Sight Unseen

by Iris Johansen

  “You too.”

  She looked out into the darkness of the woods as she moved toward the paramedic unit. Was Myatt there, watching, planning? Surely not. This area was crawling with agents and response teams now.

  But who knew what Myatt was thinking or planning. His move in attacking her mother and Olivia had been very bold, and it had almost been successful.

  When this had started, she had never dreamed that it would lead her down this twisted road. Now the only thing of which she could be certain was that Myatt would take any chance, go any distance.

  And take down anyone who got in his way.

  * * *

  “YOU’RE JOKING.” Diane stared incredulously at the young female emergency-room doctor. “I am not staying the night here. Cut this bracelet off me right now.”

  “Ma’am, it’s for your own safety and wellness…”

  “I’m quite safe and well, thank you. I’ll make that decision.”

  Kendra rolled her eyes. “Give my mother a sedative and a plausible horror story. Those are the only things that will work, trust me.”

  The doctor, who appeared to be in her midtwenties, frowned in puzzlement. “A sedative and a…”

  “… horror story. Tell her what can happen if she goes home right now.”

  “We try not to unnecessarily frighten our patients.”

  “Frighten her,” Kendra said. “It’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Diane said to the doctor. “My daughter is just—”

  “You could die,” the doctor said bluntly.

  “That isn’t funny,” Diane said.

  “I assure you it’s not. But you and your friends breathed poison, plain and simple. It’s unavoidable in a house fire. We have no idea what toxins are only now entering your bloodstream. We need to observe you for the next four to six hours. During that time, you can help yourself by keeping your mask on and breathing oxygen.”

  “But I already feel better.”

  “That’s good. But I served my residency with a physician who treated a fire victim who unknowingly breathed toxic levels of chorine and hydrogen. Apparently, the house’s molding and baseboards were made of a plastic material that released those elements at high temperature. The patient had only a minor cough, but he went home and several hours later his respiratory system shut down, and he died.”

  “That’s a horror story, all right,” Diane said sourly. “Now I think I really need that sedative.”

  On a gurney a few feet away, Olivia pulled off her mask. “For the record, I really didn’t need to hear that.”

  “I’m sure you’ll both be fine,” the doctor said. “It’s just a precaution.”

  Olivia sat up and leaned toward Kendra. “What about Don?”

  “I’ll check on him again. They told me he’d be in surgery at least another hour and a half.”

  Olivia frowned. “That sounds like big-time surgery. Can you check now? Please?”

  “Sure.” Kendra shrugged. Her current duties here at the hospital appeared to be everything from trying to keep her mother in line to aid and comfort to the lovelorn. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” Olivia said. “After all, Don could have been killed protecting us.”

  “I’m not arguing.” Kendra smiled as she moved toward the exit. “I’m grateful to him, too. You’ll have your report.”

  FBI San Diego Field Office

  “MR. DILLINGHAM…” SPECIAL AGENT Saffron Reade stepped off the elevator and smiled as she greeted Bill Dillingham in the lobby. “I’m Agent Reade. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m very happy to meet you.”

  Dillingham struggled to stand up from the long wooden bench near the reception desk. He wore high-waisted knit slacks and a short-sleeve white dress shirt and carried a large sketch pad.

  Reade had heard that the freelance sketch artist was in his mideighties, but he appeared to be an even older man.

  “Hello, young lady.” He frowned. “I was hoping to see Kendra Michaels. I know it’s late, but I thought she might still be around.”

  Reade smiled. “She and the rest of the team are out in the field tonight. I got stuck heading up things here. Good thing, or I would have missed you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Her brows rose. “Won’t I do?”

  “I guess so. It’s just that Kendra and me sort of … bonded. We’re kinda on the same wavelength.”

  “Try me. Can’t hurt, can it?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “But don’t be too sure it was a good thing that you stayed around to see me. I might be just wasting your time.” Dillingham held up his large sketch pad. “Kendra asked me to draw up some alternate sketches of that psychopath she saw last week. She wanted me to research all the different ways someone might disguise themselves without its looking like a disguise, you know? Fake teeth, nostril inserts, cheek and jaw liners … Based on what she gave me, I made up a few dozen alternates.”

  Reade took the pad and flipped through the pages. “Amazing. You do great work, Mr. Dillingham. I’ve seen some of your sketches before, but it’s wonderful to finally meet the man behind—”

  She froze.

  This had to be some kind of sick joke.

  Dillingham touched her arm. “Agent Reade?”

  “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. She stared at the sketch for a good fifteen seconds longer before looking up.

  This was no joke. Dillingham seemed completely mystified by her reaction.

  “I need you to come upstairs with me. I want you to tell me exactly how you came to draw this.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  She looked at the sketch again. A sickening sense of dread was rising within her. “But first I have some phone calls to make.”

  Sharp Grossmont Hospital

  La Mesa

  KENDRA STEPPED OUTSIDE THE HOSPITAL with her phone pressed against her ear after passing two nurses who had testily pointed to the NO CELL PHONES signs in the corridors. She had been trying without success to connect with Lynch when a call came for her. She hit the talk switch.

