Текст книги "Sight Unseen "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Reade interrupted her. “Size 19 Roslau piano treble wire.”

Kendra nodded. “Imported from Germany. Exactly what Stout always used. And the second victim was killed in the manner of the so-called Latin Killer, Lukas Hendricks, who carved Latin phrases on his victim’s bodies. Another one of my cases. I assume those were holdback facts pending the investigation?”

Reade nodded.

Griffin placed his palms flat on the table. “It appears someone is re-creating your greatest hits, Dr. Michaels.”

“Delicately put as always, Griffin.”

“We both know there’s nothing delicate about me. Someone is taunting you, Dr. Michaels. It’s no accident that they’re doing it in your own backyard.”

“And they’re doing a damned good job of it.”

“I’m sure this comes as quite a shock. But now you can understand why we needed to reach out to you.”

“Of course. And you can understand why this case truly sickens me.”

“It sickens all of us. Our profilers believe the killer is someone who might best be described as a fan of your investigative work.”

Kendra shook her head. “That’s bullshit. I don’t have any fans.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Griffin said, deadpan. “Dr. Michaels, we’re talking about someone who may at some point have reached out to you, either directly or perhaps on a public forum. Does anyone come to mind?”

“No, I do get e-mails through my business Web site. Some are interested in my cases, but most want to know about the medical procedure that gave me my sight. They’re either blind themselves or have a blind friend or relative.”

“Hmm. We should zero in on those who have expressed some interest or knowledge of your investigative work. Do you still have those e-mails?”

“I do. I’ll sort through and pass them along to you. As for what’s being said about me on online forums, I have no idea.”

“We do,” Metcalf said. “I’ve built a file going back several years. Activity surges whenever there’s mention of you in media accounts of your cases. We’re using IP addresses to build a database of the people who post on discussion boards, news-story-comments pages, and the like. We’ve already seen that a lot of the same people pop up again and again.”

“See, you do have adoring fans,” Lynch said.

Griffin nodded. “One of whom might have killed six people in the last few weeks. Metcalf, do you have a copy of that database for Dr. Michaels?”

Metcalf slid a USB memory stick across the table to Kendra. “Here’s what we’ve come up with so far. Please review it and see if anything sets off any alarm bells.”

“Will do.” Kendra took the stick. “Although I generally try to avoid reading things being said about me online.”

“It’s almost all quite complimentary,” Metcalf said. “Though I was surprised there were no direct quotes from you concerning any of your investigations. None at all.”

“I never talk to the media about the investigative work I do. Whenever someone asks, I shut them down immediately.”

“But you obviously have no problem discussing your music-therapy work. You’ve been quoted in dozens of articles about that.”

“Yes, and I’ve written dozens more myself. Plus two books so far. It’s an emerging field that needs all the attention it can get.” She shook her head. “Trust me, I wish it’s all I had to think about right now.”

Reade raised the PowerPoint remote. “Shall I continue?”

Griffin leaned forward. “Actually, how far did you and Metcalf get downstairs?”

“It’s pretty much done. We were there most of the night.”

“Good. We can continue down there.” Griffin turned to Kendra and Lynch. “We moved some of our sections off-site, and this building’s entire second floor is vacant right now. Everything’s been ripped out, and it’s a mess while we wait for the crews to come in and remodel. But it does give us plenty of room, which is in short supply up here.”

“Room for what?” Lynch asked.

Griffin stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of the triangular-backed chair. “I’ll show you.”

CHAPTER

3

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT.” KENDRA’S voice echoed in the large space, bouncing off the bare walls and concrete floors.

“Amazing,” Lynch whispered.

They were with the FBI team on the vacant second floor, surrounded by nineteen freestanding bulletin boards. Each of the boards was packed with crime-scene photos, press clippings, and detail sheets of Kendra’s cases.

“This is all of them, isn’t it?” Griffin waved his arms over the boards. “Every one of your murder investigations.”

Kendra couldn’t answer at first. All those faces. All that death. All those places she had tried to forget. They were coming at her from every direction.

“You okay?” Lynch asked.

