Sight Unseen Page 6

  And admittedly aroused.

  That sexual response had come out of nowhere after she had carefully detailed the reasons why it couldn’t be that kind of reaction or caress. Or perhaps it had been waiting below the surface, submerged by her surprise that Lynch had acted in a way that she considered out of character. As she had left him, she had suddenly been swept away by a physical jolt of pure lust that had sent her running. It shouldn’t have startled her, she told herself. From the moment she had met him, she recognized that Lynch was a force with which to be reckoned on all levels. She had just experienced one of the more primal levels, and it made her a little dizzy. The essential maleness and sexuality of Lynch, the feel of him.

  Probably just the reactions he was going for.

  And yet it hadn’t seemed calculated. Lynch’s actions were generally designed to achieve a specific result, but this one seemed spontaneous, beyond the realm of any rational thought. And that last kiss on the tip of her nose had been definitely big brotherly.

  To hell with him. She’d be damned if she was going to spend the next couple of days trying to figure out what it meant, when he probably didn’t even know himself. Especially when bikini-model Ashley was out there waiting to jump back into his bed.

  Kendra pulled the flash drive from her pocket and plugged it into her computer. She perused the document files, both for the current investigation and collections of Web forum posts devoted to her and her cases.

  She knew from her e-mails just how fascinated some people were about real-life murders, but she was still amazed at the level of obsessive interest on display. There were dozens of true-crime forums, she discovered, each populated with scores of people who traded opinions and insights over the cases that were hot in the media at any given time. Their fervor was such that they might as well have been discussing favorite sports teams.

  And she was one of the players.

  Although she never discussed her cases with the media, that didn’t stop other cops, family members, and even perps from spilling their guts to whoever would listen. The discussion boards frequently got the facts wrong, but she was surprised at the number of tiny details they actually got right. Her surprise wasn’t because the details were necessarily secret but because she didn’t think anyone could possibly care about each case’s minutiae.

  But clearly some people did care, and one of them had murdered six people.

  Kendra finally turned her attention to the current investigation files, which featured photographs of each place where the Cabrillo State Bridge victims had been killed or abducted. She paged through dozens of shots of the Sabre Springs home where Corrine Harvey and Gary Decker had been taken.

  Typical Southern California Spanish-style home, all stucco and clay-tile roof. The pics didn’t show much. Hopefully, the cops and the FBI hadn’t already traipsed all over the place and destroyed whatever value the scene could have to her.

  She picked up her phone and punched Griffin’s mobile number.

  He answered immediately. “Griffin.”

  “It’s Kendra.”

  “No kidding. You know, they invented something a few years back called caller ID…”

  “If you’re through being a smart-ass, I want to take a look at Corrine Harvey’s home in Sabre Springs.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. As soon as possible. The scene hasn’t been broken down, has it?”

  “No, it’s still sealed under the jurisdiction of San Diego PD. But I heard that Adam Lynch had to hightail it back to Washington.”

  “That’s right, he did. Can you get me a key?”

  “Look, it’s already getting dark out. Why don’t we wait until tomorrow morning? I’ll have Metcalf or Reade call you and arrange—”

  “That’s pretty lame. I’m not afraid of the dark. And I don’t need anyone to hold my hand, Griffin. Do you want my help on this investigation or not?”

  He cursed under his breath. “Fine. I’ll call San Diego PD and have them open up the house for you. But if you get a lead on anything, I want to hear about it right away.”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t ‘of course’ me. I’ve been down this road with you before. Remember that we’re working together on this case. This isn’t the Kendra Michaels Show.”

  Kendra smothered her irritation. Just as she thought. Griffin wasn’t nearly as concerned with helping her as he was with making sure that she kept them in the loop. “You have to admit, Griffin, it’s a damned good show.”

  He muttered something that was probably obscene. “It’s just as well that Adam Lynch has left you on your own. His damn arrogance has been rubbing off on you. The last thing we need is another Lynch around here.” He hung up on her.

  * * *

  A POLICE CRUISER WAS PARKED in front of Corrine Harvey’s house when Kendra arrived. The yellow police tape had already been pulled and rolled up on the walkway, and light poured from every window.

  A young uniformed officer stepped outside before she reached the door. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Kendra Michaels. I believe you’re expecting me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re why I’m here.” He shook her hand. “I’ve been told to extend every courtesy to you.”

  “I appreciate that, Officer…” She read the nameplate above his right breast pocket. “Jillette.”

  He raised a small plastic basket. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take any photography or recording devices before I can let you come inside.”

  Her brows rose. “Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Departmental procedure.”

  “Since when?”

  “There have been photos of closed crime scenes that have found their way onto the Web and the TV news lately. If there are any shots you need, let me know, and I’ll have a police photographer come here and take them for you. The department will have to sign off on any photos you request.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Kendra put her cell phone into the basket.

  The officer stepped aside for her to enter the house.

