Sight Unseen

by Iris Johansen

  “I’m outside your condo, Kendra,” Lynch broke in impatiently. His voice was tense. “One of your neighbors was careless enough to hold open the building’s front door for me, but your FBI bodyguard won’t let me within ten feet of your condo without an okay from you.”

  “That’s because he’s good at his job. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him.”

  “I don’t have time to convince him that I’m harmless, so I’m left with the option of either taking him out or having you call him off. I don’t give a damn which one. Choose.”

  There was no question he meant it.

  “Don’t touch him.” Kendra walked to her door and opened it wide. She nodded to Agent Nelson. “Thanks for being so efficient. My friend tends to be a little rude.”

  He smiled. “My job. You’re sure he’s no threat?”

  “It depends on who you ask. But not to me.” She stepped aside for Lynch to enter. “I’ll call if he proves a problem.”

  “Do that,” Lynch said as he walked into the condo and slammed the door behind him. “I’m feeling edgy, and I’d welcome a confrontation.”

  “Not with Agent Nelson. Olivia would never forgive you.”

  “What?” Then he dismissed the subject as unimportant. “I heard about your photo lineup today.”

  “Unproductive as it was. When did you get back in town?”

  “Just now. I came straight from the airport.”

  Her brows rose. “All finished in D.C.?”

  “Not really, but I got some news that made me think that I was needed back here.”

  “We’ve discussed that before. I’m handling this—” She stopped. Lynch had mentioned being on edge and she could see that was an understatement. Definitely not his usual self. “What news?”

  “I heard from the FBI lab manager. I’ve guaranteed that he gets in touch with me with any information directly after he tells Griffin.”

  She stiffened. “I haven’t heard anything from Griffin.”

  “I think they’re still trying to figure out what it means.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s about the clothing you recovered from Corrine Harvey’s house. They recovered fresh skin cells from the sweater. They were able to extract DNA they thought might be from the killer.”

  “That’s great.”

  “And what’s more, they got a match off the CODIS DNA database.”

  “Even better. So why do you look like you’ve just come from a funeral?”

  Lynch shook his head, then looked her in the eye. “The DNA is from Eric Colby.”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “What? Impossible.”

  “Eric Colby,” he repeated. “The first killer you ever put away.”

  Kendra’s brow wrinkled. “That doesn’t make sense. How in the hell could—”

  “You tell me. He’s been on death row in San Quentin State Penitentiary for the past four years.” He paused. “He’s scheduled to be executed by lethal injection Monday night.”

  Eric Colby.

  Kendra felt a little light-headed. She moved toward the sofa and slowly sat down. “This is a nightmare. I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You look damn shaky. Can I get you something? Glass of water? Shot of brandy? Handful of barbiturates?”

  “I feel as if I could use all three.” She looked up at Lynch. “I’ve spent four years trying to forget Eric Colby. When we were walking through the maze of my old cases at the field office Sunday, I did everything I could to avoid looking at his photo. I’ve never felt such darkness, such total evil, in anyone before or since.”

  “That’s saying a lot.”

  “It’s true. You know … I’m kind of conflicted about the death penalty, but not for him. A lot of people would breathe easier knowing he’s no longer on this earth.”

  Lynch nodded grimly. “Count me among them. I read up on him during the flight. I can’t get those crime-scene photos out of my head.”

  Eric Colby.

  “You said those were fresh skin cells on Corrine Harvey’s clothing?” she asked.

  “Correct. First thing I checked.”

  “His cells somehow found their way onto her sweater. We were meant to find them.”

  “You were meant to find them. Your reward for finding the sweater.”

  Eric Colby.

  Kendra tried to shake off the chill. “Even though he’s sitting in a prison four hundred miles away … He’s somehow involved. And he wants me to know it. It’s his parting shot.”

  “He’ll be dead in five days. That doesn’t give us much time to get the answers we need from him.”

  “I don’t need anything from him.”

