Telling Fortunes in Phoenix
Chapter Two

Blake

On March 13, 1963, Ernesto Arturo Miranda, a homeboy from Mesa Arizona, was picked up in Phoenix as ‘a person of interest’ in the kidnapping and rape of an eighteen year old girl. Following a two hour interrogation without the presence of an attorney, Miranda signed a confession to the crime. He was convicted in June at the Phoenix Hall of Justice but while serving his sentence he filed for a re-trial. ACLU lawyers were able to convince the Supreme Court that Miranda had been wrongfully convicted.

The Supremes’ ruling forced police officers all over the country to adopt a new practice, reading the Miranda warning from a card during an arrest so that the detainee understood that he or she had the right to remain silent and the right to a lawyer.

With the financial responsibility for legal counsel and the elimination of coerced confessions, the cost of justice increased exponentially. The little Miranda cards (copies of which Ernesto Miranda would sign and sell for a buck fifty at saloons) are now standard police equipment. The fact that Miranda was also convicted on re-trial, without reference to his confession, does not dim the impact this young criminal’s legal battle had on the American judicial system.

On the same morning that Julia made her valiant attempt to replace her imaginary sister Detective Carson Blake began his work day by making an unannounced call on a witness. He had the little Miranda card in his pocket but had no cause to think he’d need it on this mild spring day. Summer had not yet arrived but as the sun in Phoenix rarely ceased in its shining the officer scanned the street for shade, a habit most Phoenicians soon developed. He parked beneath a Mulberry tree though its leaves had just begun to peek out, then sat, examining his interviewee’s home.

It stood out in the well-groomed neighborhood. Bracketed on either side with green expanses of manicured grass, Sara Michele Parks’ yard overflowed with unusual shrubs and trees, not all of them successful in their fight with the sun. He thought he recognized lavender and a miniature peach tree bent under the weight of a hundred buds. An enthusiastic but irregular green thumb was evident and the neighbor’s opinions of the non-lawn were displayed in the squared off borders of their perfectly edged properties, though a sprawling pink tea rose extended into the yard to the east.

He was not surprised by the eccentric appearance of the lot. The woman was, after all, a self-avowed fortune teller. As he unfolded himself from his vehicle and crossed over to the porch he had visions of an aging crone pretending to throw the ‘evil eye.’

His partner had been assigned away for the month due to a never-ending staff shortage, and though he didn’t worry about his safety on this bright morning he wished she was here. He hoped the gypsy woman would let him in and not think he was some psycho killer with a toy badge. His supervisor encouraged him to pick up a rooky when out on assignment but the jocks in the squad room had decided him to come alone. One of those boys would just make him scarier.

The woman who opened to his knock didn’t look like a gypsy but she did match her yard. Her curly hair was some sandy shade that glinted red in direct sunlight and was unkempt and overgrown; it may never have felt a scissors. It was partially contained in a tie at her neck. Shorts and sandals showed off chubby freckled legs, a fullness that continued up and into her face, giving her a youthful appearance. Her eyes, though, some light color, blue or green or gray, had seen some wear and little lines showing evidence of maturity. Her face reddened a bit as he showed his identification. Guilt?

“Is your name Sara Parks?”

She agreed that it was.

“I’m Detective Carson Blake of the Phoenix Police Department,” he said. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

This was the part where a lone woman might be uncomfortable but she didn’t need convincing and invited him into her kitchen. The smell of brewing coffee made him salivate.

Sara Parker poured two mugs without asking, then placed cream and honey on the table. She sat. He sat. He sipped his coffee, black. It was good. He pulled out a recording device and set it on the table between them.

“I’m investigating a possible drug ring,” he said.

This was not strictly true. A distraught mother had accused someone of selling drugs to her son. She had a phone number, no name, and she’d discussed it with this Sara Parks. Not really enough to waste time on, he knew, and he should have taken down the information and told her he’d get back to her. And then not. Gotten back to her.

But he had a feeling about this one. A penny ante drug sale wouldn’t usually get his attention but the woman’s complaint had set him humming so he followed the scanty clues.