  “Dr. Michaels?” It was a British-accented voice that she didn’t recognize.

  “Yes?”

  “We haven’t met yet, but my name is Bobby Chatsworth. How are you this evening?”

  Ugh. “Mr. Chatsworth, this really isn’t a good time.”

  “Please don’t hang up, Dr. Michaels. I know what’s happened. We’re in San Diego, and we’ve been monitoring the police bands.”

  “Why would you be doing that?”

  “Frankly, to get some footage of you in action. In lieu of an actual interview with you. There’s the very real possibility your killer may strike again, and if you arrive on the scene, we’d like very much to be here on the spot.”

  “My mother and friend are in the hospital, Mr. Chatsworth. Your show is the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

  “Naturally. But I wonder if you might grant us just a few minutes of your time. A few quick sound bites, and we’ll be off to England and out of your hair forever.”

  “Mr. Chatsworth, I don’t—”

  “You have to admit, it’s tempting.” His voice now came not from the phone, but behind her.

  She whirled around. Bobby Chatsworth, all beard and glasses, smiled as he walked across the nearly empty parking lot. He lowered the phone from his ear. “What do you say, Dr. Michaels?”

  Kendra put down her phone. “Unbelievable. You’re persistent, I’ll say that for you. Did you bring your crew here, too?”

  “They’re five minutes away, getting rooms at the Old Country Lodge down the highway. You can join me down there, or I can bring them here. Either way, after the next half hour, you’ll never have to see any of us ever again.”

  She didn’t need this, Kendra thought impatiently. She opened her lips to refuse him once again.

  She suddenly went still.

  Oh, God. Of course.

  Sh
e felt icy fingers run up her spine to her neck.

  Don’t let it show. Don’t let it show.

  Stay cool.

  “Have your crew here in twenty minutes, Mr. Chatsworth. I’ll give you five minutes in front of the camera.” Kendra turned and headed up the walkway to the hospital side entrance.

  “Very gracious of you,” Chatsworth said. “But before we do that…”

  A cloth snapped in front of her nose and mouth.

  She tried to wrestle free.

  But Chatsworth was strong. Too strong.

  Not Chatsworth, she thought, panicked.

  Myatt.

  He whispered into her ear. “Nice try, Kendra. But you have a terrible poker face.”

  Darkness.

  * * *

  PAIN. HORRIBLE, skull-shattering pain.

  Kendra snapped awake. She couldn’t breathe.

  She’d just vomited, she realized, and she was helpless to move and clear her air passages with anything but her throat muscles. She coughed and gasped until she could finally suck back some oxygen.

  Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Where in the hell was she?

  There was movement beneath her body. Then it hit her. She was spread out in the back of what must be Chatsworth’s SUV. The backseats were folded down, and a tarp covered her entire body. Her feet were tied together, and her arms were tied behind her back. The vehicle was moving, and its tires met the road with an airy two-tone hum that she identified as highway blacktop. Was he taking her into the desert?

  “I would have been so disappointed if you’d choked to death, Kendra.” Chatsworth said from the driver’s seat. “Vomiting is an unfortunate side effect of the anesthetic.”

  Kendra tried to speak, which caused her to gag for a few moments. Finally, she got the words out. “Where … are we going?”

  “I’m surprised. After all we’ve been together … After all the questions I must have provoked in your mind and imagination during these past few days, that’s what you ask me?”

  “Sorry … to disappoint you.”

  “For instance, I took a real risk letting you see me the other night. But I wanted to see you, talk to you, touch you. You should be flattered. It was only because I had the highest respect for you, Kendra.”

  “What … a lucky woman I am.”

  “It was worth the risk. I was thrilled that my disguise was able to fool Kendra Michaels.”

  “How did you—do it?”

  “I had to shave the beard. This particular woolly beard is a fake, but only for the past few weeks. I had to perfect it. I figured if my broadcast audience couldn’t detect it through the magic of high definition, you couldn’t. And you had no way of knowing that Bobby Chatsworth uses dermal tape to pull back the skin above the temple hairline to remove the forehead lines. And my erstwhile police-officer image wore a set of dental appliances and cheek fillers that further altered the face. Of course, Chatsworth’s glasses also helped. You know … I don’t even wear glasses. It’s all part of Bobby Chatsworth’s costume. He’s a character I created. But I guess we all create characters for ourselves as we move through life.”

  “So you’re a philosopher. How very … deep.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps I’ve been getting carried away. It’s just that I’ve been looking forward to talking to you about this.”

  “You wanted to brag, gloat. I’ve met men like you before. And one woman.”

  “No you haven’t,” he snapped, suddenly angry. “There are no others like me.”

  “Funny thing for a copycat killer to say.”

  “Copycat? No such thing. I bested them all and showed how it should be done.”

  Drop it. She might be pushing him toward the edge. She shifted uncomfortably in the rear compartment. “I can’t feel my arms.”

  “Those ropes around your wrists have been soaked in water for days. And I learned to tie my knots from the Bristol University Royal Naval Unit. I know you have no weapons because I searched you before I tossed you back there. So by all means, try your best to get free. It’s not going to happen.”

