Sight Unseen (12 page)

*   *   *

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.”

Metcalf smiled. “So everyone who enjoys the art of graphic storytelling is a geek?”

“I knew it! I’ll bet you’re one of those fan boys who takes over the Gaslamp District every summer and goes to Comic-Con.”

“That doesn’t make me a geek.”

“So you do go.” Her face suddenly lit with amusement. “Whoa. I just got a mental image of you wearing a brightly colored Spandex costume with big boots, cape flowing behind you…”

“I don’t wear a costume.”

“Do the people at your office know?”

“Of course they know. I have to take off work.”

“You actually take off work?”

He shrugged. “Don’t want to miss anything.”

“Be honest. You tell your fellow agents that you’re away on an annual fishing trip with your college buddies, don’t you?”

“I’m not discussing this anymore.”

“Aw, come on,” she urged teasingly.

“Nope. You obviously have no respect for the artistry and economy of storytelling in the modern graphic novel.”

Her smile faded. “I’m only kidding, Metcalf. You have the right to your opinion and to enjoy life in any way you choose. I admire you. I respect the fact that you’re reaching out for what makes you happy. I hope you keep on doing it.”

“Oh, I will.” His eyes were twinkling. “It keeps me young. You ought to come with me to the next Comic-Con.” He paused, then added slyly, “Ma’am.”

“Low blow. I might just—” She stopped as Metcalf’s mobile phone rang.

“This is probably Griffin,” he said as he pulled the phone from his pocket.

“You don’t have John Williams’s Superman theme as your ringtone?” she asked solemnly.

“Not during work hours.” He strolled a few steps away and answered his phone. After less than a minute, he returned to her. “Are you up to a meeting at the FBI field office?”

“Now?”

“Yes. That was Griffin as I thought. They have an idea how the killer knew where you were going last night.” He moved toward the car. “You’ll probably want to be part of this.”

*   *   *

HALF AN HOUR LATER,
Kendra and Metcalf were standing in the FBI field-office conference room with Griffin, Saffron Reade, and a bearded technology specialist who had been introduced to her as Robert Windrey.

The technician was leaning over a laptop set up on the conference-room table. Griffin waved everyone over to gather around.

“Kendra, our team did an electronic sweep of your apartment, but there was no evidence of any listening devices,” Griffin said.

“So you think the leak might be on your end?”

“Doubtful, but Windrey here has some thoughts on the matter.”

Windrey glanced up at Kendra. “I’m going to play something for you, Dr. Michaels. Listen to this.”

He pressed the space bar on his laptop keyboard, and a male voice rang from the speakers. It was Windrey’s own voice, Kendra realized. He sounded stilted, overenunciating each of his words: “Testing, testing … Broadcasting to any and all within the sound of my voice. Testing, testing…”

Windrey smiled proudly, as if expecting her to be as impressed with him as he obviously was with himself.

“Okay,” Kendra said. “What does that mean?”

Windrey was still smiling. “I was using your cordless phone. I was able to wirelessly intercept and record any call made to or from it. I think our killer is able to do the same thing. He intercepted your call to Agent Griffin yesterday. He knew you were headed to Corrine Harvey’s house even before the police did.”

Kendra slowly sat down at the conference table. “Incredible. I thought these digital handsets were supposed to be almost impossible to hack.”

“That was true once. The Digital Enhanced Cordless Telecommunications, or DECT, standards were pretty safe for years. But certain software tools used by manufacturers and security professionals to evaluate the devices have leaked onto the Web. They can be used to hack into wireless phones and other DECT devices like traffic lights in Germany and traffic-control systems in England.”

“Great. Very reassuring.”

“The good news is, you should be fine if you just plug in a corded handset.” He qualified, “At least for the duration of this investigation.”

“Absolutely. Believe me, I’ll be unplugging my cordless phone the second I get home.”

“No,” Griffin said quickly. “We don’t think you should do that quite yet.”

“But he just got through telling me that—”

“We may be able to use this, Kendra,” Agent Reade interrupted. “Think about it. We were discussing this earlier. We now have an advantage we didn’t have last night.”

Kendra’s glance moved slowly from agent to agent. “I believe I know where you’re heading.”

