Sight Unseen (22 page)

“Thanks, but I doubt I will. I get too interested in the music, and it keeps me awake.”

He pointed toward a side door. “There’s an adjoining bathroom, and you’ll probably find any toiletry you didn’t bring with you.”

“Really?” She smiled mischievously. “Chosen by our Ashley?”

“No. Saks Fifth Avenue.” He paused, gazing at her. “I’m doing the best I can, Kendra. This isn’t easy for me either. I’m not accustomed to platonic living arrangements.”

“You know, I gathered that from the moment I walked into your living room.”

“I mean it.”

Her smile faded. “I know you do.” She moistened her lips. “Look, I’d have to be blind again not to realize that you’re very highly sexed. It’s natural that you might possibly want to screw me given the intimacy of the circumstances. And, I admit I find you sexually desirable.” She shrugged. “But neither of us want to go down that path.”

“Don’t we?”

“It would confuse things. I don’t need that, and neither do you.”

He smiled. “So logical. So reasonable.”

“You betcha. We just have to remember what’s important.”

“This is the second time you’ve seen fit to lecture me on what I want or don’t want in our relationship.” He tilted his head. “I find it very interesting. You’ve noticed I haven’t commented on your analysis of my needs or desires? When I decide to do so, you may be surprised.”

“You often surprise me. But I can usually count on you for clear thinking.” She was silent a moment, her gaze meeting Lynch’s. Time to bring this encounter to an end. There were too many shadings of emotion and erotic response. She was too
aware
of him, dammit. “But I do thank you. I feel much safer in your fortress. It was a good idea to come here.”

“Sure.”

She was having trouble looking away from him.

Lynch took a step closer and moved a lock of hair from her face. “You’re sure I can’t give you anything else?”

A loaded question if there ever was one. She was tingling, her breathing shallow. She shook her head.

Another long moment of silence.

“I guess … I should let you get some sleep. Since we’re determined to be so logical.”

She didn’t reply.

Another pause.

“Well…” He motioned toward the door.

He was waiting for a sign, any sign.

And she wanted to give it, she realized.

“Good night,” he said softly. His hand caressed her cheek, then he turned and left the room.

Kendra let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was still tingling from the electric charge between them. Her cheek felt warm, sensitive where he’d touched her.

On the plane, all she had wanted was to go to sleep. Right now, that seemed impossible.

Damn him.

*   *   *

“KENDRA? KENDRA, WAKE UP.”

She opened her eyes, at first confused about where she was. Then she remembered.

Eric Colby.

The ridiculous and wonderful suburban fortress.

Bikini-model Ashley.

Lynch’s amazing, unexpected, yet frustrating restraint.

“Wake up, dammit.” Lynch was standing over her. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he was zipping up his pants. His hair was tousled, and he looked intense. She glanced at the window and saw that it was still dark out.

“What time is it?”

“Three thirty. Get up and get moving.”

She sat up in bed. “What the hell, Lynch?”

“Griffin just called. There’s been another murder.”

Go Nuclear Dance Club

University Avenue, San Diego

KENDRA AND LYNCH MADE THEIR WAY
toward the club’s main entrance, where velvet ropes held back the ejected patrons who had decided to remain behind and see what was going on. As Kendra walked past the crowd, she heard snippets of conversations that confirmed the rumor mill was in high gear. In the space of fifteen seconds, she heard that the cops had closed the place down due to a) a drug bust, b) a brawl upstairs, or c) the discovery that the club was a front for the Russian mafia.

If only.

Lynch flashed his government ID to the cop outside and opened the door for Kendra. “Ever been here before?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not since they changed the name and went respectable.”

“Respectable?”

She glanced around at the mirrored walls and pulsing, rotating lights, which emitted mechanized whirring sounds that were eerily audible now that the club music was turned off. “Yeah, this used to be a real dive. The bartenders would cheat drunk customers on their change, you’d see rats in the corners, and next to the back bar, some woman would always be treating customers to Jell-O shots off her bare stomach.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely.” She shot him a look. “And a couple times, that woman was me.”

“I’m finding that hard to imagine.”

