Текст книги "Sight Unseen "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“Amazing,” she finally said. “That’s him, that’s the man we’re looking for. You’re incredible, Bill.”

“Yes. But this is just another day at the office. So what’s with all the talk of imagination and creativity?”

She was silent. “I’ve been thinking. It’s hard for me to believe that he would actually let me see what he really looked like. There were moments tonight when I was vulnerable. He could have killed me, but he didn’t. That meant the game isn’t over for him. He has something else in store for me. I believe he’d try to keep me from knowing anything that might give me an advantage.” She looked down at the sketch. “I wonder … If he might have been wearing a disguise.”

“Like a fake nose?”

“No, I think I would have spotted that. But we need to look at this sketch and think about what he might be doing to throw us off. The minute this hits the airwaves tomorrow, he knows a family member or coworker may recognize his face and call the police down on him.”

Bill shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t care and is prepared to leave his old life behind.”

“It’s possible. But I think he does care. I think perhaps he’s somehow taken steps to change his appearance. But he’s done it in such a way that I wouldn’t be able to immediately spot it as a disguise.”

“I see what you’re getting at.” His pencil touched the hairline he’d drawn. “Maybe a good hairpiece, or hair coloring, possibly some false front teeth?”

“Maybe.”

“You wouldn’t have observed those things?”

“Not necessarily. He gives me a lot of credit, so he would have been especially careful. I can usually detect dentures from the effect it has on speech, but I didn’t get that from him. With some practice or expert help, he could have fooled me.”

Bill’s eyes were narrowed on the sketch. “These cheekbones could have been extended and rounded off with some silicone packs placed between the upper lips and gum. It’s amazing how much something like that can change the shape of the face.”

“That’s why I need you to show me. Can you draw different versions of this sketch, based on how you think he might look in everyday life without a disguise?” She urged, “And try to think of every single trick he might have used?”

“Hmm. But only tricks that Kendra Michaels wouldn’t have detected.”

“Yes.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re right. That’s a challenge. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, what should I do with this sketch?”

“Let the police department distribute it. I can’t hold that up because I have a theory that he managed to stage a switch. That’s the face I saw tonight, right down to the little mole above his left nostril. I have to stand by it. It’s as if you sucked this right out of my brain and splattered it across that page.”

“Not the most eloquent compliment I’ve ever received, but I’ll take it. I’ll drop this off with—”

RAP-RAP-RAP.

They were startled by the loud knock on the driver’s side window.

It was Griffin.

Kendra opened the window. “Any news?”

“Yeah.” He opened the driver’s door. “Come on. We’re going to Shell Beach.”

*   *   *

IT WAS ONLY A SHORT RIDE in Griffin’s car before Kendra had to abandon the vehicle to walk with Yates and the other police officers.

Grim faces. Tense faces.

Not a good sign, she thought as she strode after them down the concrete stairs that bridged the roadway with the small La Jolla cove known as Shell Beach.

As the name suggested, the area was well suited for collecting shells but was even better known for the sea lions that played and sunned on the rocks just offshore. Even now, Kendra could hear them braying in the darkness, voicing their displeasure at the helicopters overhead and the interlopers charging into their territory with flashlights.

Kendra and the dozen or so officers reached the beach and continued their single-file march in a wide arc that curved toward the shoreline. The area had obviously been roped off in the interest of preserving the scene, but she knew that the high tide was only hours away from erasing whatever evidence was left. You could never stop nature from taking back whatever it chose.

There was little question where they were headed since a half dozen flashlights were already trained on the spot up ahead.

The spot where Officer Gil Jillette lay dead.

He had been found facedown in one of the beach’s famous tide pools, wedged into an intricate rock formation. He was now on the beach, and as Kendra stepped closer she could see that he was dressed in his uniform and that the JILLETTE name tag was in its rightful place above his right breast pocket.

And a stocking had been pulled taut over his face, flattening his features and giving him the appearance of a department-store mannequin.

Just like all the others, two years before.

She forced herself to look at the dead officer’s face. Even through the stocking, she could see that his eyes were open, staring up toward the stars.

Damn. He’d done nothing to deserve this. He should be home with his wife, little girl, and that funny-looking Chihuahua/Jack Russell Terrier mix.

The memory of that family photo she had seen on the dash of his squad car was streaming back to her. She felt a wrenching sadness at what lay before that family.

One of the officers waved his hand over the corpse’s grotesquely swollen neck. “What’s this? He wasn’t in the water that long.”

