“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.
She felt her muscles relax as she stepped into the house and swung the door closed behind her.
Agents Griffin and Reade were in the living room.
“Are you okay?” Reade asked.
“Yes. Just tell me this paid off.”
Griffin and Reade exchanged discouraged looks.
Kendra cursed under her breath. “Nothing at all?”
“Not so far.” Griffin’s gaze narrowed at his laptop s screen on the coffee table. “No unusual movement in the vicinity of your condo building. We stopped a couple of people who were leaving buildings on your block, but nobody who didn’t belong there.”
“And here?”
“Not yet,” Reade said. “There are agents all over, and Metcalf has a bird’s-eye view from the parking garage at the end of the block. He hasn’t reported any suspicious activity.”
“Great.”
For the first time, Kendra glanced around the living room. She hadn’t considered visiting the house since the victim’s parents had already sent cleaning crews in and begun preparing their late daughter’s home for sale.
It was immediately apparent that Kristy Ludwig worked erratic hours, ate in front of the television, and occasionally smoked pot. Kendra’s visual scan abruptly stopped when she spotted a laundry hamper stuffed with baby toys. Damn. She remembered that Ludwig was a single mother who had left behind an eighteen-month-old girl. The toys and high chair brought it home in a way that a few lines in a case file could not.
Kendra stared at those toys for the better part of an hour while it became apparent that she and the FBI had utterly failed in their attempt to smoke out the killer.
“I’m calling it,” Griffin said in the manner of a surgeon declaring a patient dead. “Suspend the operation.”
Reade picked up her radio and notified Metcalf.
Griffin turned toward Kendra. “Thanks for your help. Looks like you’re going to need that guard outside your door for a while longer.”
“The condo association will be so pleased.”
* * *
AS KENDRA UNLOCKED HER FRONT DOOR, she turned back to the young FBI Agent, Donald Nelson, who was acting as her guard. “If you need to use the bathroom or want something to eat or drink while you’re here, you’re certainly welcome.”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am, but thank you.”
“The guard who was here last night didn’t either. They must be teaching bladder control at Quantico these days.”
The agent smiled. “Can’t confirm or deny. It’s classified. Good night, ma’am. Just call if you need me.”
Kendra entered her condo and tossed her keys on the foyer table. She’d already canceled her appointments with her clients for the next few days, but she’d told them she was available for any questions. Thank heavens, there was no one who was at a crucial point in their therapy. She checked her watch—10:35 P.M. Check to see if there were any messages. Too late to return phone calls, but perhaps she could dash off some e-mails and—
She froze. She couldn’t breathe.
Holy shit.
There, scrawled on her living room wall in red paint, was a message.
NICE TRY, KENDRA. BUT YOU’RE BETTER THAN THAT.
—MYATT
He’d been here.
In her home.
She felt violated.
Was he still here?
She went still, listening for any sign of him.
She held her breath and moved toward the door. Stay calm. All she had to do was scream, and that FBI agent would be at her side in seconds.
Or would he?
Her mind raced. What if he’d been dispatched as easily and cruelly as that young police officer?
What if Myatt himself was waiting on the other side of that door?
Shit-shit-shit.
Keep moving, don’t panic …
Are you there, you bastard? I almost hope you are. I want to come face-to-face with you again.
She gripped the doorknob with one hand, the dead bolt with the other. She flipped the dead bolt and threw open the door.
The FBI agent stood there, safe and sound. “Ma’am? May I help you?”
She took a moment to catch her breath. “Yes, you can. Come in and take a good look around, Agent Nelson. But first, call Griffin right now and get him out here.” She moistened her lips. “It seems our psychopath paid me a visit.”
* * *
THE FBI EVIDENCE RECOVERY TEAM arrived before Griffin, Metcalf, and Reade, and they appeared to be gathering little from the scene besides the paint shavings scraped from her wall. Kendra watched them work for a few minutes before stepping away and leaning wearily against the wall in her building’s corridor.
Metcalf joined her. “Hell of a couple days, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
He looked down the hall, where Griffin and Reade had just stepped from the elevator. He lowered his voice. “You were right about this nut. He was two moves ahead of us.”