“Why? I wondered what it would feel like. The world was full of curiosities and wonder for me back then. And most of the time, I didn’t hesitate to satisfy it.”

Lynch smiled faintly. “If you decide you want a replay, you’ll have to let me experience that sometime.”

“Dream on. That was another time. Been there, done that.” Kendra glanced around. “I have to say, this place was probably a lot more fun in those days.”

“Hi, guys.” Metcalf was approaching them. “Long time no see.”

“What do we have?” Kendra asked.

“The victim was a twenty-seven-year-old woman in a men’s bathroom stall.”

“The
men’s
bathroom?” Lynch asked.

“You know what it’s like in places like this. When there’s a mile-long line in front of the ladies’ bathroom, it’s not uncommon for women to slip into the men’s room.”

“How was she positioned?” Kendra asked.

“On her knees. Classic hugging the porcelain goddess pose.”

Kendra chilled as memories flooded back to her. “Like in Phoenix…”

“Exactly like Phoenix,” Metcalf said.

“The Gregory Hammond case.” She swallowed, hard. “He lured clubgoers into bathroom stalls promising drugs and/or sex. He killed them and positioned them just like this. Sometimes, the victims weren’t discovered until closing time.”

“A couple people looked in on her, and she just appeared to be ill,” Metcalf said.

“The last thing most people want to do is tangle with someone who looks like they’re puking their guts out,” Kendra said. “And I guess she was bleeding out from her slashed throat into the toilet?”

“Yes. No one had any idea. She’d probably been dead an hour before anyone realized.”

“San Diego PD realized it was patterned on the Phoenix case?” Lynch asked.

“The homicide detectives knew it right away,” Metcalf said. “We briefed them a few days ago, so they’re on the lookout for any cases that match.”

Lynch glanced around the club, which was empty except for the cops and club employees. “Did anyone see who was in there with her?”

Metcalf shook his head. “Not so far. And the only security cameras are in the offices upstairs.” He gestured toward the bathroom. “You want to take a look?”

Kendra stared at the open door, through which she’d seen half a dozen crime-scene investigators come and go since her arrival. She braced herself. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

They entered the large men’s bathroom, where in front of the last of six stalls, the woman’s corpse was stretched out on the floor. She was on her back, surrounded by a photographer and two crime-scene investigators.

Griffin was standing near the door. “They’ll be done with her in a minute.”

“Who did she come to the club with?” Lynch asked.

“No one. She was a regular, and she always came by herself. A couple of the bartenders knew her. She had a disabled kid at home, and she used to come here to blow off steam.”

Kendra turned toward him. “Disabled
how
?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it was, she was almost never able to leave the house with her, and this was her only release.”

Kendra turned back toward the corpse. Don’t let it be true. Please, please, please …

She pushed past Griffin and moved quickly toward the back of the bathroom.

One of the crime-scene investigators tried to stop her. “Ma’am, if I can ask you to stand clear while we—”

“No! Get out of my way.” She stared at the dead woman’s face. “No. Oh, shit, no.”

“Kendra?” Lynch and the two FBI agents were suddenly beside her.

Kendra felt her legs weaken, and she fell to her knees. She suddenly realized she was crying. “I know this woman … I know her.”

Lynch knelt beside her, holding her. “Who is she?”

Kendra couldn’t take her eyes off the woman’s once-vibrant face. “Her name is Danica Beale.”

Lynch glanced back at Griffin, who nodded his confirmation.

Kendra wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve been to her house. Her daughter is a client of mine. They live with Danica’s parents. The little girl is agoraphobic, and I was trying to help her. My God…” She looked up at Lynch. “You saw her on the embarcadero the other day.”

Lynch nodded.

“That poor woman. And that little girl…” Kendra felt a sudden surge of panic. “This is because of me.”

Lynch turned her to face him and looked her in the eye. “No. I can see how that would be your first reaction. But this atrocity is because there’s a psycho out there. No other reason.”

Kendra shook her head. “He’s upping his game. If it weren’t for me, Danica would still be alive and home with her daughter by now.”

