Текст книги "Sight Unseen "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

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.”

“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.

For an instant there was silence, as all sounds—the breaking glass, the pounding footsteps—vanished, as if part of a long-ago nightmare.

Then she struck the cold cement patio.

Pain.

Searing, stabbing pain in her legs and left wrist.

She rolled as she landed, bleeding in a dozen places from the shards of glass.

She looked up. The man was at the window, staring down at her. He abruptly turned and bolted out of view.

Shit. She had to get out of here.

She pulled herself to her feet, hoping that her legs would support her weight.

They did. For the moment.

She staggered toward the block wall that separated the yard from the next-door neighbors. She lifted herself up and over, fighting through the horrible pain in her left wrist. She hit the wet grass on the other side, then ran for the side yard. She crouched beside a tall bush.

Weapon. Find a weapon.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she spotted a shovel leaning against the house. She gripped it with the blade extended before her.

Come and get me, asshole …

She held her breath. She expected to hear the sound of the sliding back door, but there was nothing.

A car started on the street.

Was that him?

It idled for a few seconds, then roared away.

She slowly stood up, still gripping the shovel.

There was only silence from Corrine Harvey’s house.

He was gone.

CHAPTER

4

“THE PARAMEDICS SAID YOU were being a real pain in the ass to them,” Griffin said as he walked up Corrine Harvey’s driveway toward Kendra. “I told them welcome to the club.”

“Thanks for your support.” Kendra drew the paramedic blanket tighter around her. She couldn’t seem to shake the chill. Slightly over an hour had passed since her escape from the house, and the place was now surrounded by squad cars, work lights, and evidence-collecting police officers. Kendra carefully stood up from the driveway, where she’d been sitting since dismissing the paramedics. Every muscle was stiffening more by the minute. “They wanted to take me to the hospital. I told them I didn’t have the time.” She raised her left arm, which was covered by a wrist wrap. “It’s not broken, only a sprain. They gave me this and bandaged my cuts and treated my bruises. What more do I need?”

“An X-ray or two? Those bruises on your cheek and arm look pretty nasty. You tumbled out of a second-floor window. I sure as hell wouldn’t let one of my agents back on duty until they’d been checked out by a doctor.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not one of your agents. And I didn’t tumble, I dove out.”

“Those paramedics have you pegged. A complete pain in the ass.”

And she couldn’t deal with any more well-intentioned people trying to stop her from doing what needed doing. She didn’t have the strength right now. “Any news on the police officer?”

“No. Still no sign of him.” Griffin jerked his thumb toward a squad car parked on the street. “That’s definitely his car, but there’s no sign of a struggle there or in and around the house. The officer may still be alive.”

She hoped that was true, but she had a feeling that the officer hadn’t been that lucky. She had examined his car herself five minutes before the paramedics arrived on the scene and been relieved that there was no body in the vehicle. “I was led to believe he was already dead. Not that the sick bastard’s word means anything.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Kendra was fighting off a wave of nausea that she tried to believe was caused by the pain and shock of her fall. It didn’t work, those vivid memories of that killer were shaking her to her core. “Unbelievable … That psychopath was standing right in front of me, and I had no idea.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Griffin said harshly.

“He knew I was coming. He arrived here before I did. We need to figure out how he knew.”

“Metcalf is already working on it. This guy was actually wearing the cop’s uniform?”

“At least his badge and name tag. The uniform looked like the genuine article, and it was a good fit. It could have belonged to the officer, or this guy might have brought his own.”

“Dr. Michaels…” Griffin hesitated for a long moment. “Kendra. This guy, this killer, knows you. He knows how you work. He knew you would be visiting this house at some point.”

“What if I hadn’t come alone?”

“He would have waited for you to go alone to another scene. Which you would have done. You know it, I know it, and he knows it. Your presence on this case may actually be feeding his appetites, goading him on.”

“He was doing a pretty good job of it already. But if you’re saying you’d rather I bow out—”

“I didn’t say that,” he said sourly. “I might have been thinking it, but I didn’t say it. I know you’re too valuable right now for me to indulge my personal feeling. I’m just pointing out that it’s something of which you should be aware.”

“I’m not likely to forget it. Believe me. I’m aware.” She pulled the paramedic blanket closer around her. “I need to sit down with a sketch artist. Someone who really knows what he’s doing.”