She nodded. Lynch was the only one who really knew her, who realized how this display might affect her. To the others, these were just her “triumphs,” her “greatest hits.” She finally turned toward Reade and Metcalf. “I’d forgotten I’d been involved with so many cases. I can see why you spent almost all night down here.”

“It’s our case data center,” Griffin said. “We’re calling it ‘the war room.’ These boards have the details of every murder you’ve ever investigated. You’ve only done five for us, but we’ve also included the ones you’ve done for other police departments and investigative units. We’re working with San Diego PD to make sure that there haven’t been others that match some of these.”

Kendra stopped to look at the face of the twelve-year-old Steve Wallach, who had been killed the night after she joined the hunt for the Marina killer.

Steve would have been in high school now, dating, driving, maybe thinking about college. He might even—

“Kendra?” Lynch said softly.

She nodded in acknowledgment and forced herself to look away from that boy’s face.

“Dr. Michaels,” Reade said. “If there’s any relevant information we left off any of these boards, please let us know.”

“Sure.”

“Exceptional job, isn’t it?” Griffin was strolling among the bulletin boards, like a patron at an art gallery from hell. “Since you’re going to be helping us, I thought it might be helpful for you to refresh your memory of these cases. Not to disparage Agent Saffron’s PowerPoint skills, this is probably easier to take in.”

Like a dagger to the heart, Kendra thought. Don’t look at them right now. Don’t let them see how it brought back all the nightmares.

“Doesn’t matter,” Kendra said. “I could never forget any of these cases. I talked to the loved ones of every victim on these boards. That’s not something I could ever forget … as much as I would like to.”

God, she wanted to get out of here.

Lynch quickly stepped between her and Griffin. “Has the medical examiner given you a preliminary report on the victims from the bridge?”

“Yes, it came in last night. Dr. Michaels was spot-on about the couple in the BMW. They were both strangled. The driver of the pickup truck appeared to suffer from blunt-force trauma, but the body was burned pretty badly. You were also right about the accelerant used. It was paint thinner, heavy on the toluene.”

“What about the driver of the minivan?” Kendra asked. “She was burned, too. I didn’t get a good look at her.”

“She was a thirty-two-year-old female from Old Town,” Griffin said. “She had multiple contusions in the chest, consistent with stab wounds. According to the M.E., her body appears to have been refrigerated.”

“What?” Lynch said.

Kendra nodded. “The killer kept her on ice until he was ready to unveil her. Do we know when she disappeared?”

“Four days before the crash,” Reade said. “She was an unemployed teacher. She had a roommate, but when she didn’t come home, the roommate just thought she had taken off for Phoenix to visit her parents.”

Look straight at Griffin. Keep your eyes off those boards. “What about the driver of the pickup truck?” Kendra asked. “Do we have a timeline on him?”

“He disappeared three days before the crash,” Griffin said. “He was a family man from North Park. San Diego PD had actually been working his disappearance.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if his body was also refrigerated,” Kendra said. “Do we have any information on the couple in the BMW?”

Griffin nodded. “They were fresh kills. They had both been to work that day, literally just hours before. They were due to meet friends at a restaurant earlier in the evening.”

“Have you identified and sealed off the locations where each of these victims were most likely taken?”

Griffin smiled sourly. “Hard as it may be for you to believe, we do possess some rudimentary law-enforcement skills.”

Griffin’s polite facade was beginning to slip and his antagonism to show through. It had lasted longer than she had thought it would. Screw it. Her own control was frayed and ready to break. “So that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. What I would like to do is visit the medical examiner, followed by visits to each of the suspected abduction or murder scenes.”

“We can arrange that,” Griffin said. “The only question is which one of us will accompany you?”

Lynch tapped his chest. “That would be me.”

Griffin’s brows rose. “Really? I was told in no uncertain terms that you were too busy to participate in our investigation. Once you convinced Dr. Michaels to join us, you were supposed to be on a plane to Washington.”

“One of the nice things about working for myself is that I’m the one who decides what I’m supposed to do. For the time being, I’ll be working this case with Kendra.” He paused. “In case she needs a sledgehammer.”

“What?”

“Long story.”

*   *   *

KENDRA SMILED AS SHE AND LYNCH buckled themselves into his Ferrari and roared out of the parking garage. “Your bosses in D.C. aren’t going to be happy about this.”