“Maybe. And we’d still be standing over someone else who didn’t deserve to die. This isn’t your fault, Kendra. Not in any way, shape, or form.”

Griffin shook his head. “Maybe the mother of a disabled little girl shouldn’t have been out partying at two in the morning.”

Kendra whirled on him. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” she said fiercely. “She gave her daughter everything she had. And more.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Just stop, Griffin. The more you talk, the more of an ass you make of yourself.”

Griffin motioned toward the door. “Take her outside, Lynch. Let her get some air.”

Kendra pulled away from Lynch. “Let me alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

Griffin frowned. “Under the circumstances I believe—”

“I said I’m not going anywhere.” She looked down at Danica’s face. “Not until I’ve done what I can for her.”

Lynch asked quietly, “Are you really up for this?”

She drew a deep breath. “Give me a minute.”

Kendra closed her eyes for a long moment to clear her head.

Detach. Concentrate.

She crouched next to the corpse and tried to block out all the memories of the warm and loving person Danica Beale had been. Kendra scanned her from head to toe, pausing to examine the wound across her throat. She moved in to make a closer examination of her face and hands.

Finally, she stood up.

“Well?” Lynch asked.

“The killer is left-handed, which is consistent with what I saw with Myatt at Corrine Harvey’s house.”

“You got that from the neck wound?” Lynch asked.

“The angle of the cut suggests that he grabbed her from behind and sliced from right to left. He was wearing chocolate brown leather gloves when he killed her, so you might ask the employees here if they noticed anybody wearing them.”

One of the young crime-scene investigators stepped forward. “I’m Agent Herb Elon, ma’am. Leather gloves? I don’t understand. How do you figure that?”

“When he was cutting her throat, he would have had to place the other hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. A natural response would be to bite him, which is probably why he was wearing heavy gloves. Look at her teeth. There are two tiny slivers of brown leather caught between her incisors.”

The crime-scene investigator, Elon, shined his flashlight into her mouth. “Holy shit.”

“And you might also check neighborhood security cameras,” Kendra said. “Here in Southern California, it’s rare to see a man wearing gloves anywhere but on a construction site.”

Lynch nodded. “Good idea.”

“And the killer may have a scratch on his face or neck.”

The other crime-scene investigator spoke up. “We checked her nails. No skin or blood there.”

“The fingertips on her right hand have been cleaned with a liquid bacteriological soap. Cuticura.”

The investigator wrinkled his brow. “How do you know?”

“I can smell it.”

“I’ve dealt with that soap. Cuticura is a fragrance-free soap.”

“That just means it wasn’t perfume-scented. It’s not the same as odor-free. Myatt may have cleaned the nails on her right hand postmortem because she scratched him. He was hoping to remove any blood or skin cells that might have his DNA on them. But antibacteriological soap doesn’t kill human DNA, so the medical examiner might still find some if he looks hard enough.” She looked at Griffin. “She may have marked our killer for us.”

“Anything else?” Lynch asked.

“Myatt may wear a wristwatch with a metal band.” She pointed to a series of abrasions under Danica’s chin. “As he was cutting her throat, something was cutting her higher up. My money is on a metallic wristwatch, but it also could have been a bracelet. Either way, there may be blood or skin cells on it that the murderer doesn’t even know are there.”

“Is somebody getting all this?” Griffin asked.

Metcalf raised his notepad in which he’d been scribbling furiously. “Yes, sir.”

Griffin looked back at Kendra. “Anything else?”

“You should also check cameras and potential witnesses at the trolley stations in case she was followed. She probably boarded it at National City and got off just a couple blocks up the street.” Before anyone could ask, Kendra pointed to the front pocket of Danica’s tight slacks. “She has no purse with her, unless she left it at her table?”

Griffin shook his head. “No purse.”

“Then she might have a credit card and maybe a lipstick in those tight pants. But you can see she’s probably only carrying her house key, no car keys. They would be too bulky. Danica was much too responsible to drink and drive. She was a woman of limited means, so a taxicab isn’t likely. I happen to know that the National City trolley station is only a couple blocks from her house. There’s probably a round-trip MTS ticket or maybe a monthly pass in one of her pockets.”