Kendra leaned closer. “He had a reaction to the Vecuronium Bromide.”

The cop looked at her. “What?”

“It’s an anesthetic. The killer’s a copycat, and Vecuronium Bromide was the drug of choice. I’m sure this man has it in his system.”

Most of the officers were glancing at each other and obviously had no knowledge of the killer and his emerging pattern. Their expressions all conveyed some variant of “what is this crazy bitch talking about?”

Never mind them. She carefully scanned the corpse. Could Gil Jillette tell her anything else?

Come on, don’t let that bastard get away with doing this to you. Help me. Show me.

But she couldn’t tell much that was different. Just a confirmation of what she already knew. The name badge had been put on by the killer, not Jillette. The pin had missed the stitch-reinforced hole and pierced the shirt just outside the ring. The shirt was still wet, but even so, Kendra could see this was a mistake Jillette never made himself.

Anything else?

Maybe one thing. A rawness around his lips, with some hairs pulled out of his moustache …

Her head swiftly lifted. She said urgently to the circle of police officers, “Hurry. Go search the beach. Try to find a large adhesive bandage or maybe a strip of duct tape. If you do, bag it as evidence. It was probably placed over his mouth, then torn off. It may have the killer’s DNA. Understand?”

“Go,” Gates said sharply to his men. “Move it!”

The policemen scattered like leaves in the wind.

Kendra watched them for a moment but then shook her head to clear it. She was suddenly feeling weak and foggy. She’d been energized by the search for Jillette, but every ounce of her energy had now drained away. It was as if the evening’s events had come rushing back to her, pummeling her emotionally and physically.

“You look like you’re ready to collapse.” Griffin was behind her. “Now will you go to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Kendra, dammit, you’re—”

“I’m going home. I need to get my head around everything that’s happened tonight.” She glanced at him. “And don’t you ever phone Lynch and tell him that he’s to interfere. That was completely ineffectual, and I won’t tolerate it.”

He shrugged. “I thought it was worth a shot. We still need a full statement about what happened back at the house.”

“I gave a detective my statement, and Bill Dillingham has done the sketch. That’s enough for now. Who has Corrine Harvey’s clothes that I took from the scene?”

“Our forensics guys took it. It’s already in the lab.”

“Good. Listen, I’ll come to your office tomorrow. Anyone else who wants to hash this out with me can join us.”

“Okay. But just know I’m putting a guard outside your condo effective immediately.” He raised his hand as if anticipating her objection. “You don’t get a choice in the matter. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and you’re the only one who has seen him. That makes you extremely valuable to this case. I can’t afford to lose you.”

“How sentimental. I’m getting all teary-eyed here.”

“I figured it’s the only reason you’d go along with it,” he said gruffly.

Kendra smiled wearily as she turned away from Griffin. For once, he was displaying all the signs of being a decent human being. It was as if the rough edges had, at least momentarily, been sanded away. “Actually … you’re right. That makes perfect sense. So who’s going to give me a ride back to my car?”

*   *   *

“IT WAS A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, Kendra. Don’t forget about the mole…”

She opened her eyes with a start, her heart pounding.

Dammit.

It had been another restless night. This was the third time she’d had that dream, always ending with that psycho in the police uniform turning toward her and smiling. But instead of texting her his message, he was saying it aloud, taunting her in the cruel whisper she’d heard on the phone.

She rolled over in bed and glanced at the clock—7:45 A.M.

Enough.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and had just started to get up when her phone rang. No ID. She picked it up from her bedside table. “Hello?”

“Ms. Michaels, this is Agent Nelson. I’m standing watch outside your unit right now, and there’s a woman here who says she’s your—”

“Mother, dammit.”

Kendra could hear her mother’s voice shouting and haranguing the poor man, both through the phone and through the two closed doors that separated her from the building hallway.

“I hear her, Agent Nelson. Sorry about that. She can come in.”

Kendra got up and paused to glance at herself in the mirror as she threw on a robe.

Damn, she looked like hell. The bruises had swollen, and the cuts made it look like she’d been in a knife fight. Maybe if she threw on a long-sleeved shirt to help hide the damage …

Too late. Her mother had let herself into the condo with her key, and she would be charging into her bedroom in a matter of seconds.

Oh, well. Face the music.

Kendra swung open her bedroom door.

Diane Michaels stopped dead in her tracks. She was speechless for once, gaping at Kendra’s cuts and bruises.

“Morning, Mom. Pancakes or waffles?”

“What the hell happened to you?”