“First of all, they aren’t my bosses. They’re associates.”

“Associates who hire you, authorize payment, and for whom you perform work at their direction. That sounds a lot like a boss to me.”

“Kind of like Griffin is your boss right now.”

“You’re absolutely right. Chalk this up as reason one thousand and six why I hate doing this. But at least I reserve the right to walk away at any time, a right I’ve exercised on more than one occasion.”

“So have I. Another thing we have in common.” Lynch put on his sunglasses as he sped onto the I-8 freeway. “If it eases your mind … Although my working this case may infuriate one ‘boss,’ it will make another ecstatically happy.”

“Good. And I’m sure your swimsuit model will be happy. Maybe I’ll even get to meet her.”

“Alas, she’ll be on the island of Majorca for the next week. She’s on a photo shoot.”

“That’s convenient. Ashley is sounding more and more like a nonexistent Canadian girlfriend fabricated by the nerdy guy in high school.”

Lynch half smiled. “We had one of those guys in my school.”

“Of course you did. It was you.”

“No.”

“So you say. In any case, there’s one of those guys in every school.” In spite of their banter, she had no doubt that Lynch’s Ashley was real and probably jumping into his bed at every opportunity. He was not only sexy but had that aura of power that was nearly irresistible.

He shrugged. “I guess you’re right. Speaking of the lovelorn, I think young agent Metcalf was crushed that he wasn’t the one joining you on this case.”

“Really? I didn’t get that.”

“Then you’re not as observant as I thought.”

“Well, I’m sure our paths will cross. I was impressed with how much work he and Reade have already done. They probably know as much about my old cases as I do.” Kendra pulled the USB memory stick from her pocket. “Griffin says this also includes the case files of the latest victims. Is your tablet handy?”

“Under the seat. Go ahead and transfer the contents of that stick into it. You said you want to start by visiting with the likely abduction points?”

“Actually … First, I’d like to go somewhere else. Let’s go to Kearny Mesa.”

“As you command.” He stepped on the accelerator. “Why don’t you lean back and close your eyes? You need to relax. Griffin put you through the wringer back there.”

“Yes.” She looked out the window. “And I don’t think he even knew he was doing it.”

“I’m not so sure.” His lips tightened. “You’ve hurt his pride on occasion, and Griffin usually tries to get his revenge.”

“Is that why I was sensing your protectiveness raising its head? I don’t need it, Lynch.”

“Of course not, you’re one tough cookie.” He smiled. “But I need to throw my jacket on mud puddles for you every now and then. It’s my basic DNA.”

“Save it for Ashley.”

“It’s not the same. Protectiveness isn’t even on the radar with her.”

No, it would be sex and nothing but the sex.

Maybe.

“Go ahead, close your eyes,” he coaxed.

His voice was deep and velvet smooth, and his smile was lighting his face and softening the hardness. Charisma and manipulation, but maybe there was something more complicated beneath it. At any rate, she didn’t mind accepting being soothed and comforted just now. She felt raw and hurting, and the faces of those victims were still there before her. She had been grateful to feel Lynch beside her in that room filled with horrible memories.

She might even be grateful now that he was demanding nothing from her but that she let him exert that protectiveness he claimed was his DNA.

Not that she would ever admit it to him.

“I am tired.” She closed her eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”

San Diego County

Medical Examiner’s Office

Kearny Mesa

THE MEDICAL EXAMINER’S OFFICE, like the FBI field office, was a seven-day-a-week operation, but both places were obviously operating with slim Sunday skeleton crews. Kendra and Lynch had to wait two full minutes until their door buzzer was finally answered by an assistant, who escorted them upstairs to the labs. Five minutes after that, Dr. Christian Ross appeared, wearing his green scrubs. Ross was a bearded, chunky man in his sixties. Kendra had always thought he was one of the best medical examiners in the business, thorough and methodical. He also possessed the rare ability to adjust his medical explanations to the medical/scientific knowledge of whomever he was speaking with.

He grinned as he recognized them. “Ah, Kendra Michaels and Adam Lynch. Be warned, I’m a bit bleary at the moment. I’ve been working sixteen hours straight. This case of yours has taken on a new urgency in the last day or so.” He gestured for them to join him in the hallway. “I would invite you up to my office, but the place is a damned mess. What can I do for you?”

