Night Watch--A Novel Page 9

  “Like what?” Kendra asked.

  “Like sodium metabisulfite and sodium hydrosulfite.”

  “Common in your household, maybe.”

  “They’re the principal ingredients of a rust-stain remover. The trade name is Iron-Out. It was mixed with a smaller amount of hydrogen peroxide.”

  Lynch clicked his tongue. “That’s not good news.”

  Kendra looked from one to the other. “What am I missing?”

  Lynch took a deep breath. “If someone tried to clean up blood from a crime scene, it almost always shows up under Luminol and an ultraviolet light. But there are ways of obscuring it.”

  “Like bleach?” Kendra asked.

  “That’s one way,” Freen said. “But bleach stinks and totally discolors any carpeting and many hard surfaces it comes into contact with. If you’re trying to cover up a crime, that’s not a very stealthy way of doing it.”

  Kendra glanced at the report in Freen’s hands. “I don’t think I like where this is headed.”

  Lynch spoke gently. “Iron-Out and hydrogen peroxide can be sprayed over an area to obliterate any bloodstains that might show up under Luminol and a UV light. It doesn’t have a strong odor and doesn’t cause discoloration. There are other chemicals that may be more effective, but these products are easier to get.”

  “Shit,” she whispered. “Someone’s trying to hide a bloodstain.”

  Freen nodded. “That’s the way it looks. You probably wouldn’t have even known if the liquid hadn’t pooled where you found it. Maybe there was a spill, or it was oversprayed in one area. Santa Monica PD has already been in touch with us about it. They say they probably wouldn’t even know about it if you hadn’t picked up on it, Kendra.”

  Someone’s trying to hide a bloodstain.

  She could still see the horrified look on the face of that dead man lying in the snow. Did the same thing happen to Waldridge?”

  “He could still be okay,” Lynch said.

  “But it just got a hell of a lot less likely,” she said jerkily. “But I’m not giving up.”

  “I know,” Lynch said softly.

  Kendra grabbed the framed print from Lynch’s hand and displayed the backside to Freen. “I need you to do something else for me.”

  “Okay,” Freen said doubtfully.

  “We found this at the murder scene in Big Bear. We discovered this and nine others, all with fresh splotches on the back. I need to know what this purple stuff is.”

  Freen took it from her and held it up, letting the overhead fluorescent light play across the rear surface. “Where did this come from?”

  “No idea. But it was placed there and put back on the wall, along with the other prints.”

  Freen nodded. “I can take a look, but I’ll have to get approval from Griffin.”

  “Please do,” Lynch said. “And tell him to call me if he’d like to discuss it.”

  * * *

  KENDRA SLUMPED DOWN IN the seat of Lynch’s car, trying to fight off the depression. They had just left the FBI building parking lot, and she had been too lost in thought to even speak as they left the building.

  “Talk to me,” Lynch said.

  “Not much to say. It’s not what I was hoping for, but after seeing that body in the snow last night, I’ve been preparing for the worst.”

  “Well, it’s better to know. The police can start testing the floor to see if they can get DNA match off any of the blood residue. And it’s likely they’ll now allocate more manpower and resources to the case.”

  She nodded. Okay, think on the positive side. “Yes. And we do have a lot of things set in motion. We have the FBI testing the material from the back of the picture, and hopefully we’ll be able to ID Waldridge’s associate before too long.”

  Lynch reached under his seat and pulled out his tablet computer. “I have something that may help.”

  She tried to smile. “Sorry, but your skill at Angry Birds isn’t going to be much use to us right now.”

  “I don’t like computer games. You should know that by now.”

  “Of course. When you’ve mowed down dozens of armed assailants in real life, an online game can’t compare.”

  “I wish I was half as interesting as you make me out to be.”

  “Are you denying it?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny any operations in which—”

  “Blah-blah-blah.”

  He flipped back the tablet cover and showed her a close-cropped photo of a man’s head and shoulders. “Look familiar?”

  She took the tablet and stared at the photo for a moment. “That’s the dead man we found … But he’s alive here. Where did you get this?”

  “He’s not alive here. This is the picture I took with my phone last night. After I got home, I e-mailed it to a friend who’s a wizard with Photoshop. I had her alter the picture to show how he might have looked when he was alive.”

  “This is amazing … How did she get the eye color?”

  “She just guessed. I didn’t think to lift his lids when we were out there last night, so she inserted a pair of eyes she found online. They’re actually Robert Redford’s eyes.”

  “Really?” Kendra looked for some sign that the picture had been altered, but the effect was seamless.

  “I also sent her a photo I took off the airport security video. The camera was too far away to be of much help, but it did give her an idea of how he set his jaw and eyeline when he was alive.”

  “I’m impressed.” She handed the tablet back. “Who is this wizard? One of your government photography experts?”

  “No. Actually…” he paused a long moment before finishing, “… it was Ashley.”

  “Your supposed ex-girlfriend?”

  “My definite ex-girlfriend.”

  “Whose photography skill obviously goes beyond merely standing in front of a camera.”

