“I’ll be there.” He laughed. “And I’ll work on being so damn charming that I won’t have to use your mother to get you to meet me next time. Bye, Kendra.” He hung up.
He was charming, Kendra thought. And she found she was looking forward to seeing him again. Dean was so wonderfully normal. It would be a break in the nonstop tension of wondering what horror Myatt would commit next.
But first she had to go back into her condo and let the evil that was Myatt possess her once again.
She braced herself and entered the hallway leading to her front door.
* * *
KENDRA’S HAND CLOSED ON THE DOORKNOB to her condo. It took her a long moment to turn it and let herself inside.
Damn. It didn’t even feel like home anymore.
There was now nothing safe or comforting about this place, where just twelve hours before that monster had invaded and made it his own.
No, he needed her permission to make her feel that way, and there was no way she was going to give it.
Fight him. Block out the fear that gave him his power to change her world.
She stood in her foyer and took a deep breath.
It didn’t feel like home to her now, but it would again. One day.
She glanced up at the painted message on her living-room wall:
NICE TRY, KENDRA. BUT YOU’RE BETTER THAN THAT.
—MYATT
She turned and strode to the utility closet in the kitchen and grabbed a gallon can of primer she’d used to paint the kitchen door six months ago. It was half-full, and that would do the job. The forensic team wouldn’t be pleased with her for doing this before they’d officially released the apartment. Too bad. A paint crew would be here in a couple of days, but she couldn’t stand the thought of that spray-painted scrawl in her living room for a minute longer.
She snatched a lid opener and brush from her kitchen utility drawer, then popped the top from the primer. She stood on the couch and slathered the primer on the wall above, covering the message one letter at time. She was sure the Bureau had already identified the brand and shade of the paint and was attempting to track down every can sold in the last few weeks. It was a long shot, but there was always the hope that Myatt might be dumb enough to get caught on a Walmart security camera while using a credit card to pay for his purchase.
Fat chance.
She suddenly froze.
She stopped applying the primer. She studied the spray-painted letters for another long moment. With outdoor graffiti, stray paint particles almost always told her at what vantage point the vandals were spraying from: up, down, right, or left.
Here on her wall, the paint seemed to be hitting dead-on. Did that mean he had stood on her couch, just as she was doing now? Or did he stand on something else?
She glanced around the room.
The coffee table perhaps, but a dinette chair would be easier to move. Kendra moved over to her dinette set and inspected the chairs.
Yes.
There, on the chair closest to her living room, were a few tiny white and green particles. Familiar particles. She had seen them before, but never in her condo.
She grabbed her keys, walked outside, and climbed the stairway to the rooftop pool, which was actually little more than a wading pool surrounded by a sundeck. Flower boxes and barbecue grills lined the area. There, on the building’s south side, tiny green and white fertilizer pellets had blown out of the flower boxes and scattered onto the deck.
Kendra knelt and picked up a few of the particles. It was the same as what she’d seen on her dinette chair.
She brushed them from her hands as she stood and looked at the building next door. She was still staring at it as she pulled out her mobile phone and punched Griffin’s number. He wasn’t available, so she had the call patched through to Metcalf.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “You’re calling to bust my chops about Comic-Con some more.”
“There’s plenty of time for that later. Right now, I want to talk about fertilizer.”
“Oh, if there’s anything I find fascinating, it’s a discussion about plant nutrients.”
“I found some fertilizer particles on a chair in my condo. The same stuff they use in the flower boxes on my building’s rooftop pool deck. It’s all over the deck on the south side of the building, just six or seven feet from the building next door. That’s how I think Myatt was able to avoid being seen by security cameras and the agents who were watching this place last night. He was in the building next door. He stole the key from the management office earlier in the evening or maybe even the previous day. He jumped from the rooftop to this one, then came down to my condo. He left the same way.”
“Hmm. We’ve already obtained outdoor security camera videos from that neighboring building. We’ll see if they have any interior cams.” He chuckled. “Fertilizer, huh?”
“The particles probably got caught in his shoe treads, which then came off when he stood on a chair to spray paint his message on my living-room wall. There’s a chance that Myatt might not have been quite so careful of those video cameras in that other building. Even a glimpse might help.”
“We’ll get right on this. In the meantime, the calls are still pouring in about that police sketch. We’re looking forward to having you come in and quickly eliminate a couple hundred of them for us. It will save us some serious manpower.”
“Griffin said you’ll be ready for me at two. I’ll do my best, Metcalf.” She hung up.
She checked her watch. Time to scan this deck and her apartment before she headed for her appointment with Dean. She doubted if she’d find anything else, but you could never tell. She moved toward the deck surrounding the pool.
* * *
“GOOD GOD.” DEAN’S EYES widened as he watched Kendra enter the Starbucks glass door. “What truck ran over you?”
“Mom didn’t tell you?” Kendra lifted her hand to her bruised cheek. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“It couldn’t be. Coffee?”