The detective didn’t run his life on hunches but neither did he ignore them. Something dangerous was going on and here, in this quiet kitchen, the thrum had intensified. This woman across from him, drinking sweet white coffee, was involved.

“I’d like to record this session,” he continued. “It’s for my memory and your protection. Is that all right?”

“Go ahead.”

Blake introduced himself and Sara to the recording stick and added the date, time and location of the interview. He began.

“Recently a woman named Maureen Janice Sturgis visited you. Shortly after her visit she made a complaint.”

Sara raised her sandy brows. “A complaint?”

“You’re a paid psychic?” Blake said.

“Yeah.”

“It’s your only means of support?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did Maureen come here?”

“To talk to me.”

“What did she talk about?”

“Personal stuff.”

Detective Blake frowned at his notebook. “Just tell me what was said.”

“I can’t give you confidential information about my clients. I’m sure you understand.”

“No, I don’t understand,” Blake said. “You’re not a lawyer or a doctor so you don’t have the right to withhold evidence. In fact, that’s a crime.”

Sara sat back in her chair. “Is this your only lead? You don’t believe in this crap.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’m psychic.”

Blake drummed his fingers on the table. Time to back off.

“Maybe you can explain your work,” he said. “What it entails.”

The fortune teller heaved a sigh. “Mostly I read auras or the Tarot cards.”

Blake nodded as if he knew what she was talking about.

“There are many types of aura reading but I follow the old Eastern chart of the chakras,” she said. “With the Tarot cards I usually use a ten card spread. Both of these methods are methodical, so I’m able to cover everything and arrange my time.”

“Who decides which method you use?” Blake said.

“I discuss it with the client but auras are better when someone wants to understand herself while the Tarot cards are better for a specific situation.”

“So you used the cards for Mrs. Sturgis?”

“No. I didn’t have time,” Sara said. “I had a vision first and then I did a simple read.”

“I don’t understand those terms.”

“I don’t ask for visions. They just come, and not often. I’ll become overwhelmed with knowledge about something, usually as a motion picture since I’m a visual person.”

“Uh huh.” he said. What was she talking about? “And the straight read?”

“I’ll close my eyes and concentrate to get a snippet of information,” she said. “That is usually also in a picture or motion picture but it can be a specific scene or something symbolic that will resolve into ideas.”

“Can’t say it sounds different than the visions,” Blake said.

“Maybe so,” Sara said. “I guess it might be because I work for the straight read but the vision just hurtles in unasked.

“But anyhow, Maureen was asking me to pry into someone else’s affairs, which I refused to do. She was disappointed and angry so I wanted to give her a parting gift. But it just made things worse.”

Blake shook his head slowly. “I’m still not getting it.”

“I’ll demonstrate.” She put her elbow on the table and rested her forehead on her hand. She closed her eyes. “You’re investigating narcotics but you’ll replace human trafficking and black market organ sales.” Sara opened her eyes and straightened up from the table. “A police officer is involved.” She pointed at the recording stick. “I wouldn’t let anyone listen to that yet, if I were you.” The early morning sun streaming in the window made her eyes transparent as ice.

Blake composed his features as the thrum in his stomach increased. Crystal gazing and the like was not illegal in Phoenix, and though he’d never met a ‘psychic’ he’d met plenty of con artists. Successful cons knew their marks and a statement like she’d just made didn’t come out of thin air. The Sturgis woman thought Parks would know something about drug dealers. Why? And now Parks dangles a worse crime. She might get information from her clients or maybe she’s directly involved in something. But why would she tell me about it?

“That’s some pretty specific information,” he said. “You got all of that from just closing your eyes for a second?”

Parks nodded. “Yes and no. I’ve been circling on this situation for a few weeks. I’d love to hand it over to someone trained to deal with this sort of thing.”

“How about some names?” Blake said. “Addresses? Dates?”

“That’s all I got so far but I’ll be glad to let you know if I learn anything new.”