  Kendra was first struck by the unique and adventurous artwork that adorned each wall in the foyer and living room. Not a surprise, she thought, since Corrine Harvey managed an art gallery.

  But the abstract paintings pulsed with rage and brutality, streaked with blood reds and bold, violent slices. If indeed the woman died a horrible death here, the surroundings couldn’t have been more appropriate.

  “Kinda scary, if you ask me,” the officer said.

  She wasn’t asking, but she had to agree. She glanced around the living-room area, paying particular attention to recently shampooed carpets.

  There, near the sofa, were two large indentations that didn’t appear to be footprints.

  Knee prints, perhaps?

  Yes, that was it. Someone had been standing near the couch and was brought down to his knees. Almost assuredly a man, judging from the size.

  “I think Gary Decker was strangled here,” she said aloud.

  The officer studied the carpet impressions. “Are you sure?”

  “No, not absolutely. Too many people have walked across the carpets for me to be positive. But the footprints leading to this spot are the only set that don’t match any of the prints leaving the room. I’ll bet Gary Decker wore a size eleven-and-a-half, maybe a twelve.”

  She caught a faint whiff of pomegranate on the couch. Slightly tart. Perfume?

  Not perfume, she realized. Body lotion. Jafra Royal Pomegranate. Corrine Harvey’s lotion of choice?

  She cast one more glance around the living room. Not much more to be gleaned here.

  She turned toward the kitchen, where, as in the case-file photos, she saw a lawn mower and pressure washer. She stepped toward them.

  “Weird place to keep these, huh?” Officer Jillette said.

  “She didn’t normally store them there.” Kendra opened the kitchen door and glanced into the garage. “I’m sure they were usually out here. But the killer
needed to make room for Gary Decker’s BMW. That’s where he loaded the corpses before taking them to the bridge. Probably not something you would do in a front driveway.”

  The officer nodded.

  Kendra closed the garage door and turned back into the main house. “I’m going upstairs. Do you need to follow me?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ll just stick around to lock up when you leave. Take your time, Dr. Michaels. I’ll be waiting out front.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kendra climbed the stairs and scanned the home office and two bedrooms. Slightly messy, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  She stopped in the hall.

  Damn. She hated doing this.

  There were few things sadder than walking through the home of a murder victim, photos of happy times never to be recaptured. Monitor screens of e-mails never to be answered. An open book never to be finished.

  Just the way it was when Corrine was casually living here the last day she would ever have.

  Shit.

  Okay, get a grip. Kendra moved down the hall to the master bathroom, where she detected another whiff of that cloying body lotion. This was probably where Corrine rubbed it on, but the scent was still stronger than it should have been with normal use.

  Strange …

  She scanned the bathroom’s blue pearl granite countertop for the lotion bottle.

  There was none.

  She turned around and glanced around the bedroom.

  Nothing.

  Of course. The bottle had been broken. Recently. Perhaps two nights before, as Corrine readied herself for a dinner date?

  But had Corrine merely dropped it, or…?

  Kendra got down on her knees and felt around the floor of the cabinet’s baseboard. There appeared to be nothing but dust.

  She reached around the corner, stretching her fingers between the cabinet and bathtub.

  She felt something cold and sharp.

  Success!

  She pulled out her hand, and with it a single piece of glass between her forefinger and middle finger. She examined the glass. Black letters were visible on its surface, just enough to let her know that she was right about the lotion brand.

  Kendra turned back into the bedroom and moved toward the door to the hallway, which had been left open against the room’s corner. She gripped the doorknob and swung the door open.

  She inhaled sharply, her gaze looking down at the floor. “Shit.”

  A pair of man’s shoe prints were embedded on the rug behind the door.

  The impressions were deep and well-defined in the carpet. Someone had obviously been standing in place, hiding behind that open door for an extended period of time.

  Not just anyone. Corrine Harvey’s killer.

  He’d waited for Corrine to arrive home and come upstairs, where there would be fewer avenues for escape. Kendra could almost see, feel, the malice and heady satisfaction her killer must have been experiencing as he waited. He’d probably had it all planned. He must have felt the excitement of the kill to come as he heard her come up the stairs toward him.

  Corrine hadn’t even known he was there.

  Kendra felt sick as she imagined the woman passing by that door where her killer waited.

  He must have attacked her after she’d walked through to the bathroom. Perhaps the lotion bottle had broken in the struggle.

  Might she have gotten it on her clothes?

  Kendra moved to a walk-in closet on the other side of the bed. As she opened the door, she was immediately struck by that fresh lotion odor again.

  Kendra pushed her face close to the hanging clothes, working her way down. She finally stopped and pulled out a gray long-sleeve T-shirt.

  The lotion was smeared and splattered on its front, and the fabric was slightly torn.

  Corrine Harvey had been killed in this shirt.

  Kendra followed the scent to the clothes folded on a shelf above. She finally found a pair of black Capri slacks, also stained with Jafra Royal Pomegranate lotion. Why would her killer have put her clothing so neatly in this closet? It was bizarre.