“Black.”
“Me, too.” He told the server behind the counter. “And one of those Danish.” He turned back to Kendra. “All your Mom said was that you’d had a fall and that was why you hadn’t called me. I thought you’d probably tripped on a rug or something.”
“A little more than that. The fall was out of a second-floor window.” She took her cup of coffee from the server and moved toward a table by the window. “But it’s like Mom to use it as an excuse to gloss over my apparent rudeness so that you wouldn’t think badly of me.” She made a face as she sat down in a chair. “And to try to hide the fact that I’m not the kind of woman you should be hanging around if you want a calm and happy relationship. Maybe she thought we wouldn’t get together until the bruises faded.”
“How did it happen?” He sat down opposite her. “It sounds like an unusual accident.”
“You might say that.” Give it to him straight and see if he could take it. “I actually jumped from the window to get away from a serial killer.”
He blinked. “I … see.” Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t see. I heard something on the news about some case you were working on, but no one said anything about your getting close enough to be chased by the bad guys.”
“It happens. Not often because I try my best to avoid getting involved. But it does happen.”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. Then he smiled. “May I say I’m beginning to understand your mother’s fondness for me? If I kept you occupied, you wouldn’t be chasing around jumping out windows. Or if you did, I’d be there to catch you.”
“Would you?”
“You bet.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Did you catch the bad guy yet?”
“Not yet.” He’d taken it amazingly well. “But we will. It’s only a matter of time. We have to get him. He’s a monster.”
His smile faded. “I don’t believe I like your dealing with monsters all by yourself.”
She chuckled. “Wouldn’t y
ou say that the San Diego PD and the FBI are capable of giving me a little help? They’d be insulted.”
“I’m afraid I don’t appreciate the mighty arm of the law. I saw it from the underbelly. It wasn’t a pretty view.” He paused. “I’d much rather you let me stick close to see if you need me. How about it?”
He meant it. There was no doubt of his sincerity.
She was touched. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Mom is right, you are a great guy, Dean.”
He turned his hand and grasped hers. “And the other half of what she told you is that you’d be a fool not to let me in your life. Believe her.” He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. Then he laughed and dropped her hand. “Hey, I’m coming on too strong, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“And it turns you off?”
“A little.”
“I’ll tone it down, I promise.” He looked around the shop. “Besides, this isn’t exactly the best place for romantic gestures. You’ve got to give me a chance to do it right.” He picked up his fork and cut the pastry. “This is always great pastry. Would you like a bite?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“No sweet tooth?” He took a bite and sighed blissfully. “I do. Though my favorite sweets are fruit pies. My parents had a farm in Seminole County, Florida, and my mother was a great cook. She’d make the greatest cherry pies for the family and the workers.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“Not my mom. My dad married again and still lives on the farm. Nice woman. But I don’t go back and visit often. Too many lingering memories.” He finished the pastry and pushed the plate aside. “Besides, I think it’s time I made a few memories of my own.” He lifted his cup to her. “And you’re the most memorable woman I’ve ever met.”
“Yes, but not the kind you’re looking for. We have virtually nothing in common.” She was experiencing regret even as she said it. It was nice to think of making memories with a sweet guy like Dean. “I’m independent and I can be self-centered and I have trouble with the word compromise. Tell my Mom to fix you up with someone else.”
“I like her first choice.”
“She’s brainwashed you.”
“Maybe a little, but I volunteered.” He held up his hand as she opened her lips to speak. “From now on, your mother is out of it. We’re on our own, Kendra. I’m not going to be overaggressive. I’ll just give you a call now and then to keep myself in your mind.” He thought about it. “But not before tomorrow morning. How about making these coffee breaks a daily ritual?”
“Dean.”
“Okay, I’ll drop it for now.” He smiled. “And I’ll work on being that charming guy I told you I’d be to lure you into my spell. Would you like to hear why I became a teacher? It’s kind of amusing.”
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“Right. I’ve only got an hour before you fly away from me. I’ve got to make you want to come back tomorrow.”
She gazed at him with helpless exasperation. His smile held a hint of mischief, but his determination was clear. She suddenly realized she didn’t wish to fight that determination. He was like a ray of sunlight, and she wanted to bask in it for a little while.
“Okay.” She smiled as she leaned back in her chair and lifted her cup to her lips. “So distract me. Tell me why it was so funny that you decided to become a teacher.”
* * *
“NO. NO. NO.” ANOTHER SET OF PICTURES flicked in front of Kendra’s eyes. “No. No. No. No.”
Kendra leaned back in the FBI conference-room chair, watching the projection screen as Saffron Reade clicked through the photos she had compiled from the police-sketch tip line.
She had to laugh out loud at how off base many of the photos were, but some had a passing resemblance to the police sketch she had helped produce.
“No. No. No. No.” Kendra glanced over at Reade. “Where did you get all these pictures?”