“Do you?” Reade asked. “I thought you might. And is it something you would be comfortable going along with?”

“Depends. What exactly do you want me to do?”

Reade opened a leather folio, pulled out a thin sheaf of papers, and placed them in front of Kendra. “This is your script.”

Kendra laughed. “My script? You aren’t fooling around.”

“It’s only meant to be a guide,” Reade said gravely. “What we have in mind is this: You’ll go home with your FBI guard in tow. A few minutes later, you’ll call Griffin with your cordless phone. We’ve crafted a scenario in which you’ve decided to visit the home of Kristy Ludwig, who was the victim in the minivan. We’ll have agents staked out all over your area. Windrey here tells us he probably has a listening station within a block of your condo. Anyone in the area who goes on the move after your phone call will be noticed by someone on our team.”

Kendra scanned the telephone script they had written for her. “You really think he’s still listening to my calls, even after last night?”

“
Especially
after last night,” Griffin said. “It goes back to the profile. He’s obviously fascinated by you and wants to be noticed by you. It follows that after finally making contact, he’d love to hear what kind of effect he had on you and your psyche. We think he may still be listening.”

She spent a few minutes going over the script. “If we do this as written, I could be setting myself up as bait.”

“I won’t deny it. You’ll be surrounded by our best agents. We need to draw him out.”

Kendra turned the sheaf of papers over. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Then, after the call, our agent takes you to Kristy Ludwig’s home. We’ll already be staked out there, but you won’t see any of us until you’re inside.”

“You really think he’d be brazen enough to try something again?”

“If you follow that script, we think he might at least follow you.”

“Did your profilers and behaviorists tell you that?”

Griffin sighed. “I detect a bit of cynicism in your voice.”

“Not at all. I have tremendous respect for the work your profilers do. I just don’t want to underestimate this killer. He’s taken great pains to study how I work, but I’m sure he’s also studied how the FBI works.”

“Possibly. But last night he took an enormous risk. We think it’s worth trying to coax him into taking another one. If he does, this time we’ll be ready for him. Will you help us?”

Kendra glanced around the table at the agents who were staring hopefully at her. She thought about it. The plan was risky on a number of levels besides the fact that working from a script went completely against her grain. But they were right, she realized. If this was going to work at all, the chances were better now, while he was still basking in his recent victory.

She finally nodded slowly. “Yes, let’s go for it.”

*   *   *

KENDRA PICKED UP THE CORDLESS
handset and was surprised to see that her fingers were slightly trembling. Nerves or anticipation? If that soulless bastard was really listening, she wanted nothing better than to cut loose and threaten every form of bodily injury imaginable. But she couldn’t show her hand, whatever the hell that was.

She punched Griffin’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Michael Griffin.”

“Griffin, it’s Kendra Michaels.”

“You just left the office. Can’t get enough of us, huh?”

His attempt at natural-sounding banter sounded forced. She hoped to hell that her acting was better than his.

“Yeah, I just got in. Listen, I’ve been thinking. I want to visit Kristy Ludwig’s house. She was the driver of the minivan on the bridge the other night. Your team thinks she was snatched at her home, right?”

“Yes. Just like Corrine Harvey. But after last night, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go there alone.”

“Then have some of your biggest and best meet me there. I think our killer might have left a calling card at Corrine Harvey’s house without even realizing it. If he inadvertently did the same thing again, I think we can get this son of a bitch.”

“A calling card?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even realize how important it could be until just now.”

“Uh-huh. So are you going to clue me in?”

“I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

“Come on. I can’t help you unless you help me.”

At least he could deliver that line realistically, Kendra thought. She had given him years of practice. “We’ll discuss it later. Right now, I just need to go to that house.”

Silence. “I can’t have anybody meet you there for at least an hour.”

“Then I’ll be there waiting.” She hung up the phone.

Your move, Myatt.

*   *   *

AFTER A HALF-HOUR WAIT,
Kendra’s armed FBI escort drove her to Kristy Ludwig’s one-story home in Old Town. She was unnerved as they walked from the car to the house’s front door. Even though she knew there might have been a dozen agents watching her, she hated the idea of not being in control. The target on her back had never been bigger, and she had helped paint it there herself.