“He’s already been set up. I figured you have a pretty clear picture in your head of this guy.”

“I do. Like a photograph.”

“The police have an amazing old guy they use sometimes. He’s retired, but he occasionally still—”

“Bill Dillingham.”

“You know him?”

“Yes. He’s very good. One of the best anywhere. The sooner we can get that sketch in circulation, the better.”

“You’re damn right.” Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re the only person alive who has actually seen him. That puts an awfully big target on your back.”

“He was more interested in watching me work. He clearly got some perverse thrill from being so close to me without my knowing it.”

“Well, that’s in keeping with our profiler’s workup on him. He’s obviously fascinated by you. But now he has to know that tomorrow a sketch of him will be in every newspaper and TV news broadcast in the state.”

A young crime-scene investigator approached them with a clear plastic evidence bag. “Excuse me, Ms. Michaels, we found this hanging in the porch.” He raised the bag to show that it contained a Blackberry mobile phone.

“That’s mine.” She turned to Griffin. “He got me to surrender it with some bullshit story about not allowing cameras inside.”

The investigator pressed a button on the phone through the plastic bag. The screen lit up. “You may be interested in this.”

Kendra and Griffin leaned over to look at the screen. A memo page was on the main screen with a succinct message:

A PLEASURE TO FINALLY MEET YOU, KENDRA. DON’T FORGET THE MOLE …

YOURS TRULY

MYATT

Griffin stared at the message. “Do you know any Myatt?”

Kendra thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve even heard that name before.”

“We’ll search every database we can find. But what about that message? ‘Don’t forget the mole?’ What the hell?”

Kendra turned away, revolted by the thought of that nutcase pawing at her phone, tapping out a message to her. He must have taken the time to write this before he had fled the scene. “He had a small mole just above his left nostril.” She made herself look back at the message. “He obviously isn’t too worried about our police sketch.”

“Or he wants us to think he’s not worried.”

Kendra looked up at the investigator. “You said this was hanging in the porch? How exactly?”

He raised another clear evidence bag with a piece of sheer, tan-colored fabric inside. “It was in this, hanging from the doorknob.”

Griffin grabbed the evidence bag and held it up toward one of the work lights. “Is this what—”

“It’s woman’s hosiery.” She moistened her lips. “Calf high, sheer nude.” She was feeling that icy chill again.

Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “The bastard’s referring back to another one of your cases, isn’t he?” He added slowly, “I remember this.”

“So do I. Griffin, pull together everything you have on the Vince Dayton case.” She flung off the blanket and strode toward the unmarked police car parked next to the driveway. One of the work lights was angled toward the vehicle’s front end, clearly marking it as the site’s unofficial command center. Four cops had maps spread out on the hood, marked with highlighter pens of possible escape routes.

“Forget the streets and freeways,” Kendra said curtly. “Map out the nearest bodies of water.”

The cops just stared at her.

“Do it. Beaches, ponds, marshes…” She shouldered her way into the group and stared down at an unfolded map. “And it has to be someplace he can access without being easily seen.”

A tall, graying officer dressed in his dress blues gazed at her from the other side of the car. “Dr. Michaels, I’m Captain Yates. Do you know something that we don’t?”

She wished she didn’t. “My phone was left inside a sheer stocking on the front porch. The exact same size and type of stocking used by Vince Dayton in four Central Coast killings a few years ago. It was one of my cases.”

Yates brow wrinkled. “He strangled his victims with a stocking?”

“No. He injected them with a paralyzing agent and drowned them, usually in just a couple feet of water.”

Yates nodded. “I remember now. Each victim was found with a stocking over her head and face.”

“Exactly. A stocking like the one your investigator found around my phone. Your missing officer may be wearing one of those right now. And I’m afraid he’ll soon be facedown in a nearby body of water, if he isn’t already.”

Yates spoke to Griffin, who had joined the group. “I know the FBI has taken the lead in this investigation, Special Agent Griffin. But if there’s a chance of getting our officer back, there’s no way we aren’t going after this guy right now.”

“Of course,” Griffin said smoothly. “I wouldn’t think of interfering. We’re only here to provide whatever support we can.”

Kendra ran her fingers over the map, tracing an east–west line to the coast. “I’d start here, with the closest and most direct route to the bay. Then work north and south to the more isolated areas. He’s going to want to get his car as close to the water as possible but still do it without being seen.”