“I had a little problem.” Kendra moved past her and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m sure you know, or else you wouldn’t be here.”

“No, I came here because I heard about that police officer who was murdered. The news said that the killer is copying your old cases.”

Kendra froze in the act of reaching for the coffee cups. “I should have known. No way this could stay a secret.”

“And no way this should have ever stayed a secret from me.”

Kendra turned back around. She didn’t like that tension in her mother’s voice. She was accustomed to her mother’s exasperation, but this was something else. The woman was truly frightened for her.

“Mom, I’m fine.”

“Don’t tell me that. I rushed over here, and the first thing I see is that … thug standing in front of your door. I didn’t know what to think. Then I come in here and see you looking like this.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

“It looks pretty damned bad.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“So tell me what happened. Now.”

“I will. Calm down.” She put on the coffee. “But I might as well make you breakfast while I do it. If you ran over here this early, I doubt if you had it. How about omelets?”

“I don’t want a damn—” She gazed at Kendra’s expression, and said, “Fine. Anything.” She dropped down in a kitchen chair. “Now stop trying to soothe me and tell me who beat you up.”

“No one. I did it myself.” She opened the refrigerator door and started searching for the eggs. In the next few minutes, she told her mother everything, from her experience on the bridge all the way to Shell Beach early that morning. Her weak attempts to minimize the danger sounded as ludicrous to her as it probably did to her mother. There was no way to hide it. No two ways about it, she thought. It was one hell of a scary night.

When she was finished, her mother got to her feet and stabbed her finger toward a chair. “You sit down. I’ll make breakfast.”

“You’re forgetting something. You can’t cook.”

“Do you have frozen waffles in the freezer?”

“Yes.”

“Then I can make breakfast. Sit down.”

Kendra took the seat she’d indicated at the table while her mother rummaged around in the freezer. “I wanted to save that cop, Mom,” Kendra said quietly. “But he was probably facedown in the tide pool before we even knew what was happening.”

“You were lucky to save yourself.” She pulled out a box of Eggo frozen waffles, tore into the packaging, and loaded them into the four-slice toaster. “By the way, Dean told me all about your adventure on the bridge the other night.”

“I guess he’s running for the hills about now.”

“Just the opposite. You turned him on. I never thought your gifts of observation were good for anything but getting you into trouble. Apparently, they can also be an aphrodisiac.”

“Trust me, they’re not.”

“Tell that to Dean. He can’t wait to see you again. He said he’d called you but had gotten your voice mail and you hadn’t returned the call. He was quizzing me about ideas for your second date. It was sweet, really.”

“He’s a good guy. But I really can’t think about him right now. Not until this case is over.”

Her mother slowly turned back toward her. “You’re not seriously thinking of continuing?”

Here it comes. “I have to.”

“No. The FBI has to, you don’t.”

“No one knows those cases better than I do. For all the PowerPoint presentations and bulletin boards the FBI studies, no one else has actually lived and breathed each and every one of those cases.”

“One person has, Kendra.”

She stared at her mother while she grasped her meaning. “Yes, you’re right. The killer has. All the more reason why I need to be a part of this.”

“And what do you think he’s going to do when he gets tired of playing?”

“He’s not anywhere close to getting tired of it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve dealt with killers like this before.”

“Not like this.”

“Close enough. He’s just getting started. I’ve only just begun to give him the attention he’s obviously craving from me. He has compulsions, sick needs, to be satisfied. I can use those against him.”

“But he knows you, too, Kendra. A hell of a lot better than you know him. He knows where you live and work, and he can get to you whenever he wants to do it.”

Kendra started to point toward the hallway, but her mother cut her off.

“And don’t think that some FBI bodyguard can stop a high-powered rifle with a laser scope,” Diane said. “If this sicko has shown us anything, it’s that he’s capable of killing in any number of ways. The second you step out of this building, you’re vulnerable.” She sat down next to her and took her hand. “Too vulnerable.” She gently ran her fingers over Kendra’s cut and bruised arm. “To see you like this, baby. It just makes it more real. I could lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me. Trust me, the FBI is extremely motivated to keep me alive.”

“It may not be enough.”

“Then it’s enough that I’m motivated to keep myself alive. This killer’s chosen to make this case intensely personal. He’s reaching and trying to hurt me in any way he can. And he’s going to keep murdering people until he’s caught. Don’t you see? I have the best chance of stopping him.”

Her mother was silent. “I’m having trouble seeing that you have a better chance than all the manpower and resources of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It doesn’t compute, Kendra.”

