“Of course not. I was interested, and I wanted to see how talented he was. I’m just accustomed to thinking in terms of protection.” She headed for the door. “Want to take my bike? It will be more fun.”
“I do not. All I’d need is to have Bill have a heart attack when we come roaring up his driveway. We’ll take my Toyota.”
“May I drive? I promise not to roar.”
“I don’t believe you could help yourself.” She headed for the front door. “I think it’s in your genes.”
“Actually, I had to work on it. I think the roar started about my second year in Afghanistan.” She followed her out the door. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s flip for it…”
CHAPTER
13
BILL DILLINGHAM LOOKED TERRIBLY FRAGILE, and Kendra’s eyes widened with shock when he opened the front door of his small house in a subdivision in south San Diego. He was at least fifteen pounds thinner than he’d been the last time she’d worked with him, his faded blue eyes lacked the spark of former days. What was most troubling was the lack of vitality in his face.
“What are you looking at?” he asked sourly. “I never invited you here, Kendra. I know what I see in the mirror. I don’t have to see it reflected on your face. Why don’t you go away?”
She quickly recovered. “Because I need you to do this sketch for me. It’s very important that it be done right since your witness is questionable.”
“I don’t need to work with witnesses who are going to give me headaches before I even begin. Go away.”
“No. May I come in? I haven’t seen you for a couple years, but you’re just as rude as you’ve always been.” She smiled. “I’ve never seen your home.” She was peering over his shoulder. “I see an interesting painting of a little girl in a sun bonnet on that far wall. Is it yours? I’ve only seen your sketches.”
“Because that’s how I make my money,” he said dryly. “And are you trying to flatter your way into my house?”
“Yes. Though I would like to see that painting. If you don’t let me in, then I’ll stay out here on your doorstep.” She met his eyes. “Because when I knew I had to have this sketch done, I knew it had to be you, Bill.”
He was silent. “I’m not the same artist I was two years ago, Kendra.” He held up his hand, and she saw a slight quiver. “I had a bad case of pneumonia, and I didn’t bounce back. It seems unfair that when you age, every little illness seems to take its toll. Or maybe it’s the depression afterward. Anyway, I don’t do sketches anymore.”
She could see that depression was still a living presence in every line of his face. “But you could, Bill. I’ve seen you work.” She looked at the painting of the child. “That’s quite wonderful and I’m sure you enjoyed doing it. But it didn’t give you the same creative excitement as doing those sketches, did it?”
“I’m retired, Kendra.”
“Bullshit. I need this, Bill. It’s important to me. It might save a good man from being killed.” She took a step closer. “I know you. If you’re retired, then that’s probably what’s wrong with you. You need a reason to get up in the morning. Well, I’ll give it to you. It will only be a start, and you’ll have to take it from there. But you’ll do this sketch, and it will be good because you can’t be anything else.” She took another step. “Now, may I come in?”
He stood looking at her for a long moment. “I guess I’d better let you, or you’ll run me down like a bulldozer.” He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “But it’s not going to do you any good. You’ll see when I start to sketch.”
“Yes, I will.” She looked around the living room and saw three really fine paintings besides the one of the child in the foyer. “Wonderful. By all means, keep on doing them when you don’t have anything else to do. But you’re a true genius about translating words and vague thoughts into real faces, Bill. No one else can do it like you can.”
“I’m glad you’re going to permit me to continue my choice of art endeavor,” he said sarcastically. “Who is this questionable witness?”
“Me.” She smiled. “Eight years ago, Bill. But I remember him as if it were yesterday.”
He made a rude sound. “Tell me another one.”
“I can’t. I can only tell you the truth. I can’t even promise that it’s going to help to have his face. But it’s a chance, and I’ve got to take it.”
His gaze was searching her face. “It means something to you.”
“Yes, it means a good deal to me.”
“Personal.”
“Very personal.”
He went to the bookshelf and took down his sketchbook. “You see?” he said roughly. “Look at my hand. It’s shaking. What do you think that you’re doing to me?”
“I hope I’m waking you up. What do you think?”
He didn’t move, looking down at the sketchbook. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?” He jerked his head to a chair on the other side of the desk. “Sit your ass down and start talking to me.” He flipped open the sketchbook. “How old was he?”
“About forty-five then. Eight years ago.”
“Face shape?
“Sort of triangular. Pointed chin.
His pencil was slow, a little shaky.
“Eyebrows?”
“Thick. A little bushy.”
Stronger, faster strokes.
“Shape of the eyes?
“Round. Deep-set.”
The pencil flew over the page.
Demands.
Answers.
The pencil.
Always the pencil.
Drawing. Going back. Changing.
Drawing again.
“Lips?”
“Full bottom lip. Upper lip, thinner.”
“Jaw?”
“Thin. A little flat toward the ear.”
“Like this?”
“Maybe thinner.”
“Like this?”
“Yes.”
“Hairline?”
