“Go into your other senses and do what everyone does when they get a new phone. Start pressing buttons.”

“I’ve done that a few times.”

“But not with purpose,” Harlan said. “You have an idea of what you’re looking for now. Focus. Use your intuition.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good plan.”

“We need information, Olivia. We don’t have time to go through a rigorous analysis in a Foundation lab.”

She hesitated and then decided that knowing was better than not knowing. She picked up the camera.

Harlan cleared his throat. “You might want to aim it at the doorway, not at me.”

She did not dignify that comment with a response, but she was careful to point the lens toward the bedroom doorway. Cautiously she raised her senses and pressed a crystal button.

A life-sized hologram flashed into existence. Even though she had been braced for the unknown, the vision of the man lunging toward her, both hands outstretched, eyes blazing with fury and a whisper of madness, startled her so much she gasped and stumbled backward. She would have lost her balance if she hadn’t come up against Harlan’s chest.

Her pulse slammed into high gear. It was all she could do not to scream. But the words stormed through her, demanding release. They exploded out of her, but not in a panicky shout or an echoing cry. Instead, she spoke in a ghostly voice.

“Dead man walking in a dying garden.”

She felt Harlan’s fingers closing around her shoulders, steadying her.

“Anything else?” he asked.

She took a couple of shaky breaths, collected herself and lowered her senses.

“That’s the man who murdered my mother,” she said.

CHAPTER 10

Harlan walked slowly around the hologram, noting and cataloging details. The figure appeared to be in his forties, tall, robust and powerfully muscled. A man who had worked hard to keep himself in good shape. The feral rage in his eyes told its own story. This was a man who had killed and had no regrets. A man who would do it again without hesitation. “What makes you so sure this is your mother’s killer?”

“I’m telling you, it’s the man who murdered her,” Olivia said.

Her eyes were fierce and her voice was tight with fury.

“I don’t doubt you,” he said. “I’m just asking for information.”

For a beat he thought she was not going to answer.

“I heard her voice,” she finally said.

“Your mother’s voice?”

“Yes, but not as if she was contacting me from beyond the grave. Nothing like that. It felt like a . . . recording.” Olivia pondered that for a few seconds. Then she nodded, evidently satisfied with the explanation. “Yes, a psychic recording, similar to the hologram but audio instead of visual. I think she somehow embedded the words into the image.”