Sight Unseen

by Iris Johansen

Hard-driving metal music pounded their ears as they approached Warren’s door, which was open a few inches.

  Lynch grimaced. “Can’t stand that stuff.”

  “It’s Queensryche. You should try opening your mind a little.”

  “I know who it is. It’s just that as far as their lead singers go, Todd La Torre doesn’t hold a candle to Jeff Tate.”

  Kendra’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

  “Impressed?”

  “In shock. This conversation isn’t over.”

  Lynch leaned into the open doorway. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Lynch and Kendra exchanged a glance.

  “It could be Myatt in there.” Kendra tensed. “I hope to hell I recognize him in some way. That damn disguise he used at the Harvey house…”

  Lynch nodded and moved his jacket just enough to put his holstered automatic within easy reach. He pressed on the door with his fingertips.

  “Hello?”

  They walked into the apartment, which, like most so-called artist lofts, featured high ceilings, exposed ductwork, and ample natural light. In keeping with the minimalist design, there was almost no furniture. In-progress artwork leaned against almost every available inch of wall space and several of the large windows.

  “Just one minute!” At the far end of the room, a thin young man in an untucked pink flannel shirt held a paint-spray gun in each hand. He moved back and forth in front of a tall canvas, firing off bursts of red and pink paint. His face was covered by a twin-filtered mask that reminded Kendra of a robotic sci-fi villain.

  She didn’t have to see his features. “It’s not Myatt,” she murmured to Lynch. “Warren is almost a foot shorter than the man I saw at Corrine Harvey’s.”

  “I’m at a crucial point,” Warren shouted over the music. His voice was muffled by the mask in a way that only bolstered the sci-fi-villain vibe.

  Kendra stared at the canvas as he paced back and forth and sprayed more paint from every conceivable angle. It was chaotic and abstract in a way that gave modern art a bad name, with no form or meaning.

  But then, with a few deft bursts from the spray gun, that all changed. What had appeared to be random suddenly became nuanced and complex; what had appeared unsightly was now beautiful.

  Kendra gasped.

  The painting was of her.

  The artist yanked off his mask to reveal a pair of dark eyes, a beaklike nose, and a reddish brown goatee. “You weren’t sure about it at first, were you?”

  Kendra studied the painting, which was a larger-than-life representation of her profile. Her head was tilted down slightly, and her eyes were closed. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s shit. But I’ll keep working at it.” He looked between her and Lynch. “I’m David Warren. What do you want?”

  “We’re investigating a series of murders, and we’d like to ask you some questions,” Lynch said.

  “Why me?”

  Lynch shrugged. “We’re looking for a twisted son of a bitch with a fascination for serial killers and Kendra Michaels. Sound like anybody you know?”

  “I’m fascinated with purity.” Warren walked over to the portable stereo, where his iPhone was docked. He punched a button and turned off the music. “There’s nothing more to it than that.”

  Kendra shook her head. “Pure? No one could describe me as pure.”

  “Not you. I’m talking about Eric Colby.”

  Lynch raised his eyebrows. “You think Colby is pure?”

  “Of course. Evil is often pure. There’s no good, no light, to be found in someone like him. Just darkness. But in the so-called good people, there’s always a bit of darkness mixed in with the light.”

  “You sound like Colby talking,” Kendra said.

  Warren flashed them a thin-lipped smile. “You say that like it’s not a compliment.”

  “Is this something you and he have discussed?” Lynch asked.

  “I don’t remember. Our time together was very limited. I only visited him once, but, of course, you know that. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  Kendra noticed that Warren wasn’t looking at them when he spoke. His eyes were focused on the painting, and she and Lynch appeared to be just minor distractions, like flies buzzing around while he tried to work.

  “What possessed you to visit Colby?” Lynch asked.

  “I have a show coming up at a gallery down the street. One of the main theses is the nature of evil. I corresponded with him a bit, then I asked if I could see him. He agreed.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “His murders. What he was thinking and feeling during each one.”

  “Pleasant.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be pleasant. I was trying to understand him and others like him. I’m not interested in just painting what people look like. I need to work from the inside out, what they think and feel. Otherwise, I might as well be a portrait photographer at Sears.”

  “Did Colby ask you to do any favors for him?” Lynch asked.

  “Like what? Commit murder? Uh, no.” Warren glanced over at Kendra. “But I did send him a few pictures I found of you online. It’s all he ever asked of me.”

  “How many pictures?” Lynch asked.

  “Thirty or forty. I got the impression he had already gathered quite a collection from his other pen pals.”

  Lynch took a step closer to Warren and his voice lowered to soft menace. “Dr. Michaels here has been the focus of a lot of your online time, hasn’t she? You’ve written about her at great length in a few different true-crime forums.”

  “You have done your homework, haven’t you?” For the first time, Warren was studying Lynch with something approaching respect. “Just more information-gathering. She’s squared off against some of the darkest souls imaginable. What does it take to defeat and outsmart people like this again and again? How do they affect you? Do you become more like them, or does it make you run even further from that side of yourself?”

  “We’re here to ask questions, not answer them,” Lynch said. “Where were you between midnight and 3 A.M. this morning?”