“Many of the callers had a name and address, so we were able to pull most of them from driver’s license photos.”
“Yes, I thought I recognized that dazed, thousand-yard, Department of Motor Vehicles stare.”
“And it looks like quite a few of them were taken on the sly from the tipsters themselves. You have to watch out for those camera-phone-wielding neighbors … They just may be trying to finger you as a serial killer.”
“If any of them succeed, more power to ’em.” Kendra shook her head “no” as Reade showed her a few more slides. “None of these is hitting even close to the mark. But it’s early yet. Maybe if you keep that police sketch in circulation, someone will—” She leaned forward. “Wait. Go back to that last one.”
Reade clicked her remote and displayed the previous photo. The picture was somewhat blurry, but it showed a man in a brown United Parcel Service uniform who looked remarkably like the man she had encountered at Corrine Harvey’s house.
The photo was obviously taken from a distance, shot through a window screen. The UPS man, seen only in profile, was pushing a dolly down a suburban sidewalk. The hairline, cheekbones, and even the swimmer’s physique were all just as she remembered them.
Kendra looked over at Reade. “Holy shit, this could be our guy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as I could be without seeing him here in this room in front of me. I had an uneasy feeling he might have changed his appearance to fool me, but this is the man I saw that night. What details do you have?”
Reade glanced down at her laptop screen. “This was sent by a Kensington resident named Tom Keating. He says he thought the police sketch looked like this UPS driver who has been delivering in his neighborhood during the last six months or so. According to the time stamp on the photo, it was taken at 5:46 P.M. yesterday.”
“We need to follow up on him.”
Reade’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “I’m forwarding this to the team right now. I guarantee that a UPS area supervisor will be getting a visit very soon.”
“Good.” Kendra gazed at the screen as the PowerPoint slideshow automatically resumed. She suddenly stiffened.
What in the hell?
“Stop.”
There was another photo of who appeared to be the same man, this time wearing a striped vest and train engineer’s hat. He was holding two dozen helium balloons, which he was passing out to children at a park.
Kendra quickly studied his physique and facial features. “This is the same man.”
Reade’s gaze narrowed on this screen. “It certainly looks like him.”
“It is, I’m positive. It’s taken from a distance, but look at his forehead and jawline.”
“So he’s a UPS driver and a balloon peddler?”
Kendra stepped closer and examined the blue time stamp imprinted on the photo’s lower right corner. “I don’t know what he is. But we’re meant to believe this picture was taken at the exact same moment as the other one—5:46 P.M. yesterday.”
“What?” Reade checked her PowerPoint notes. “This came from a man named Eric Hebborn. No other information.”
“Show me some more.”
Reade flashed more photos on the screen in front of her until Kendra spotted the man again, this time wearing dirty coveralls at what appeared to be an automotive garage. “Don’t tell me—5:46 P.M. yesterday.”
Reade checked the photo’s digital time stamp. “Bingo.”
“He’s screwing with us. Screwing with me. He posed for these with his own camera and set the camera clock time himself. He knew I’d be looking at these. Who sent this one in?”
“Someone named Tony Tetro.”
Kendra pulled out her phone and furiously thumb-typed her way through the Google search screen. “And the other photos came from Eric Hebborn and Tom Keating?”
“Yes.”
After a moment, Kendra raised her phone and showed Reade the search-screen results page. “Look. Those are the names of three of art
history’s most notorious forgers.”
“More forgers … So this is all bullshit.”
“Except these photos really are of him.”
Reade leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “Kinda ballsy, a serial killer sending us photos of himself.”
“Except none of these are all that clear and don’t approach the level of detail in that police sketch. If the news outlets start running these instead, we’ll only be taking a step backward.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants.”
“What he really wants is to show that he’s not afraid of us, that everything that we’re doing doesn’t matter to him.”
She could feel a chill as she stared at his face on the screen. It was as if she could taste the mockery he was displaying toward her.
“Kendra? Is something wrong?”
She moved her shoulders in an effort to shrug off the uneasiness that was close to fear. She told Reade, “No, it’s okay. Go ahead and show me the rest. Right now I just want to be done with him and get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER
7
HOURS LATER, KENDRA WAS STILL staring at the three photos on her dining-room table. She had requested the printouts from Reade, but they hadn’t told her anything more than she’d known back at the FBI conference room.
The Bureau, no doubt, was racing to track down the IP addresses from which they had come and had perhaps even identified one or more of the locations in the photos.
Just as Myatt knew they would.
Her cell phone rang. Lynch.
Warmth and eagerness flowed through her. She was tired of staring at these photos of that monster who was sure that he could block her at every pass. She wanted contact with Lynch, who was every bit as dangerous as Myatt, but not to her.
At least, not in the same way.
She answered the call. “Why do you keep phoning me? I told you to tend to your business, and I’d tend to mine. I think you must be bored with all those Washington types. Not that I blame—”
Sight Unseen Page 12