Blake started again, hoping to redirect the woman’s thought process. “Okay. But what you know now is, you had a vision. Tell me about it.”

“I didn’t tell Maureen about my vision.”

Detective Blake stared at the fluffy woman. This lady was hiding important information. He tried to maintain his soothing tone as he resumed the interview.

“Thanks for the background material. That was very interesting. So now, if you can just tell me what you and Mrs. Sturgis did talk about I’ll get out of your hair.”

Parks did not move but her eyes darkened and blotchy pink color swept up her face, making her freckles stand out. Blake stood up, alarmed and suddenly certain she would fly across the table at him. He was six foot two and could handle himself; she was five six and not a body builder. Nevertheless, a motivated contender had a distinct advantage and his body instinctively prepared for physical altercation.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I’m sick of being pressured to reveal other people’s secrets.” Parks’ hair lit up in the sunbeams. “Maureen wanted to snoop into her son’s affairs and, now, so do you. He’s not on drugs.”

Well, at least she admitted what Maureen talked to her about. He sat down again, feeling a little silly for jumping up. “So he’s just a trafficker?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t know how he’s connected.”

“Then where did you get that stuff about the organ sales and all?”

“I don’t know.” Sara broke eye contact. “This has never happened before and I’m not sure what it all means. That’s what I saw just now. And before.” She met his eyes again. “But you’re the third person showing up that made me… aware of this situation.”

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“Neither do I,” Sara said.

Blake found he was leaning across the table and forced himself to relax back into his chair. He took a breath.

“Ms. Parks. I’ve asked you what went on at your séance with Maureen Sturgis. You refuse to answer the question directly but you keep referring to human trafficking. You’ve even stated the police are involved.”

Blake waited a beat, hoping she’d speak. She didn’t.

“I’m not just some guy you’re talking to across the back fence,” he said, “I’m an officer of the law. When you start flinging around accusations you either have some information to back you up or you’re wasting the time and resources of the police department.” He looked at her expectantly. “You want these criminals apprehended don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

The wave of color had left her face and Ms. Parks now looked pale. “For the last two weeks I’ve been getting information about the transplants,” she said.

“From who?”

Parks threw up her hands. “I have no idea. These ugly flashes just come to me.”

As she said that the hum in his stomach increased to painful proportions. What did she know and why wouldn’t she tell him? Maybe she was in danger from the traffickers, they’d threatened her… Or, “Is it the police officer?” he said.

“What?”

“Did someone threaten you?” he said. “Is that why you won’t tell me any more about this?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “I’m receiving visions about this. Maureen and you and another person seem to stimulate this but none of you are the bad guys. And I’m afraid this is coming down soon.”

“You mean this hasn’t happened yet?”

“I think it’s cyclic. You know, like you go to the grocery store once a week. You’ve been going all your life but you’re also going tomorrow.”

Blake was distracted because he went to the grocery once a week and he was going again tomorrow. He pulled his attention away from this meaningless coincidence. “So this will happen again tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Soon, anyway. I’m not sure. But I am tired. I don’t want to have anything to do with this mess. You’re the cop. Can’t you do something, figure it out?”

“I might be able to figure it out but the first thing I need to do is get you to talk to me.”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” she said.

“You haven’t told me anything,” Blake said, “except you’re aware of a crime. Three times I’ve asked you to tell me about your session with Ms. Sturgis and you’ve refused. If you don’t start giving me some answers I’ll have to place you under arrest.”

“For what?!”

“Wasting the time of the police.”

“Hey,” Parks said, “I didn’t ask you to come here and I don’t have to tell you personal things about other people. Forget I mentioned the body snatchers. I retract my statement. Just get out of here and I’ll get on with my day.” She stood up and headed for the door, obviously walking him out, but Blake shook his head.

“Uh, uh,” he said. “That’s not how it works. I’m placing you under arrest for obstruction of justice.” He pulled his laminated Miranda card from his pocket.

“You have the right to remain silent…” And he continued, telling her all the things that Ernesto Miranda had not been told. A night or two in jail should show her that she needed to cooperate with authority.