  “Ah, now we’re getting down to business.”

  “It was a direct question,” Kendra said. “Care to give us a direct answer.”

  “Sure. I was here.”

  “And is there anyone that could confirm that?”

  “Like an alibi? Hell no. The woman I usually live with left me three weeks ago. She can’t stand my guts right now.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” Lynch said.

  “Is that attitude really necessary, man? Just so you know, I haven’t left this place in two-and-a-half days. I’ve been on a major creative roll and haven’t wanted to disrupt the flow. Which is exactly what the two of you are doing to me right now.”

  “What about last Friday night?” Kendra asked.

  “Same story. Like I said, I have a show coming up. These canvases don’t paint themselves.” He thought for a moment. “The last time I was anyplace where people could speak up for me was a week ago Wednesday. My friend’s band was playing at The Casbah. Otherwise, I can’t help you.”

  “Maybe you should think about helping yourself,” Lynch said.

  Kendra leaned forward toward him. “And here’s a thought … You can also stop lying to us.”

  Deer in the headlights time. “Lying? About what?”

  “You were on the other side of town late Friday night. Around La Mesa. What were you doing over there?”

  His face flushed with anger. “Have I been under surveillance?”

  “Please answer the question.”

  “Yeah, I went there for a little while … to see somebody.”

  “You bought some weed.”

  “Shit,” he said under his breath.

  “And two women joined you here last night. At least for a couple hours. Friends of yours?”

  He nodded.

  “What time were they here?”

  “Ask those snoop cops you had st
aking out my building,” he said bitterly.

  “She’s asking you,” Lynch’s voice was steely. “And I suggest you tell her.”

  Kendra tried to hide her smile. It was always nice to have a sledgehammer handy.

  “Fine,” Warren spit out. “The girls were here maybe between eleven and one last night.”

  Kendra nodded. “Too bad. If it was a little later, they could have helped you.”

  “That’s why I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

  “Don’t lie to us anymore,” Kendra said wearily. “You aren’t good enough at it.”

  He glared at her. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “We’re almost done here. Have you ever spoken to Colby by phone?” Kendra asked.

  Warren considered the question, then admitted reluctantly, “Yeah. Twice. The first time was to remind me to send the Kendra Michaels pictures. The second time was just a couple weeks ago. Believe it or not, he offered me one of the family seats to witness his execution.”

  “He did?” Kendra couldn’t hide her surprise.

  “Yeah. He didn’t want his own family there, so he asked if I wanted to go. He thought it might give me something to paint.”

  “Are you going?” Lynch asked.

  “I thought about it. I’ve never seen a man die before, especially like that. An artist needs to open himself up to new experiences, you know?” Warren shook his head. “But in the end, I said no. I’d already gotten what I needed from him. Why in the hell would I put myself through that?”

  Lynch handed him a card. “Just so you know, we may be following up with your friends and associates. If you have anything you’d like to tell us, now is the time to speak up.”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing. Do what you have to do. I don’t give a damn.”

  “That’s my number on the card, along with the number of the FBI field office. If you think of anything, just call.”

  “I hear you.” Warren turned toward Kendra, who was looking at his still-drying painting of her. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

  She nodded. “I have to admit it’s amazing. Especially since I know how quickly you did it.”

  “I tried painting you a few other times, but they never came out right. But this is the first time I painted you with your eyes closed. For some reason, that makes the whole picture work.” He shrugged. “If I decide to do anything with it, I’ll let you know.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  “INTERESTING TECHNIQUE,” Lynch said, as they exited the building and walked down the sidewalk to his car. “Bust him on some little stuff, create anxiety, then move in for the kill.”

  “Spoken like the true puppetmaster you are.”

  “So how did you know about his Friday evening drive to La Mesa?”

  “The pizza box on the counter. The box itself was generic, but the laser-printed label on the side told me it was D’Agostino’s Italian restaurant. The label also had David Warren’s name and phone number and showed that it was a pickup order phoned in at 10:37 P.M. Friday. D’Agostino’s is just a few blocks from one of the most notorious drug neighborhoods in the city. Since I had already smelled three distinct types of weed in that apartment, it wasn’t a stretch to think that he had gone over there for a late-night fortification run. It would also explain why he hadn’t wanted to tell us about it.”

  “And what about his guests last night?”

  She shrugged. “There were two drinking glasses in the sink, and they each had slightly different shades of lipstick on their rims. The glass top of the coffee table showed fresh rings that matched the size and contours of those two drinking glasses, but no others I could see. Clearly, the women sat on the couch, and Warren sat in the chair facing the two of them.”

  Lynch smiled. “Clearly.”

  “The couch reeked of weed, enough that I figured they were there drinking and smoking for a couple hours.”

  “Even I could smell that. But how do you know it was last night and not today?”

  “Because the stench wasn’t on Warren. Not on his clothes or hair, meaning he had changed and showered between then and now. That tipped the odds in favor of last night. Also, the lipstick on the drinking-glass rims was dry and cracking. It probably wouldn’t look that way after only a couple of hours.”