“Yes, it does. In this particular case, it makes excellent sense. And I don’t have a problem turning my back on the FBI. But I do have a problem turning my back on whoever he may try to kill next.”

Her mother leaned back in her chair. “You know … In those months and years after you got your sight, your wild days, I was so afraid. You’d been given this amazing gift, and I thought it might be too much for you. You were so intent on absorbing every new experience, both good and bad, that I was afraid you might … self-destruct. I don’t think you realize how close you came.”

“I do realize.” Her hand covered Diane’s. “But it took me a while longer to realize how hard it must have been for you, Mom. I’m sorry for everything I put you through.”

“It was hard.” She paused, then said brusquely, “But we got through that, and I guess we’ll get through this, too.”

“We definitely will.”

“Particularly since I intend to move in here with you.”

Kendra’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I don’t trust that guard in the hall, but I trust myself. I think I should—”

“No, Mom,” Kendra said firmly. “That’s not going to happen.”

Her mother sighed. “I didn’t think you’d go for it, but I thought I’d try.” She added slyly, “Well, at least call Dean back so that I can see a safe future for you on the horizon.”

“Mom, you’re incorrigible.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “You remind me of Lynch. Pure manipulation.”

“Lynch is a very dangerous man. I’m not dangerous to you. I’m only a mother trying to pave your way to a better life. Will you do it?”

She made a face. “Yes, I’ll call Dean. But that’s all I’ll promise.”

“That’s enough … for now.” She grinned. “I couldn’t leave here without some vestige of victory.”

“And you have it.” Kendra added gravely, “But I do have some bad news.”

“What?”

Kendra sniffed the air. “You really can’t cook. You just burned the waffles.”

CHAPTER

5

AT NOON, KENDRA MET with the FBI team and three police officers who were visibly seething from the murder of their colleague. She had seen this kind of desperation in investigators before, usually reserved for killers of fellow officers and children. Unfortunately, such raw emotion occasionally led to sloppy police work and false arrests. She had assisted in more than one case in which her most valuable contribution had been clearing innocent suspects who had been targeted by overzealous detectives.

Once again, she recounted the events of the previous evening, making sure they took note of the observations of the killer she had made, even down to the type of shaver he used.

After almost two hours of debriefing, she finally stood up to excuse herself. But Special Agent Saffron Reade still had one significant insight to share.

“I believe I know what Myatt means, Dr. Michaels,” Reade said. “Remember? That was the name he signed on your mobile phone message.”

Kendra stopped. “I could hardly forget. You definitely have my full attention.”

“John Myatt is the name of a forger. A painter. Scotland Yard called him the biggest art fraud of the twentieth century. He’s said to have sold his fakes to art galleries and auction houses all over the world. He could create uncanny copies of a wide variety of artists.”

Kendra was silent, trying to put together the connection. “Our murderer must see himself in the same way. He’s copying the work of people he thinks of as artists.”

“Exactly,” Reade said. “That’s something to keep in mind. He doesn’t see himself as a butcher. He thinks he’s an artist, and he wants his work to be admired.” She paused. “Very often, that desire can lead to a criminal’s downfall.”

Kendra nodded. “I can see that. Good work, Reade. Thank you.” She turned to go.

“And thank you, Kendra,” Griffin said as he held the door open for her. “You’ve been very cooperative.” He added softly, “Surprisingly cooperative. I’ll only keep you for a little while longer. Will you come down the hall with me for just a moment?”

“I’m done,” she said bluntly. “You’re not getting anything else out of me.”

“No third degree.” Griffin was ushering her down the hall and into a small conference room. “This won’t take you more than—”

“What’s this?” Kendra stopped just inside the door as she saw a gray-haired man waiting for her in the conference room. He had a large, brown leather satchel on the floor beside him.

The man smiled. “Hello, Kendra. I’m delighted to meet you.”

She turned back toward Griffin. “Who is this?”

“He’s your doctor. Whether you want him to be or not.”

“No way. Seriously? You called a doctor here to examine me?”

“No.”

“Then how in the hell—?”

The doctor opened his satchel. “I’m Dr. Paul Thompson, Dr. Michaels. I work out of the Scripps Medical Center. I’m here at the behest of Adam Lynch. He phoned me at about four this morning. He was most insistent that I examine you. I was prepared to open my office early for you, but he said you’d never go for that.”

“So he found the one doctor in San Diego who makes house calls.”

“Actually, I don’t. Mr. Lynch is a very persuasive man.”