  “It’s her career. She’s made it her business to know everything about the process.”

  “The process. Making a dead guy look like he’s alive.”

  “This was a first for her. She enjoyed the challenge.”

  “If one of my exes e-mailed a picture of a dead guy to me, I might not be so understanding.”

  “Sure you would. And then you’d solve the case yourself.”

  She shrugged. “You might be right about that.”

  “I know I am.”

  “Incredible. It’s not enough that every city bus had a larger-than-life ad with Ashley’s beautiful Asian face and magnificent bikini-clad body, she can also toss this off on command.”

  “Time is of the essence. I wanted it done quickly, so I asked her. She was happy to do it. It could help us to identify him. People get a little … disturbed when you flash them a picture of a corpse, and it often doesn’t look like the person they knew. This is probably a more accurate picture of him.”

  “I agree.” Kendra gestured toward the picture. “She even neatened his hair.”

  “And the photo will come in handy for an idea I have.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You gave it to me when you were talking your mother this morning. It’s a very good idea to approach this from the London angle. What Waldridge was working on, who he was working with…”

  “I’m not going to London.”

  “That’s not what I’m suggesting. I know someone there. We should contact him.”

  Kendra checked her watch. “I have some appointments today. Two at the studio and one new referral. I really can’t miss them.”

  “Do you still have a teleconferencing setup at your studio?”

  “Yes.”

  He started up the car. “We’ll use it to get in touch with my friend. It will only take a few minutes.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  AFTER A QUICK DETOUR TO Kendra’s condo, so she could pick up her car, they met at her office, situated on the ground floor of a medical building. Most of her space was dedicated to a large, carpeted studio where
she conducted her music-therapy sessions. The room was filled with an assortment of musical instruments, an adjacent observation area, and a seventy-inch television monitor.

  Lynch looked at the monitor. “Do you use your teleconferencing equipment often?”

  “Occasionally. Music therapy is a new discipline, and we’re still feeling our way with new techniques. It’s a good way for me and my colleagues to share our sessions and compare results.”

  “Well, I think it would be an excellent way for you and my friend to meet each other.”

  “Really? Why? And just who is this guy?”

  “His name is Ryan Malone, but he’ll take serious offense if you call him anything but Rye. He’s a good man, extraordinarily competent at what he does.”

  “What, exactly, does he do?”

  “A little difficult to explain. He’s kind of like me.”

  “I already don’t like him.”

  “Rude. Very rude. And not truthful. You will like him. He’s Oxford-educated and spent his first several years out of college writing reports and doing research for the various intelligence agencies. Then he got restless and started taking assignments out in the field. Turned out he was good at it. He saved my bacon a couple of times.”

  “Do you think he’ll help us?”

  “I would think so.” Lynch gave her a sideways glance. “I’ve also saved his bacon. And he’s usually available. He really doesn’t like to work. He relaxes in his house in the English countryside, drinking wine and reading French literature. When he runs out of money, he just takes another assignment.”

  Kendra smiled. “Sounds like he has it figured out.”

  “He does. He’s probably the happiest person I know.” Lynch held up his phone. “I’ve already traded texts with him. He’s expecting our call. His address is right here.”

  Kendra glanced at the address on Lynch’s phone and picked up her teleconferencing remote. She keyed in the address and looked at the screen, which glowed blue with the manufacturer’s logo. The screen flickered and, finally, an image appeared. It was a large brown leather chair in what looked like a study. A moment later, a fiftyish man dropped into the chair. As he smiled, his thick moustache jumped high on his round face. “What in the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into now, Lynch.” His tone was playful, with a thick British accent.

  “Nothing you can’t get me out of, Rye.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Who’s your pretty friend?”

  “This is Kendra Michaels. I’ve told you about her.”

  His eyes widened. “Ah, yes. The blind girl who now isn’t.”

  Kendra smiled. “I hope there’s more to me than that.”

  “Of course there is, my dear. I’ve heard of your remarkable achievements. But surely you understand why I would be so fascinated by the wonderful gift you’ve been given.”

  “I do understand. And it is wonderful.”

  “But there’s something I’ve wondered ever since I heard your story, if you’ll indulge me … When you finally got your sight, was there anything that … disappointed you?”

  She thought for a moment. “Something I saw that didn’t live up to my expectations?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, disappointment is a strong word. Almost everything I saw was beautiful to me. Still is. But there was something that was … disturbing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Noses.”

  He looked at her in disbelief, then roared with laughter. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Obviously, I’ve always been able to feel them, so I knew they stuck out and had nostrils on the underside. But there was something about actually seeing them … They looked strange to me. I was really kind of freaked-out for a while.”

  He laughed again. “That’s fantastic. I love it.”

  “You just reminded me of another one.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The facial expressions people make when they laugh.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. The wide-open mouth, closed eyes, the red face … It was strange at first. But now it may be my favorite thing in the world.”

  “Mine, too, my dear.” He wiped his eyes. “Thank you for tolerating my rude curiosity. I hope I can make it up to you.”