  “Dazzling as usual.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “No, I wouldn’t presume. I’ve always known exactly what your capabilities are. However, you still manage to occasionally surprise me. But all this still doesn’t place him at or away from the murder scenes.”

  “You’re right, but it did allow me to exert pressure and get more from him than we might have otherwise. All I know for sure is that he’s not the man I saw at Corrine Harvey’s house. That still doesn’t eliminate him as having played a part. Griffin should have his people flash Warren’s picture around at the club.”

  “I’ll make sure he does.”

  Lynch’s phone vibrated, and a second later the text chime sounded on Kendra’s. She glanced at her screen.

  CONTACT GRIFFIN ASAP.

  She showed it to Lynch. “You too?”

  Lynch showed her his phone with the identical message. He punched Griffin’s number, and it was answered immediately. “Lynch, is Kendra there?”

  “Yes, right next to me. I’m on speaker.”

  “Good. Kendra, we just hit the jackpot on those numbers you picked up from the envelope in Colby’s cell.”

  “It was a usage account?”

  “Yes. It was a five-hundred-minute talk time refill from Lightwire Communication, a regional mobile carrier that sells disposable mobile phones and pay-as-you-go account cards. You usually see them at discount stores, price clubs, and gas stations. The card was activated in a mobile phone about three weeks ago.”

  “We need to subpoena those records,” Lynch said. “I have a contact in the Justice Department who can help push that through in a hurry. If you give me the—”

  “It’s already done, Lynch.” Griffin sounded annoyed. “I don’t need your contacts. Believe it or not, my position comes with a fair amount of influence.”

  “Of course. Just trying to help.”

  “Anyway, within the hour, we should have information on everyone who was called by this phone.”

  Kendra’s hand tightened on the phone as excitement gripped her. “And there’s a good chance one of them is Myatt.”

  “That’s the way we see it,” Griffin said. “We’ll immediately pull photographs on them, and we’ll send agents out to round up as many as we can. You two should probably be here for this.”

  “Do you think we’d miss it?” Lynch took Kendra’s elbow and nudged her toward the car. “We’re on our way.”

  * * *

  THE MOMENT KENDRA STEPPED off the FBI office elevator and entered the second floor “war room,” she immediately sensed a different energy than on her other visits. There were more agents and support staff, now numbering approximately thirty, and they moved with greater purpose and barely contained excitement. They spoke louder and more quickly, and even the clicking of computer keyboards seemed to be supercharged.

  “Can you feel it?” Lynch squeezed her arm. “It’s called optimism. You did this.”

  “I just hope it pays off.”

  Across the room, Griffin motioned for them to join him. Reade and a few other agents were at the long tables at the front of the room.

  “The reports came in from the phone-service carrier,” Griffin said. “Every call originated from the tower that covers the prison.”

  Kendra looked over his shoulder at one of the report copies. “What about the call recipients?”

  “He called nine different numbers. We already have six identified. Three are here in Southern California, two in New York, one in Chicago. Most appear to be journalists. We’ll try bringing them in for questioning and see what they discussed. I’ve already alerted offices in NYC and Chicago.”

  “What about the other th
ree numbers?”

  Reade waved a printout. “As far as we can tell, they’re throwaway phones with no names registered to them. Two of them are registered with the same mobile network as the prison phone, and our warrant was broad enough that the company also gave us information on those. The only time those two phones were ever used was to receive calls from the prison. We’re still tracking down the carrier for the third throwaway phone.”

  Lynch nodded. “That’s it. One or all three of those has to be Myatt’s.”

  Kendra was quickly studying the report that Griffin was still holding. “Where were those two phones? Does the report tell you that?”

  “Yes,” Reade said. “Both here in San Diego County. One pinged a tower north of the city, another one due east.”

  Kendra nodded. “What about the timing of the calls? Do they line up with the homicides?”

  Reade shook her head. “I was just working that out when you came in, but it doesn’t look like it. The calls almost always came a day or two later.”

  “Assuming that the local-call recipients don’t lawyer up or otherwise refuse to come in, we’ll conduct their questioning in the interview rooms upstairs,” Griffin said. “The two of you will be able to observe and send in questions, if you have any.”

  “Good,” Lynch said. “You can bet there will be questions.”

  “Welcome back, Kendra.” Metcalf had emerged from a crowd of agents with a small stack of color printouts. He smiled and gestured toward the busy war room behind him. “Look at all the overtime your observations are costing the U.S. taxpayer. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

  “I’ll be happy when we catch this guy.”

  “Speaking of which…” Metcalf spread the photo printouts on the table. “Here are photos of the six people we’ve identified as having received calls from Colby’s prison phone. Five men and one woman. Are any of the men a match for the guy you saw at Corrine Harvey’s house the other night?” He watched as she grabbed the printouts and scanned them at lightning speed. “Take your time and—”

  “No.” Disappointment sharpened her voice. “It’s none of them.”

  “Okay, I’m glad you took your time.”

  She shrugged. “No sense in wasting your time or mine. These aren’t him.” She turned to Griffin. “I was hoping … but evidently it’s not going to be that easy. But we’ll get there. And I’m very interested in seeing their interviews. When do we start?”