  She drew a deep breath. The sadness was close to overwhelming as she went through that poor woman’s clothes.

  Get over it. Do your job.

  Kendra found a plastic shopping bag on the closet floor and placed the clothes inside. If the killer had struggled with Corrine Harvey, there was a chance that he might have left skin cells—and his DNA—on the clothing. It was a long shot, but she had seen cases turn on far less.

  Corrine Harvey’s home phone rang on the nightstand beside her bed.

  And rang.

  And rang.

  And rang again.

  She assumed it would soon go to Corrine’s voice mail or an answering machine, but after a solid minute, the ringing continued.

  She slowly walked toward the bedside table and glanced at the cordless phone’s caller ID display.

  She froze.

  My God.

  The display read: MICHAELS, KENDRA.

  The call was from her mobile phone. She braced herself to slowly pick up and press the talk switch. “Yes?”

  “You found the clothes.” A whisper, soft, hoarse. She couldn’t be sure if it was male or female. “You found the clothes she was wearing that night. I knew you would.”

  Kendra went still. “Who is this?”

  “I’ve been watching you, Kendra … What a pleasure. You never disappoint.”

  She turned toward the large windows overlooking the backyard. Was he watching her even now? She ducked down and crouched next to the bed.

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “You’ll find out soon. I can’t tell you how eager I am for us to come together.” His whisper cut through her like a razor.

  Her eyes flew around the room again, this time for something, anything, she could use as a weapon.

  “Where’s the police officer?” she asked. “He had my phone. What did you do to him?”

  The man chuckled. Kendra was sure it was a male voice now. “You should be more concerned about yourself.”

  Think of something. Keep him talking.

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “He has nothing to do with this.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. It’s all about me and you.”

  “I’m glad you see it that way. I wanted to make certain that was absolutely clear.”

  “I could hardly miss your intention.” She quietly moved toward the hallway. Surely, she would have heard this psychopath if he’d come upstairs … “Is the officer still alive?”

  “For now. Tell me about him, Kendra. Humanize him for me. Maybe if I can look at him as a real-live human being, I won’t discard him like a scrap of meat.”

  “Like you did all those other people? Ask him yourself.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “I—I only just met him.”

  “But that’s not a problem for you. Do what you do, Kendra. Tell me about him. Dazzle me. But I warn you, if you hang up, I will cut this phone line immediately. Then I’ll cut you and this cop. I can’t have you calling for help.”

  Where in the hell was this sicko? Outside the house? Waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs? In the next room?

  “I’m giving you a chance to save him. Tell me about this police officer.”

  Kendra took another step toward the hallway. She froze when the floor creaked beneath her feet. To cover it, she said quickly, “He’s probably a swimmer.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes.” She strained to hear any sound of movement in the house. “Toned arms and shoulders, pronounced back muscles, flat stomach and narrow waist. Not a weight lifter, not a runner, but a swimmer.”

  “Interesting.”

  “He used to smoke, but not anymore. He has the smoker’s wrinkles around his upper lip, but I could smell no trace of cigarette smoke on him.”

  “Excellent.”

&nbs
p; “He’s left-handed but writes with his right hand. A parent or teacher probably made him do that as a child.”

  “How disturbing.”

  “I was tipped off by a writing callus on the side of his right-hand middle finger.”

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “I’d like to show you my middle finger about now.”

  That made him laugh, and she heard his laughter echoing off the walls downstairs. At least now she knew where he was. “I’ll bet you would, Kendra. What else can you tell me?”

  She tried to think, to give him anything that would delay the butchery.

  “He shaves with an electric shaver. One with three round heads, which means it’s probably Norelco or Braun.”

  “You could tell that?”

  “Yes. His stubble is slightly uneven. I can also tell he shaves in a circular motion.”

  “What else?”

  “I think he’s from the South. He deliberately suppresses his accent. To do that, he unnaturally shortens his vowels and emphasizes the second consonants of his words…” She went still as it all came together. An icy ripple shot through her body. “… just like you.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “What are you saying, Kendra?”

  She didn’t answer, struggling to fight the wave of panic engulfing her.

  He finally dropped that whisper. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed hard. “He’s you. You killed that officer before I even got here.”

  “Bravo, Kendra.”

  “You somehow knew I was coming here. Dear God, I was close enough to touch you and I didn’t even realize—”

  “I did touch you, Kendra. And I’ll do it again.”

  The threat was clear. He was going to be on the move.

  She ran to the bedroom windows. It was a long way to the concrete path below.

  She heard a footstep on the stairs.

  Then another.

  And another after that.

  He was coming after her. She’d seen him, and he couldn’t let her live.

  She tugged on the windows. They didn’t budge.

  More footsteps on the stairs …

  She had a minute, maybe less.

  Kendra grabbed a vanity stool and threw it through the window. It shattered, and the glass was still falling as she hurled herself through the opening.