“Receding at the forehead. But the rest of the hair looked healthy, shiny.”
“Dark? Light?”
“Dark. Latin-looking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just an impression.”
“I don’t sketch impressions.”
But he did, and the hair of the man suddenly had longer sideburns.
The pencil flew. The words flew. The image on the page changed, became something, then changed again.
Kendra didn’t know how much time had passed, but she knew that Bill had turned on the lamp sometime during the session.
“Best I can do.” He finally handed her the sketch. “Considering that you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, either.”
She looked at the sketch. “It’s a very good best,” she said softly. “It’s the man I saw that day at the auditorium. You’ve got him, Bill.”
“Providing he doesn’t have wrinkles or scars that he’s developed since you saw him. Time doesn’t stand still, Kendra.”
“It did for you today, Bill.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He looked at the sketch. “When you find him, will you let me know? Maybe take a photo of him. I want to know how close I came.”
“I’ll get you proof.” She hoped she was telling the truth. “I’ll even get you a name.”
“Do that.” He looked away from the sketch. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to do any more sketches.”
“It doesn’t mean that you’re not.” She got to her feet. “You’re too young to be wandering around this house when you could be doing something interesting. I’m going to call Griffin at the FBI and tell him that if he has something really challenging, you’re here, ready and waiting.”
“The hell you will.”
She nodded. “I’m going to do it. Though I’m still going to insist on being first on your preferred list.” She looked down at the sketch. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “This means a lot to me, Bill.”
“I thought it did. That’s why I
let you harass me.” He stood up and walked with her to the door. “And I might let you get away with it again. If I get bored enough.”
She grinned. “Griffin won’t let that happen.” She reached out and shook his hand. “I’ll let you know as soon as I locate our mystery subject. It’s been good seeing you again.”
“Do you expect me to say the same?” he asked wryly. “It’s been interesting. I’ll have to see after the fallout if I’m going to say that your coming here was a good experience or just memorable.”
“I can’t wait for your report.” She turned and waved. “But give it a little while to make a decision. Bye.”
“Kendra.”
She looked back over her shoulder.
“Maybe you’ve got a few more smarts other than the ones that are connected to all that brainy stuff you manage to pull out of your hat.” He smiled. “I guess it wasn’t such a bad afternoon.”
He turned away and closed the door.
No, it hadn’t been a bad afternoon at all, she thought as she went down the driveway to where Jessie was waiting in passenger seat of the car.
Jessie got out of the car and came around to the driver’s seat. “I get to drive now. You owe me, after keeping me waiting out here all afternoon. I’ve been going crazy.” She glanced down at the rolled-up sketch Kendra was carrying. “You got what you needed?”
Kendra nodded. “And it’s really good. It’s him, Jessie.”
Jessie unrolled it and studied the sketch. “Not bad-looking. Don’t like the eyes.” She handed the sketch back to her. “You can take some photos of it while I’m driving us to the hospital.”
“You’re being very demanding.”
“I was bored. I hate to be bored. I sat here twiddling my thumbs and wondering if I should break in and see if you needed help with Dillingham.”
“With Bill?” She stared at her in astonishment. “Whatever for? You must have seen him when he opened the door. Unless you meant convincing him to do the sketch?”
“No, I knew you had that covered. But I’ve seen some old guys that were more spry than you might think and almost put me down.” She grimaced. “But I could tell Dillingham wasn’t one of them. So that left me with no job to do and bored mindless.”
That protective instinct again, Kendra thought. “No, the only problem I had with Bill was convincing him that he had to jar himself back to the land of the living. I think he’s alone too much. Depression can be pure hell.”
“Yeah, I know. I had a few buddies who came back from Afghanistan with wounds that could be healed except the ones in their minds.”
“How about you? You said you’d done two tours in Afghanistan.”
“I had my own nightmares.” She held out her hand. “So can I drive?”
Kendra dropped the car keys into her palm. “No roaring.”
“Okay.” She jumped into the driver’s seat. “This car isn’t suited for roaring anyway. Too sedate. Now if I had Lynch’s Ferrari…”
* * *
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Kendra and Jessie approached the police officer standing watch outside Powers’s hospital room. The cop held up his beefy hands to stop them.
“Whoa. Can I help you?”
Kendra took the lead. “I hope you can. We’re here to see Wallace Powers.”
“Sorry, ladies. He’s in police custody.”
“I’m Kendra Michaels. I’m on the list.”
The cop pointed to a clipboard hanging on the wall. “It’s a very short list, and you’re not on it.”
“It’s been updated.”
“Since when?”
“Since a few minutes ago. Call and check.”
The cop frowned with annoyance as he pulled out his phone and called his station. After a minute or so of conversation, he pocketed his phone. “I’ll be damned. You’re on it.”
Kendra uttered a silent thanks to Griffin for so speedily greasing those wheels for her.