“No one would argue that point.” Kendra nodded toward his satchel. “That explains the strange doctor’s bag, which isn’t really a doctor’s bag at all. You usually carry that to work with a laptop and ham sandwich inside. Am I right?”

Dr. Thompson smiled as he pulled a stethoscope from his bag. “Sometimes tuna.”

Kendra turned toward Griffin in disbelief.

“We checked him out,” Griffin said. “He’s who he says he is.”

Dr. Thompson pulled a folded paper examination gown from his bag. “Now, if I can have you change into this…”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Mr. Lynch wanted me to be very thorough. I can wait outside while you—”

“Go away. That isn’t going to happen.”

“My instructions are to follow you wherever you go and stand by until you consent to a full examination.”

“You have nothing better to do?”

He didn’t answer directly. “Mr. Lynch is compensating me exceptionally well for my time.”

Kendra shook her head. Lynch was probably laughing his ass off at that very moment. Okay, she could fight and waste her time and energy, or she could submit and get through the exam in record time.

And get back at Lynch at the earliest opportunity.

She finally snatched the gown from the doctor’s hand. “Fine. Both of you get out of here while I change. Only the doctor comes back in. I want to get this over with.”

She looked at Griffin, whose broad smile was turning into a gleeful chuckle. “Griffin, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you laugh before.”

He shrugged. “It’s just nice to see that Adam Lynch can piss off other people as much as he does me. I’m looking forward to watching you get your revenge.” He turned and walked out the door. “Enjoy your exam.”

*   *   *

HEARD YOU’RE IN FINE SHAPE. GREAT NEWS.

Kendra’s grip tightened on her phone as she stared at the text message from Lynch. She hadn’t even reached the elevator when her phone vibrated with the alert. Dr. Thompson had obviously phoned Lynch the second she had left the room.

She texted in reply: ALL GOOD, EXCEPT FOR OCCASIONAL NAUSEA CAUSED BY ONE ADAM LYNCH. NO KNOWN CURE.

His response came seconds later: CONDITION MISDIAGNOSED. OBVIOUSLY NOT GETTING ENOUGH ADAM LYNCH. WILL WORK TO RECTIFY SITUATION SOON.

She typed her reply: NO RUSH, CONDITION RAPIDLY IMPROVING WITH EACH LYNCH-LESS DAY.

He fired back: PATIENT HAS OBVIOUSLY SUSTAINED MASSIVE BRAIN TRAUMA. ONLY EXPLANATION FOR LACK OF APPRECIATION FOR AMAZING ADAM LYNCH.

She replied: HAVE ARRANGED INVASIVE AND INCREDIBLY PAINFUL RECTAL EXAM FOR YOU. COULD COME AT ANY TIME, WITHOUT WARNING. WATCH YOUR BACK.

He answered: PROMISES, PROMISES. SEE YOU SOON.

Kendra pocketed her phone.

In spite of her annoyance with Lynch’s arbitrary action, she found her anger was beginning to fade. She had left the doctor thinking what a colossal waste of time the exam had been, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit moved. Although several people had urged her to see a doctor, only Lynch had taken the time and trouble to actually bring one to her. Who does that?

Only Adam Lynch.

She entered the elevator, and Special Agent Roland Metcalf wedged his shoulder in just as the doors were about to close. He quickly stepped into the elevator with her. “You forgot something.”

“What’s that?”

“Me. I’m your guard today.”

“Really? I thought that was below your pay grade.”

“Actually, I’m also sort of partnering with you, assisting you, providing whatever support you may need.”

“And providing your boss with updates on my progress?”

He grinned. “That was implied, yes. But if there’s anything you’d rather keep confidential…”

She shrugged. “Tell him whatever you want.”

“Good, so what’s on the agenda today?”

“Well, considering that I flew out of a second-story window last night, wouldn’t you think I might just want to relax?”

“Hell, no. Nobody thinks that. Come on, what are we doing?”

“You guys are beginning to know me a little too well. Kinda depressing.” She studied Metcalf. If she had to have a bodyguard, at least it was one who could be of some use to her. He carried himself with an ease and jauntiness that made it clear that he didn’t take himself—or anything else in the world—too seriously. A pleasant change of pace from most other FBI agents she’d met. “Okay, how much do you know about cars?”

“Cars? I know you’re supposed to change the oil every three thousand miles, but it’s really okay if you wait and do it every seven or eight.”

“Awesome.”

“Glad I passed the test. So what are we doing?”