“We won’t keep you long,” Kendra said. “I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Gary Decker and Corrine Harvey. More specifically, their clothing.”

The doctor looked at her in surprise. “Their clothing?”

Kendra nodded. “They were the victims in the BMW, Doctor. Did you get any indication that they may have been put into those clothes after they were killed?”

Lynch was gazing at her thoughtfully but said nothing.

Dr. Ross paused for a long moment. “What makes you think that?”

“Yes or no?”

He finally nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact. But I didn’t think anyone outside of this office knew it yet. I was planning to include it in an amended report later this morning. Is there a leak in this office I need to be concerned about? Because if there is—”

“There’s no leak.”

“Then how—”

“You first. How did you arrive at your conclusion?”

Dr. Ross shrugged. “It wasn’t difficult. The murderer made sure we wouldn’t miss his handiwork. The assistant who prepped the body for autopsy noticed it right away, but the information didn’t reach me until hours later.”

“What information?”

“The male victim’s shirt was too small. So the back was split and pinned to the coat for presentation. It’s an old mortician’s trick. Funeral homes are often given clothing for the public viewing that has actually become too small. So they split the back open to give it room. The killer wasn’t taking chances on our powers of observation. He made sure there was no way this could be mistaken for anything else.”

“Like the accident scene as a whole,” Lynch said. “None of this was ultimately meant to fool anyone. This was all for your benefit, Kendra.”

Dr. Ross leaned toward her. “Your turn. How did you know?”

“The other night, I noticed that both victims’ fingernails had snagged fine threads from the clothing they were wearing.”

“You didn’t mention that before,” Lynch said.

“I wasn’t sure if it meant anything. But it’s a bit unusual when it’s the fingers on both hands of both victims.”

“I noticed that,” Dr. Ross said. “But I’m embarrassed to say that it didn’t lead me to the answer that you found. So you think that the clothing on both corpses was changed?”

Kendra nodded. “When we put on shirts and jackets, we move our fingers in the sleeves to navigate past the fabric. The dead, of course, can’t do that. Their fingers get caught at every twist and turn, and their nails snag at the threads. This couple was killed, then their clothes were changed.”

Lynch grimaced. “Who the hell would do something like that?”

“Wayne Shetland,” Kendra said.

“Who?”

“It’s another one of my cases,” Kendra said. “Up in Fresno. Check the file in your tablet. Wayne Shetland murdered his victims, then dressed them in different ways. The press dubbed them the Paper Doll Murders.”

Lynch nodded. “So our copycat replicated another case from your past. He wanted to be absolutely certain that the police would see this for what it was. And he wanted it brought to your attention.”

Dr. Ross sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, I now have still more amendments to make in my report.” He cocked his head at Kendra. “Unless you have something else for me?”

“Not right now, but it’s early yet.” She headed back down the hall. “Thanks, Dr. Ross. I’ll keep you posted.”

*   *   *

LYNCH’S MOBILE PHONE RANG JUST as they reached his car. He unlocked her door for her but stood outside talking while she climbed inside.

She watched him speaking into the phone, obviously growing more tense and agitated by the moment. Since gaining her sight, she had been fascinated by the visualization of human speech—the delicate interplay of lips, tongue, and teeth. But her burgeoning lip-reading skills were now handicapped by Lynch’s intermittently turning his back to her as he paced. In any case, she didn’t need special skills to know this call wasn’t making Lynch happy.

He finally put away his phone and climbed into the car.

“Bad news?” she asked.

“Annoying news. I have to leave town.”

“When?”

“In about three hours. I’m afraid I’ll have to take you home.”

“Ah-hah. On orders from your boss who’s not really your boss?”

“Something’s come up in D.C. I guess I shouldn’t have cultivated the reputation of being so damn indispensable.”

“Really?” she said mockingly. “How sad that it’s come back to bite you in the ass.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Just out of curiosity, what’s come up?”

“It’s classified.”

“That, I figured. I also figured you would tell me anyway. I believe I’ve proved I can keep a secret.”

He laughed. “Yes, you have.”