Yates thoughtfully studied the map. “You sound as if you’ve got a real bead on this son of a bitch.”

“It’s what Vince Dayton would have done. And whoever this copycat is, he’s shown us that he does his homework.”

Yates nodded. “Good enough for me. We’ll bring in the Harbor Police and get a ’copter out. If he’s there, we’ll find him.”

Scripps Park

La Jolla

MYATT GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL tighter as the adrenaline surged through him. Damn, he felt alive.

He had been face-to-face with Kendra Michaels, and she hadn’t had the slightest idea. He could have killed her right there and then, but Colby was right. It was better to delay gratification, like the jungle cat that toys with its prey before finishing it off.

He turned onto a dark side street and parked. He sat in silence for a moment, listening for breathing in the rear compartment of his Infiniti G37 SUV. At first he heard nothing. Had he botched it? Dammit. After all his preparations—

There it was. Labored, shallow breathing. The cop was still alive.

Tricky stuff, this Vecuronium. Too little, and the cop could possibly move and call for help. Too much, and his respiratory system would seize.

Myatt smiled. He’d struck that delicate balance. Not that it would matter for too much longer anyway.

He opened the door and climbed out of the SUV.

Torrey Pines State Reserve

12:15 A.M.

DAMMIT, WHY HAD THERE BEEN NO WORD? It had been hours since they’d arrived here.

Kendra’s hands clenched as she paced outside the police department’s mobile command vehicle, which to her looked like an RV on steroids. It was equipped with an array of microwave and satellite antennas on the roof, plus an interior wall of flat-screen monitors that reminded her of NASA mission control. The vehicle and its four identical siblings had been the subject of much controversy because of their five-hundred-thousand-dollar price tags.

The search for Officer Jillette was being coordinated from this command center, which was now parked on a beach parking lot in the Torrey Pines State Reserve, a coastal state park that offered hundreds of acres of prime hiking trails and spectacular lookout points. The search had been under way for more than three hours, and Kendra could see two helicopters in the distance with the searchlights playing over the surf.

Find him. Find him alive. Don’t let that bastard have played his twisted games.

She tensed as her cell phone rang. Griffin?

No. And she didn’t need this right now, dammit. She accessed the call. “Who phoned you, Lynch? You’ve barely had time to get to D.C.”

“Evidently enough time for you to try to get yourself killed,” Lynch said roughly. “And Griffin says you won’t check in to a hospital. Stupid. Very stupid, Kendra.”

“I don’t need any more treatment. And I don’t need your telling me what to do. You have business to take care of for all those bureaucratic types, and I have business here.”

“At least, go home and rest. Griffin told me that you hadn’t stopped since you did a swan dive out of that window.”

“So he called you and told you to persuade me to do what he wanted me to do. It’s not going to work.” She paused. “We haven’t found that police officer yet, Lynch. I saw a photo of his wife and child in his squad car when I searched it. It was warm and sweet and…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “He’s alive for me now. I can’t go home until we find him … one way or the other.”

He was silent. “Okay, I can see that I’m not going to get anywhere. Just be careful.” He added impatiently, “And Griffin didn’t tell me to do anything. I’m not under his orders.”

“No, but he played you. Admit it.”

Another silence. “Maybe. Griffin is no fool.”

“But nowhere near as manipulative as you are, Lynch. It surprises me you let him do it.”

“I was upset. For some odd reason, I didn’t like the idea of you one-on-one with a serial killer and having to fly out a window. Just one of my little idiosyncrasies. You could have waited for me, dammit. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there.” He paused. “I’m thinking of scratching this assignment and flying back on the next plane.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I didn’t need you. I’m alive and well and I was face-to-face with our killer. That puts me a step ahead of where I was before.”

“Toward being a target.”

“Yes, but it was exactly what the bastard wanted, and I learned from it. You’d have slowed me down. Stay where you are. I’ll see you when you’ve plugged your leak. I won’t accept your help or presence before then. By the way, your assignment sounds terribly boring. I can’t imagine how a black-ops agent of your supposedly lethal reputation was ever drawn into it. How the mighty have fallen.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m hanging up now.” She pressed the disconnect.

She drew a deep breath and leaned wearily back against the aluminum side of the RV. She’d been wrong to add that last taunt at Lynch. But she’d wanted to get him annoyed enough at her so that he’d stop thinking of her as a victim to rescue and go about his own business. She’d noticed that Lynch had a few protective tendencies that had to be curbed on occasion.