“He does his homework, that’s for damned sure.”
Griffin approached Kendra. “I guess our little radio show didn’t fool anybody.”
“That’s not true.” Kendra shrugged. “We certainly fooled ourselves.”
Metcalf laughed, but cut it short after Griffin shot him a withering glare.
“I want to know how Myatt got into my condo,” Kendra said. “The locks on my doors haven’t been broken, and he would have to be a master locksmith to pick them. I made sure of that when I moved in.”
“Give us a little time,” Griffin said. “We’ll have an answer for you.”
Reade broke in. “And we’ve already begun a door-to-door search here in the building. We’ve identified the traffic and security cameras in the area, and since you were gone less than two hours, it narrows our focus on how much footage we need to request and examine.”
Kendra looked away. “I’m sure Myatt identified those cameras, too. He probably did it days ago. He probably mapped out a route to avoid them all, and if he couldn’t do that, he disabled a camera or two.” Her glance shifted back to the agents. “It’s what I would have done.”
Griffin looked through the open doorway at the scrawled message on her living-room wall. “Day one of Criminal Profiling 101 tells us that we shouldn’t assume that the perp will think and behave as we would ourselves.”
“Normally, I would agree. But not only is he incredibly detail-oriented, he considers himself an artist. Every brushstroke has to be painted just so, or it all falls apart.”
“We still need to follow every angle. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“And I’m sure he’s already made a few,” Kendra said. “We just haven’t found them yet.” She turned to Reade. “Where do we stand on that police sketch?”
“It made the late edition of the papers, and it’s been on all the evening news shows. We’ve already had dozens of calls on the tip line.”
“Hundreds,” Griffin corrected. “Hundreds and hundreds. As usual. No matter how specific and detailed the sketch is, everyone is convinced that their coworker, college roommate, or kid’s soccer coach is a serial killer.”
“We’ll do a preliminary check and gather photos for as many as we can,” Reade said. “We’ll have you come in and take a look. Maybe even tomorrow.”
Kendra nodded. “Good. The sooner the better.”
“You
have a place to stay tonight?” Metcalf asked.
Kendra gestured toward her doorway as two more evidence specialists entered. “Sure. Right there.” Before he could respond, she said, “Just joking. I have a friend who lives in the building.”
“A friend who won’t mind an FBI man lurking outside her door all night?”
“Actually, Olivia might be into that.” She grinned. “But I’ll tell her to keep her beautifully manicured paws off the poor guy.”
CHAPTER
6
“DID YOU FIND EVERYTHING?” Olivia asked, as Kendra came out of the bathroom into the guest room. “You haven’t stayed overnight for a long time. Not since we had a few too many cocktails after I made us that fantastic lasagna dinner last year.”
“It was fantastic. You’re a great cook.” Kendra glanced at Olivia, who was standing in the doorway. “Has it been that long? It seems like yesterday.”
“You’ve been busy. So have I.”
“You’ve got that right.” She pulled back the sheet and slipped into bed. “Thanks for taking me in tonight.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Olivia said. “We’re closer than sisters. Who else would you go to?”
“No one. Except Mom. And that would have opened a huge can of worms again.” She punched the pillow and settled in the bed. “I’m fine, Olivia. Go back to bed.”
“Shall I turn out the lights?”
“Please.”
Olivia reached out and flipped the wall switch, and the room was plunged into darkness. She stood there, silhouetted against the light streaming from the hall behind her. “Kendra … I’ve always wondered something ever since you had that operation.”
“Wondered what?”
She was silent, then asked, “How do you feel about … darkness?”
Kendra wished Olivia hadn’t turned off the light. She couldn’t tell by her voice what she was feeling. Olivia was too good at hiding her emotions. “Why do you want to know?”
“Darkness is home for me, it’s my comfort zone. Before you gained your vision, you felt that way, too. It was something we shared. I know it can never be that way again, but I was curious. Is there an instant of panic? Or is there comfort?”
Sight Unseen Page 10