  “Kendra … Every day that goes by is another day that someone could die. If we know he’s somehow connected to this, it’s an angle we have to pursue.”

  “Which is exactly what he wants,” she said fiercely. “And it’s going to lead nowhere, except where he wants it to lead.”

  “You outsmarted him once. You can do it again.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to do it again. I want to turn my head and not turn back until they’re rolling his corpse out of that prison.”

  “This isn’t like you. What—” The front-door buzzer rang from the wall-mounted intercom unit. Lynch strode over and pressed the talk button. “Hello.”

  After a moment’s hesitation. “Michael Griffin, Roland Metcalf, and Saffron Reade here to see Kendra. Is that you Lynch?”

  “Yes, come on up.” He pushed the button to buzz them in through the front door.

  “Griffin wasn’t expecting to hear your voice,” Kendra said.

  “He thought I was still in Washington. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming back here. They obviously came to break the news to you personally.”

  “No matter how many times I hear it, it’s not going to be any easier to believe … or to accept.”

  Lynch walked over and leaned close to her. “Listen, Kendra, I know you have some seriously bad history with this maniac.”

  She half smiled and tried to joke. “Griffin’s not so bad.”

  “The other maniac. Colby. However you want to play this, I’ll back you up. Don’t let them talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

  “Just a few seconds ago, you were telling me we needed to follow this lead.”

  “They do. You don’t. Not if you don’t think you can. I don’t like your reaction to this creep. Just say the word, and I’ll build a wall around you so strong that Griffin and friends won’t even think about breaking through. Understand?”

  That damn protectiveness again.

  There was a rap at the door, and Lynch opened it wide for Griffin, Metcalf, and Reade to enter.

  Griffin stared at Lynch for a moment before stepping into the condo. “Welcome back. This is an unexpected pleas—” He paused and substituted. “Occurrence.”

  “The feeling is totally mutual, Griffin. I just got into town.”

  “Huh. Why do I have feeling that my lab has been in touch with you … maybe even before they were in touch with me.”

  “With the tight ship you run there?”

  Griffin muttered a curse and turned toward Kendra. “So you know about the skin cells we pulled off Corrine Harvey’s sweater?”

  She nodded. “The ones with Eric Colby’s DNA? Yeah, old news.”

  “I’ve already been in touch with the warden at San Quentin. He’s pulling together a visitor’s list, mail and call logs, and other information he has on Colby. It seems you’re not the only one with a rabid fan base, Kendra. Especially since his execution date was set, he’s become quite popular.”

  “Exactly what he wants, I’m sure.”

  Reade stepped forward. “The attention will increase exponentially when this gets out, you know.”

  “Then don’t let it get out,” Kendra said harshly. “Don’t give him the satisfaction. You can keep a secret for five day
s, can’t you?” She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Anger, shock, and frustration were all whirling around within her. “Don’t let him play us like this.”

  Griffin spoke in a slow, measured tone that was probably supposed to be soothing but only served to make her angrier. “Trust me, we’re not calling a press conference. But we are flying to San Francisco tomorrow morning. We’ll visit San Quentin, inspect the logs, and speak with Colby and the prison personnel who know him best. You’re the only one of us who has any previous experience with him, so we would like you to join us.”

  Kendra had known it was coming, but it still hit her like a swift, wicked, kick. “I already know what it’s like to be face-to-face with Colby. It’s not an experience I’m anxious to repeat.”

  “We can certainly understand that,” Griffin said in a tone bordering on patronizing. “But this isn’t really being done for your benefit. Your presence there might provoke more of a reaction from him. He might be more forthcoming.”

  “You think the sight of me will make Eric Colby spill his guts?” She smiled bitterly. “Then you really don’t know him. Colby is an iceman.” Her gaze circled the agents. “So what’s the consensus? Do your profilers think we’re dealing with a tag team?”