“I’m pretty sure I heard the killer start his car and drive away last night. I can identify the make and maybe the model of the car if I hear it again.”

“Now that’s awesome.” His eyes were glittering with eagerness. “Where do we start?”

“Car dealers. Not the most accommodating bunch, especially since there’s no chance of a sales commission. I’ll need you to flash your badge around.”

“It’s what I do best, ma’am.”

“I certainly hope not.” She smiled. “And don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that much older than you.”

His smile held equal parts mischief and a hint of sensuality. “Roger that, ma’am.”

*   *   *

KENDRA CHOSE TO FOCUS THEIR ATTENTION on the Convoy Street “auto row” of car dealerships within walking distance of each other. True to his word, Metcalf was very good at flashing his badge and exuding an air of authority that made the dealership managers snap to attention and race around their lots with fistfuls of keys. They started each model in their lines, punched the accelerators, and even drove around the parking lots when Kendra requested them to do so.

After listening to thirty-five vehicles at four dealerships, Kendra was certain she’d heard a six-cylinder engine the previous evening, but she knew little else. She thanked the Honda sales manager in the parking lot and turned to Metcalf in frustration. “This is starting to feel like a fool’s errand.”

“I also do those very well. But we won’t be complete fools until we impose on every sales manager on this street. So what do you say we—”

“Wait!” Kendra listened. “I hear it.”

“Where?”

“Shh.” She looked toward the road and saw a car speeding by the dealership. “There! What kind of car is that?”

“Uh, a blue one.” Metcalf grabbed a nearby saleswoman and pointed to the vehicle. “Pop quiz. Name that car.”

She responded immediately. “Nissan Skyline.”

Metcalf turned back to Kendra. “Is that a possibility?”

She nodded. “There’s a Nissan dealership one block up. Let’s go.”

*   *   *

FROM THE MOMENT THE MANAGER turned the key in a Skyline, Kendra recognized the engine’s growl as the same as she had heard the night before. She heard it again in a 370Z, and several more times in the nearby dealership of Nissan’s luxury division, Infiniti.

In the Infiniti showroom, Kendra compared brochures for the cars. “Look.” She pointed to the engine specifications. “Each one of those vehicles has a VQ37VHR engine, the same as the Nissan Skyline and the Z.”

“Does it?” Metcalf used his mobile phone to snap photos of each of the brochures. “Amazing. I’ll have to take your word for it. After all the cars we’ve heard today, everything was sounding alike to me.”

“Did they look alike to you?”

“Not really.”

“As someone who grew up without being able to see, I used the sounds I heard as my single biggest way of perceiving the world. Those engine sounds are as different to me as the difference between seeing a red car and a blue one, or a sports car and a pickup truck.”

“That makes sense, but it’s still fascinating to witness.” He paged through the photos he had taken with his phone. “I was hoping we could cross-reference ownership records with driver’s licenses, and maybe put together a virtual lineup of license photos for you to look at. But we’re looking at eight different models of cars here.”

“I know. Even if we narrow our focus to San Diego registrations, there are probably thousands of owners.”

“Still, it’s another piece we can match against potential suspects. We’ll check it against auto registrations on that block and make sure you weren’t hearing a neighbor’s car. I’d say that’s a decent afternoon’s work.”

“And at least now I have a pretty good working knowledge of various automobile engine sounds from the six dealerships we visited.”

He gazed skeptically at her. “You’d really remember if you heard them again?”

“Most of them. A couple weren’t that distinctive, but I could do pretty well with the rest.”

“Interesting.” Metcalf collected the brochures and walked with her out the door. It was getting dark, and the dealership street signs down the block had just started to flicker on. He gestured over his left shoulder. “I think I just heard a car pulling into the lot behind us. Are you telling me just by listening, you could—?”

“It’s a Toyota FJ. Probably without the four-wheel-drive package.”

They both turned and saw the distinctive, boxy form of a Toyota FJ cruiser.

Metcalf shook his head. “Incredible.”

“No big deal. But if it had been from a car dealer we didn’t visit today, I might have been out of luck.”

“We should hit those other dealers sometime to round out your repertoire. You never know when it could come in handy.”

“This isn’t my day job, Metcalf. I’d actually be happier if it never came in handy.”

He laughed. “Nah, I don’t believe that. You have a gift. It would be like Superman deciding that journalism is his true calling, or Batman thinking that his life’s work is really dating supermodels and making money.”

She gazed at him in horror. “Oh, God. You’re a comic-book geek.”