“So spill it.”

“What the hell.” He threw up his hands. “Someone in one of the congressional offices has been leaking sensitive information.”

“Leaking it to whom?”

“To whoever will pay the most, probably. Lobbyists, defense contractors, journalists … Depending on what the information is. I’ve been charged with finding the leak and plugging it.”

“When you say ‘plugging,’ you’re not speaking in terms of a 1930s gangster movie, are you?”

He smiled. “As in, plugging someone full of lead? I love this dangerous and romantic conception you have of me.”

Actually, she could see Lynch in that tough, reckless role. The romantic concept was a harder stretch. Unless it was heavy on the sex. There was no question about Lynch’s sexual abilities and inclinations. “I just knows what I sees.”

“Well, no. I’m speaking purely in terms of stopping the leak. I’ve been planting false information during the past few weeks, and this morning it finally yielded something. Unfortunately, our suspected leaker isn’t talking. They want me to come back and lead the questioning.”

“Don’t you mean interrogation?”

“That’s probably a more accurate way of putting it. But they want him under more psychological duress than physical.”

“I can see why they’re desperate for your expertise. If there’s something you excel at, it’s driving people crazy.”

“I like how you take my gifts and twist them in such a way to make them sound like insults.”

“Oh, so your unique brand of manipulation is now a ‘gift.’”

“What would you call it?”

She tilted her head, thinking about it. “A curse. A bane. A blight. A pain in the ass. Take your pick.”

Lynch started the car and roared out of the parking lot. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to do without my gift for the time being. Perhaps young Agent Metcalf will get his chance with you after all.”

“I don’t need a tagalong.”

“Or you could just wait for me to get back. It will only be a couple days.”

She looked away from him. “A couple days can be a long time. In case you haven’t been paying attention, there’s a sicko out there who will kill again.”

“You’re not the only one working this investigation. You can use the time to get up to speed on the case files.”

She gazed at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding. You expect me to sit around waiting for you, spinning my wheels? Stay in D.C. as long as you want. I’ve always done very well working alone.”

“I know you have.” He paused. “But we both know this case is different. The killer wasn’t just targeting those victims. He was targeting you. He has you in mind when he’s planning his murders. Who knows what’s next?”

She didn’t answer. There wasn’t anything to say. She had been thinking the same thing.

She said it anyway.

“We all have a pretty good idea what’s next,” she said quietly. “It’s on one of those bulletin boards at the FBI field office.”

They drove in silence back to her condo. Why in the hell did Lynch’s imminent departure bother her? She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anybody.

Twenty-four hours earlier, he was the furthest thing from her mind. Now she was feeling all out of sorts because their hours-old partnership was suddenly interrupted, and he was off to intimidate some D.C. crook?

Because he was right. This case was different. And she might hate to admit it, but it felt good to have that sledgehammer by her side.

He pulled in front of her building and let the engine idle for a long moment before speaking. “You’ve got my number. Keep me posted, okay?”

“Sure.”

“And Kendra…”

“Yeah?”

He leaned forward and kissed her squarely on the mouth.

She tensed. What on earth was he doing? Her first instinct was to recoil. Her second was to press closer. The second instinct won out. She was kissing him back, she realized.

Strength. Warmth. Safety.

She had subconsciously expected any touch or overture from Lynch would involve sex and passion judging what she knew of him. Not this feeling of being guarded, treasured. It confused her …

He finally pulled away. “Say it,” he said warily.

“I’m not going to put you on the spot.” She had to catch her breath and steady her heartbeat. “I know it was an impulse on your part. A gesture to express your regret that I’m going to have to go it alone. It was very … friendly, and completely unnecessary.”

“I’m glad you’ve been able to analyze my mind-set and actions so thoroughly,” he said with irony. “It’s a shame that you can’t be sure whether you’re right or not. That could be very frustrating.” He gave her another kiss on the tip of her nose. “Be careful,” he whispered.

She quickly climbed out of the car and almost ran into her building without looking back.

*   *   *

“WHAT IN THE HELL?”

Kendra actually said the words aloud after she entered her condo and plopped down behind the desk. Lynch’s impromptu kiss had left her bewildered and out of sorts.

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.