  “No, they’re very cautious.” Griffin dropped down in an easy chair facing her. “Serial-killer tag teams are extremely rare. It’s almost always an extremely solitary pursuit.”

  “I’ve never encountered one,” Kendra said.

  “Very few investigators have,” Metcalf said. “Thank goodness. But it’s not unheard of for a killer to draw inspiration and even guidance from an incarcerated murderer.”

  Kendra looked away from them. “Incarcerated murderer” sounded so sterile, so civilized, compared with the brutal and venomous image she still held of Eric Colby. This time she couldn’t shake the image from her mind. “Aren’t communications with death-row inmates monitored?”

  “Depends,” Griffin said. “Mail and telephone are, but in-person visits aren’t. And we all know that it’s distressingly easy to smuggle almost anything in or out of a prison.”

  “Like a woman’s sweater?” Kendra asked.

  “Or maybe a handwritten serial killer how-to manual,” Reade said. “Thanks to the Web, some of these guys have a worldwide following.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  Griffin shrugged. “It’s the world we live in. You can sit back and be depressed or do something to change it.”

  “Back off, Griffin,” Lynch said. “She’s done a hell of a lot already.”

  “I agree,” Griffin turned toward Kendra. “We’ll be on United flight 498 to San Francisco at 7:00 A.M. tomorrow. We’d like you to be with us. A reservation has already been made in your name, and a boarding pass has been e-mailed to you.”

  “How efficient.” Kendra picked up her phone from the couch armrest. She glanced at the screen and clicked on an e-mail. “You’re right. It just came in.”

  “Then will you do this for us?”

  She glanced at Lynch. His eyes were narrowed on her, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  Screw ’em. You don’t owe these assholes anything.

  Tell ’em to shove this case up their asses.

  Kendra stood up and gestured toward the front door. “I need to think about it.”

  Griffin was definitely not pleased. “When can we expect your answer?”

  “At 7:00 A.M. tomorrow. When you’re on the plane, look over at seat 4D. If I’m there, take that as a strong indication I’m coming with you.”

  “Okay.” Griffin stood up. “But just remember something, Kendra. This wouldn’t be like the last time you saw Eric Colby. This time there would be all of us and a squad of armed guards between you and him.”

  “She knows all that,” Lynch said. “She said she had to think. Let’s all get the hell out of here so that she can do it.”

  “I’m going,” Griffin said testily. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” He motioned for Metcalf and Reade to join him and he glanced at Kendra as he turned toward the door. “I hope to see you tomorrow.”

  Kendra watched Lynch open the door as they exited and exchanged words with the guard outside.

  Lynch turned back toward her. “Me, too?”

  She nodded. “Thank you,” she silently mouthed.

  He shrugged and stared at her for a long moment. “If you need me, call.” He turned and followed the other agents out of the condo.

  She did need him. She didn’t want to be alone with the memories that were bombarding her. But if he stayed, she would reveal weakness, and she didn’t want Lynch to see her like that. She had to be strong. That was another time, another place. She wouldn’t let Colby beat her now.

  But oh, dear God, those memories …

  Four Years Earlier

  Carlsbad, California

  10:40 P.M.

  “HOW MUCH FARTHER?” Kendra asked.

  FBI Special Agent Jeff Stedler eased off the accelerator as their car hit a dense patch of fog. “Almost there, Kendra.”

  A thick, soupy marine layer had descended on the coastal town of Carlsbad, thirty-five miles north of San Diego. The town’s tourist brochures touted the family-friendly resorts and expansive state park, but there was nothing inviting about this dark, lonely stretch of road in a long-abandoned industrial corridor. Large signs proudly trumpeted the cookie-cutter housing developments that would soon wipe the area clean.

  “I don’t know why you think I can do this,” Kendra said tensely. “You should take me home.”

  “Please. Just give it a shot.”