And, on this particular occasion, she found herself too ready to accept and embrace those tendencies. She was feeling very much alone and vulnerable. Exposing herself as a lone target had all the advantages she had told Lynch, but remembering that confrontation still shook her. It had shattered her confidence in herself, and she was having to rebuild. It would have been comforting to have Lynch here until that restructuring was complete.

But when had she ever relied on anyone else to bolster her? It was a sign of weakness and not an emotion she would have wanted to show Lynch. He was megastrong, and she wanted his respect, not his pity.

But she wasn’t feeling very strong herself at this moment, she thought. She was beginning to be aware of aches and pains that she’d firmly suppressed. She had to get busy. She needed to straighten away from this vehicle, go find Griffin, and see what was happening. Surely he could—

“I prefer to work in a nice warm squad room, you know, Kendra. It’s too chilly out here.”

Kendra’s gaze flew to Bill Dillingham, who was approaching from the other side of the parking lot. He sported a white beard and one of the thickest heads of white hair she had ever seen. Bill was in his early-to-mid eighties and walked with a stiff, unsteady gait.

“Bill, what the hell are you doing here? It’s after midnight.”

“And it’s cold and damp. If I get sick and die of pneumonia, it’s all on your head. I got tired of waiting at the police station.”

“Sorry. We have a developing situation here.”

“Guess what? It would have continued to develop if you had deigned to meet me at the station for an hour or so. Lucky for you, I can bring my work with me.” Bill slightly raised the large pad he was carrying under his arm. “It’s important we do this right away.” He grimaced. “Considering the fact that you look like you’ve been run over by a truck, you’re probably not in good shape to remember much of anything anyway. Even in normal circumstances, memories fade, your recollections get all twisted up by the conversations you have in the hours after the event … This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, Kendra.”

“It isn’t. But you don’t need to worry about it with me.”

His faded blue eyes twinkled. “Of course not. The great and powerful Kendra Michaels is incapable of the cognitive errors that plague the rest of the mortal population…”

“Not fair. I’m not saying that.”

“That’s exactly what you’re saying. Sixty years of experience tell me that the ones who claim to be infallible are the ones I need to worry most about. Next thing I know, I’m sketching someone my witness actually saw on the Carson show the night before.”

Her lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. “I hate to tell you this, Bill, but I was in elementary school the last time Johnny Carson was on the air.”

“Aah, your ageist barbs don’t work on me. Those late-night hosts are all the same anyway. Take all the cheap shots you want. I’ve heard ’em already.”

“That was a comment, not a cheap shot. You’re the only sketch artist I wanted for this job, Bill. Of any age. This could be an unusual challenge for you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not. But I need someone with imagination and creativity.”

“Hmm.” He studied her face. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Not enough to make it worth crawling out of my nice warm bed, of course, but at least now I’m curious why I’ve been forced to do it.”

Kendra smiled even as she felt a pang as she noticed how frail Bill had become. Damn, it seemed as if he’d aged a decade in the two years since she had last seen him. Time could be so cruel.

“But I’m not staying out in this wet air.” He steadied himself by placing a hand on the mobile command center. “Do they have room for us to work in this monstrosity?”

“It’s a little noisy.” She gestured toward her car, which was parked a few yards away. “Is there enough light to do this in there?”

He raised a flexible-neck book light clipped to his pad. “I brought my own. Let’s get to it, young lady.”

They climbed into her car, with Kendra taking her place behind the wheel and Bill sitting in the passenger seat.

He rested his pad on his knees. “Okay, let’s start with the shape of his face. Square? Oval? Triangular? Some of each? Think. Give me a canvas, and we’ll work from there.”

“Sort of square … with high cheekbones.”

“Good.” He started to work, his pencil flying over the pad. “Like this?”

“No, chin more pointed.”

His graphite pencil moved lightning fast, correcting. “Like this?”

“That’s it.”

“Now we go to the eyes. How far apart?”

The next fifteen minutes flew by as Bill used his eraser as artfully as he did his pencil. Kendra had no sooner voiced a correction than it was incorporated into the sketch. He quickly generated a reasonable likeness of the man she had seen earlier. But after still another fifteen minutes of working together to refine the sketch, it became so real, so on the mark, that it actually chilled her to look at it.