  “What an efficient serial killer you are. Colby taught you well.”

  “Yes. And no.” He drove in silence for a moment. “I’m not new to the game. I’ve done this before. But it was Colby who made me an artist. He showed me that it takes more than just skill. It takes imagination. Why do you think people still remember Jack the Ripper? It wasn’t just because it was so shocking for the time … Throughout history, there have been many more gruesome and prolific killers. The real reason was his letters to the media. Once you capture the public’s imagination, you will live forever.”

  Kendra tugged at the ropes. Chatsworth was right. She wasn’t going to slip out of his knots. So she had to go another route. Think. He had said something about weapons and searching her …

  “Forever? That’s a funny thing to say less than twenty-four hours after your buddy Colby dies,” she said. “He’s already on his way to obscurity.”

  “Not likely. Long after everyone has forgotten those Scotland Yard detectives, people still remember Jack the Ripper. And soon, everyone will forget you ever existed, Kendra Michaels.”

  Weapons. He’d said she’d had no weapons. But what about that strange blade she’d taken from Wallach and tucked in her jacket pocket. She’d completely forgotten it in all the action that had followed. Was it so slender he’d missed it? She started to try to manipulate her tied hands toward her pocket. Keep him busy and talking.

  “Why did you try so hard to interview me?” she asked. “Was that part of your thrill sport? To go face-to-face with me in front of a national viewing audience, gambling that I wouldn’t recognize you?”

  “Not at all. Actually, I was never willing to take that chance. I knew you wouldn’t consent to that interview. You’ve turned down every request over the years, many from journalists much more respectable than I. But I knew you and the FBI were checking out all the journalists and others who had visited Colby. I decided to put myself in front of you on my own terms. I chose the video footage you saw of me, and I made bloody sure it was from a distance and angle that couldn’t relate to the dashing, fake, police officer you saw. So although my name would inevitably come up on the list of Colby’s visitors, they would know you had seen Bobby Chatsworth on the DVD my producer sent. I was sure they’d think it would be unlikely I’d push for a face-to-face interview if I had anything to hide. That’s why I sent my producer to try to woo you.”

  “She has no idea she’s working for a monster.”

  “Oh, she knows I’m a monster. Just a different kind. It became necessary for me to frequently disappear, of course, following story leads that would never quite pan out, so that I could pop back and forth to San Diego and play my game with you. But it was worth the effort.” He paused. “It’s interesting you could tell I was suppressing an accent during our brief conversation the other night … But it wasn’t a Southern drawl, it was my distinct West Country British accent I was trying to hide. A few more words, and a few more minutes of conversation, you might have pinned it down. Still, I chalk that up as a victory.”

  Kendra tried to clear her head. She was still woozy from the anesthetic, but she needed desperately to focus on checking for that needle knife.

  And also focus on unsettling him, knocking him slightly off balance. Undercut that sense of control serial killers craved. She had an idea that Chatsworth had an intense desire for both control and self-aggrandizement.

  “You didn’t do too shabbily that night. But lately, you’ve been getting sloppy. My mother and my friend, Olivia, are still alive and doing fine.”

  He chuckled. “Of course they are. I never intended to kill them.”

  “Seriously? ‘I meant to do that’ went out in the fourth grade.”

  The knife was still in the pocket! She could feel the outline half-in, half-out of the lining. Now to get it out and work on those ropes.

  “Oh, Kendra. I had every confidence at least
one of them would find their way out of that house. You see, I had a small problem. Adam Lynch had you squirreled away in that magnificent bunker of his, and when you’re not there, you’ve been almost constantly under his watchful eye. I needed to do two things, draw you out and draw him away from you. The attack on their mountain retreat was enough to draw you and the entire San Diego FBI field office out here. I knew you would feel compelled to accompany your dear, sweet mother to the hospital, but I knew that the disappearance of Lynch’s mercenary compatriot would also leave your protector in the woods for the next few hours.”

  “You killed Martlin.”

  “Oh, he was very tough. But the thing about tough guys is that it’s harder to be tougher than a bullet. Especially if it’s aimed by someone of superior skill and intellect. No one will find him until at least daybreak.”

  Kendra felt as if she were going to be sick again. Another life lost.

  “So you see, with a bit of planning, problem solved. I was waiting for you near the hospital before you even left San Diego. I have to credit Colby. He taught me the value of planning several steps ahead.”

  “Colby only used you.”

  “It was a mutually beneficial relationship. I did some things for him on the outside, but he had funds he could tap to help things along, and he was incredibly resourceful. We were able to move things back and forth through the prison’s food service vendor, a contact Colby cultivated himself. Those items included the blouse you found at that young woman’s house. There were things with his DNA at each of the crime scenes, but Colby insisted that they be difficult to find. I think he was hoping you’d be the one to find them. Which you did on the first crime scene after you joined the case. Well done.”

  “I don’t want your praise.”

  “But I feel that I have to pat you on the head. You’ve made the game so enjoyable. However, you should really praise me, too. I’ve explained how brilliant I’ve been. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”