January 7th, 2008 | 16 Comments »

This is where I send the newcomers back to Part One and Part Two. Oh! there is also Part Three. It’s a long story, okay? Back off. Don’t make me hurt you. So scraping from my last installment…

There are complications because these two policemen have me in a secret file that their superior officers will not ever see. They aren’t going to be able to get their search warrant on my say-so, because their superiors do not know about me. Even though I feel cheapened by this, I agree to meet them at the actual crime scene later for several reasons. I will go into these later.

First, I am still young enough then not to be uppity with the police, and also used to being treated with secrecy, like the mistress to a married man would be.

Second, I really want to help. Duh.

Third, and most compelling. I had never before physically visited a site that I had visited via remote viewing. I was pretty excited about that.

When I got to the farm, it was indeed what I had seen in my remote visit.

How cool is that?

The two policemen, lets call them Simon and Judas, wanted me to enter into the psyche of the shooters. Okay. I had done this before. It isn’t always pretty, but then, neither was the dirty old bugger.

If I hadn’t made it clear before, the dirty old bugger had molested the younger of the two shooters. When I went inside the shooter’s emotions, I found only elation and exhiliaration. “I did it! And I’m glad I did!” In fact, he didn’t leave immediately afterwards. he stuck around a bit to gloat.

I pointed out the places he wandered because they may have held potential evidence. He didn’t have to step over the body of the dirty old bugger, so there were no bloody footprints. The only evidence recovered were shells from a 22 rifle. (A rabbit gun)

A search warrant had been served and executed on the hiding place of the weapon, but the older guy had gotten antsy, and had re-hidden it.

After the visit to the crime scene, there was a lengthy session at the police detachment. This is the part where I was starved all day and became cranky and tired. I produced sketches of the weapon’s new hiding place, sketches of the two, and the accomplice who owned the antique truck they arrived in. I traced the route the two had travelled in the truck, because I recognized the landmarks.

It was during this session that Judas looked me straight in the eye and barefaced lied to me: “We’re going to make sure that you will get paid for all of your time and talent.” Up to that point, I was somewhat naive about police trickery. It was before all the good cop shows on tv heh-heh.

To me, that was the last straw. I know when I’m being lied to, and the worst thing about it is that a liar will never own up to it. What do you say when someone lies to your face? Sheesh. I never brought up money at all. He did. With a big fat lie. While I was hungry and tired. And cranky. Did I mention cranky?

They couldn’t serve the second search warrant for the weapon because they were threatened with a harrassment suit.

The weapon was never recovered. The two got off scot-free because they couldn’t get any evidence to convict.

Serves them right, the big fat liars.
They totally ignored my information about the antique truck, even though I gave the licence number. They could have questioned the owner, at the very least.

I provided the best I had to offer, was exhausted in the process, and my information was selectively used. I wonder how many other dirty old buggers got theirs at the end of this guy’s arm. Because I do know that the shooter felt no remorse, only exhiliaration. I think he got a taste for it.

I thought of him a while back when a young man from my area went on a rampage. He had a list of pedophiles and he was killing them. I bet Simon and Judas thought about him, too.

It’s frustrating to know that the police didn’t use information I felt strongly about. That’s why this is the final installment of Working with the Police. Psychics have huge egos when it comes to their information. It’s a housewife’s dream to hear “You’re right” time after time, and then get paid for it. I hear it all the time. With the police? Not so much.

When I do a reading, and see trauma in the client’s past, I really have to judge whether or not to go into it. One, is the client ready? Two, do I want to go there myself? If we go into the trauma, we can effect a healing. Working with the police is like experiencing the trauma without the benefit of the healing. It’s just not for me.

December 14th, 2007 | 12 Comments »

If you haven’t done so yet, you might want to read Part One

It’s okay, I’ll go start supper and come back when you do.

The second time I worked with the police was a murder investigation. I got the officers very interested when I looked at the victim’s photograph (taken during his life, not in his death because that would be creepy, even for me) and I muttered “That dirty old bugger.”

What I saw was a pedophile. What his wife and the rest of his community saw was a very nice man.

I next described the shooters. I kind of did it by “feeling them” or “visiting” them. I knew the older was flabby, soft, and fair-complected. The other was younger, more fit, and dark-haired.

The officers asked me if I could identify them from photos. I could and did. They were getting more excited. They had an idea who did it. They were asking me to describe everything I could about the case before they revealed exactly what they wanted me to pinpoint. I guess they wanted to see if I was any good.

I was asked to tune into the victim around the time of the shooting. I described a dark house, him having a pee, putting wood in the stove, down to the pattern on the linoleum. (That’s old people talk for a particular kind of hard wearing flooring, and this was so not pretty) They were all yeah, yeah, skip all that, what happens next?

I describe a barn he goes to, and later I sketch this barn. There were birthing pens that I sketched, and I put them on the wrong level, but precisely above where they actually were. (Note: I have been looking through my stuff to find my sketches. I’m hoping I didn’t throw them out in the big clean I did recently.)

He is doing something on the lower level, washing something, and he hears something on the upper.

To be continued…