  “You can,” Lynch said.

  Rye chuckled. “Somehow I thought I might. What’s going on?”

  Lynch stepped toward the monitor, getting down to business. “We’ve been working on a missing-persons investigation. He’s a resident of the UK, but it happened while he was here visiting Southern California. His name is Charles Waldridge, he’s a surgeon and medical researcher.”

  “Who changed my life,” Kendra added quietly. “Dr. Waldridge gave me my sight.”

  “Ah, then I understand.” Rye jotted notes on a small pad resting on his chair arm. “How long has he been missing?”

  “Less than forty-eight hours,” Lynch said. “We found the body of an associate of his last night. He’d been murdered. We haven’t ID’d him yet.”

  “Hmm. You don’t think Waldridge killed him and went on the lam?”

  Kendra shook her head. She’d had an instant of fierce protective defensiveness before she’d smothered it. Rye was the first to say it, but she was sure others had begun to mull that possibility. “No,” she said flatly. “No way.”

  “Where did Waldridge work?”

  “He was vague when we spoke about it the other night,” Kendra said. “But he worked with the Night Watch Project for years. It’s based there in London. You can find a lot about it online.”

  Rye jotted down some more notes. “And about you, I’m sure. I’ll take a look.”

  “I’ll send you an e-mail with all the details of the case so far,” Lynch said. “The FBI and the local police are helping us locally, but we could use some help on the London angle. I thought that with your research and investigative background…”

  “And a willingness to get my hands dirty,” Rye interrupted.

  “That shouldn’t be necessary.”

  “One man’s missing and another is dead.” Rye put down the pen and leaned forward in his chair. “Not a promising situation. There could be something very dark at the bottom of this. You should both be careful.”

  Kendra smiled. “You’re the second person to say that to me today. The other was my mother.”

  Rye groaned. “That’s a new low. I meet a beautiful woman, and she says I remind her of her mother.”

  “I’ve heard women say much worse to you,” Lynch said.

  “You’re right.” Rye sighed. “Often accompanied by a hard slap across the face. I guess I should consider myself lucky.”

  “Will you help us?” Kendra asked.

  “Why not?” Rye gestured around the room. “It’s about time I got out for a while. I’ve made this place far too comfortable for myself. Send me the info, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Lynch bowed his head and gave a mock salute. “Thanks, Rye. You’re the best.”

  Rye cut the connection.

  Lynch turned to Kendra. “Well, that’s another front we’ve covered. Rye is extremely thorough. If there’s anything to be found out there, he’ll uncover it.”

  “I hope so.” The moment of distraction and optimism that Rye had brought was fading fast. “Thank you, Lynch.”

  He caught the change immediately, and his eyes narrowed. “Sure. Anything wrong?”

  At that moment, the studio door opened, and Selena Motter entered with her eight-year-old twin sons. One of the boys suffered from depression, and Kendra had been successfully using duo sessions to draw him out.

  Kendra nodded. “I think work is just what I need right now.”

  “Good. I’ll go home and send Rye the photograph and everything else I have.” He reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “We’ll touch base tonight.”

  He leaned close to her, but pulled away as the two boys bounded closer.

  Lynch smiled a
t them. “Go easy on her, guys.”

  He turned and walked out of the room.

  * * *

  KENDRA’S BACK-TO-BACK afternoon sessions were just the jolt she needed. Her anxiety didn’t completely dissipate, but it felt good to focus on something other than Waldridge. It didn’t hurt that both clients appeared to be success stories.

  Finally, a few rays of light to scatter the oppressive darkness.

  She checked her phone for the e-mail that had come in early that morning. A psychologist in Mission Valley wanted her to meet with a young autistic girl who might benefit from her techniques. After an hour-long evaluation at her psychologist’s office, Kendra would decide if she’d take her on or not. Not everyone responded to music therapy, and it would serve no one’s best interest to waste time on techniques that would have little chance of succeeding with this particular patient.

  Kendra drove the twenty minutes to Mission Valley and found her way to the smallish, two-story medical building that bordered the Riverwalk Golf Course. The medical building was new. So new, in fact, that there were still pallets of ceiling tiles sitting in the lobby, and the lone elevator had yet to be activated.

  No problem, she thought as she started up the freshly tiled stairs. She needed the exercise anyway. She climbed to the second floor, then the third.

  She left the staircase and stepped into the hallway. It was dimly lit, as if all the offices had closed for the day, and everybody had gone home.

  She checked her watch—5:15 P.M., right on schedule.

  So where the hell was everybody?

  She glanced down at the floor, where long boxes of molding lined the corridor. The air was thick with the odor of paint and new carpeting.

  She approached Suite 316, where she was supposed to meet her prospective new client.

  She stopped.

  No name on the door. The frosted-glass panels next to it were dark, indicating no life or activity beyond.

  She tried the handle. Locked.

  What the hell?

  She checked her phone to make sure they hadn’t canceled.

  Nope.

  She scrolled through her old messages to make sure she was at the right place.