Sight Unseen (8 page)

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.”