  “I’ll be wasting your time.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Kendra studied him. Of course he didn’t think so. His belief in her and everyone else in his life was unwavering, if a bit naïve. But she couldn’t dispute the fact that his confidence in people did seem to bring out their best. And that included her. In the seven months she’d been living with Jeff, he’d helped her finally find her truest, best self that had eluded her in those chaotic years after gaining her sight.

  But tonight was still a mistake.

  He glanced over at her. “Did you read the file I gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And…”

  “It made me ill.”

  “I’d be worried if it didn’t.”

  He’d given her excerpts from the case file of a current FBI serial-killer investigation. It consisted mainly of descriptions and photos of nine grisly crime scenes that had one thing in common: each of the victims was decapitated, with no trace of the head left behind.

  She shuddered. “Those photos were horrible. All those people … Even children.”

  Jeff nodded. “Two little kids. I talked to the mother of one of them just yesterday. She kept telling me how much she wishes it was her.”

  “I’m sure she does. I can’t imagine how someone goes on from that.”

  “I can’t, either.”

  She was silent. “Looking at those pictures, at first I just felt sick. Then I was depressed. Then I just got angry. I’m pretty much stuck at angry.”

  “Good. Hold on to that.” Jeff turned on the wipers to clear away the condensation. The fog thinned, then billowed, with each turn of the road.

  “Do you really think I can help?” Kendra asked. “I’m not like you, Jeff. This investigating stuff isn’t my thing. I don’t even like doing it.”

  “You like helping people. You’ll get used to the rest. And I do think there’s a good chance that you might be the turning point. Nothing else is working for us. It might help to have a fresh set of eyes. Especially if those eyes are yours.”

  “Ever since I was a little girl, even when I was blind, people were telling me I should be a detective.” She made a face. “I never thought the FBI would one day say it to me.”

  He glanced at her with a smile. “I don’t know that I represent the entire FBI. I’m just one agent you happen to be sl
eeping with. If my colleagues seem a little skeptical, just ignore them. They don’t know you the way I do.”

  “Meaning they’re not sleeping with me.”

  “Meaning they haven’t seen you do the things you do. They’ve never watched you walk into a room, pick up on a thousand different details, and immediately give an entire rundown of the place. Or meet someone and hand them their entire personal history.”

  “Parlor tricks.”

  “They can be more than that.” His expression was intense. “And we can be more than that together. Do you realize how much good we can do? Why do you think I’ve been pushing you? You have a gift, Kendra.”

  Jeff was an idealist, and he wanted to pull her along on his quest to save the world. Well, maybe she should go along even if that quest wasn’t her own. She had cared enough to want to live with him and begin to share his dreams. This was just another step. “I don’t know if you’re right or wrong, but I’ll see if—” She straightened on the seat. “There’s something going on ahead.”

  The fog was pulsing with white, blue, and red strobes of light. Jeff slowed as they saw that the lights were actually flashers from half a dozen police cruisers parked in front of an old shoe factory.

  They stopped and climbed out of the car. The factory’s small front courtyard was overgrown with brush and tall grass. Weeds sprouted from every crack in the sidewalk and parking lot. The brick archway of the worker entrance was lit only by the headlights and flashers of the squad cars. Beyond the entrance was a vestibule that had obviously once held the time clocks. After that was the factory’s main floor, topped by a multipaned skylight ceiling. Kendra could see the beams of high-wattage police flashlights darting against the ceiling and spearing into the foggy night sky.

  Jeff handed her a dark blue FBI windbreaker that matched his own. “Here. Put this on.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “I didn’t think you were. It’s so the local cops know you’re working with us. Go ahead.”

  She slipped on the windbreaker, which was clearly meant for a man Jeff’s size. She rolled up the sleeves and followed him through the archway.

  “Are you ready for this?” he whispered.

  She wanted to tell him no, that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for what lay ahead. She nodded jerkily, then was silent as they walked past a pair of cops securing the entrance. “I … think so. I’ve been preparing myself.”