated.

Steve walked slowly back to his car wondering where he could go next with this case. He was just about to drive off when a trilling sound from his jacket pocket alerted him to the fact that his mobile was ringing. Reaching in Steve pulled out his mobile and put it to his ear saying, "Sloan here."

"Steve? It's Jesse," came the voice of his best friend and partner in his ear, "I'm at Bob's, can you get over here?"

"Jesse, I'm working a case at the moment," Steve's frustration came out in his, less than, gracious response.

"The Hamilton case," Jesse responded, wisely ignoring the tone in his friends' voice,
"I know, that's why I am ringing. I put the picture you left here up next to the till and someone has recognised him."

"I'm on my way," responded Steve, cutting the connection and leaping into his car almost before Jesse had finished speaking.

END OF PART 1




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