Sight Unseen (9 page)

“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.