The cop had obviously done hospital prisoner duty before. He easily slipped into his rote visitor speech. He informed them that no purses, bags, or packages would be allowed in the room, even though neither of them were carrying anything other than Bill’s rolled-up sketch. No weapons of any kind were allowed in the room, and a quick frisk was necessary. “If you request it, I can have a female officer come here and conduct the search,” he said.
“How long would that take?” Jessie asked.
“Anywhere from ten minutes to two hours.”
Jessie raised her arms. “Just curious. Knock yourself out.”
The cop did a perfunctory frisk that Kendra thought would have allowed them to smuggle Uzis under their jackets without his detecting them. Then he opened the door. “For the protection of you and the prisoner, I must be present at all times during your visit. But I have to tell you, he hasn’t been seeing anyone without his attorney present.”
Jessie smiled. “You couldn’t have told us that before you frisked us?”
The cop became momentarily tongue-tied.
Jessie waved him off. “Just giving you a little grief. Let’s go inside and see what happens.”
The officer preceded them into the room. At first, Kendra wasn’t sure they were looking at the right person. Powers’s face was now several shades of purple and swollen in ways that didn’t seem physically possible.
His puffy eyes widened at the sight of Kendra and Jessie. “What in the hell are you doing here?” His speech wasn’t altogether clear.
“You’re slurring your words,” Jessie said. “Is it your swollen tongue or is it the painkillers? Or both?”
“I’m not talking to you,” he said. “You got something to say, talk to my lawyer.”
“We already have,” Jessie said. “He’ll be billing you for that five-minute conversation, I’m sure. It’s more than you make in a week.”
“How do you know what I make?”
“We do our homework,” Kendra said. “Enough to know that someone else is paying for that lawyer. The question is, how much do you trust whoever is paying the bill?”
“I’m not saying shit.”
“Then just listen,” Jessie said. “That lawyer told you not to talk. Who do you think that advice helps more, you or the people paying him?”
Powers didn’t respond.
Kendra stepped toward him. “If it’s a question of incriminating yourself, that train has left the station. We have your DNA, which puts you there. It was under my fingernails.”
“And in the pee in the carpet,” Jessie said. “I’ve Tased a lot of guys in my time, but I’ve never seen anyone piss his pants like that. That was a new one.”
Powers lunged angrily toward her, but the handcuff held him to the bed rail.
Jessie smiled. “Aw, come on. Was I being indelicate? No reason to be embarrassed. You’re among friends here. And you need all the friends you can get right now.”
“You’re not my friends.”
“You’re right,” Kendra said. “Especially considering how we met. But we can help each other.”
“Still not talking…”
“Which is exactly what that lawyer and his employer want. But if we already have all the evidence we need to put you away for assault, battery, and attempted kidnapping, what good is your silence really doing for you?”
Powers’s jaw clenched, and he looked away.
Jessie moved closer. “Maybe you’re thinking your lawyer is some kind of miracle worker, that he can magically make all this disappear. He’s good, but he can’t make DNA evidence vanish. But maybe that isn’t his concern. Maybe he just wants to protect whoever is paying him. Maybe to protect whoever paid you to grab my friend here. Don’t you think that’s more likely? Do you really feel so valued that you think that lawyer is on the case for you?”
Powers turned back. He looked as if he was about to say something, but then caught himself.
Kendra shook her head. “You know what else isn’t going to disappear? The fact that you knocked your ex-wife
around. You did some jail time for that, didn’t you? How is it going to play at your sentencing hearing after you’ve been convicted of attacking another woman? Come on, Powers,” she said softly. “The smartest thing you can do for yourself is tell us who hired you. If you had a lawyer who was really representing you, he would tell you the same thing.”
Powers’s resolve was obviously weakening. “Shit,” he muttered.
Jessie nodded. “Do yourself a favor. Get a new lawyer, any lawyer. Make sure he or she is working for you and no one else.”
Kendra pulled the rubber band from the rolled-up sketch and unfurled it in front of Powers’s face.
Instant recognition.
The look that flashed across his face made it obvious that he knew the man in the sketch. Kendra couldn’t miss the reaction, and she tried to read his expression.
Fear?
Maybe. Or perhaps he was just nervous that they’d made a link between him and this man.
Jessie had obviously read his reaction, too. “You know him.”
“The hell I do.”
“You have the worst poker face in the history of the world,” Kendra said. “Give us a name to go with this picture.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Sure you can,” Jessie said. “Just a name. We’ll try to leave you out of it.”
“Is this the man you’re protecting?” Kendra asked. “It’s time that you started protecting yourself.”
“That’s what I’m doing.” Powers was sweating, and the bedside heart monitor showed that his pulse had quickened.
“You’re a lucky man,” Kendra said. “Your liver was failing a few years ago. You were handed a death sentence.”
He moistened his lips. “I beat it.”
“You had help,” Jessie said.
“Clean living. Diet and exercise.”
“Bullshit,” Jessie said.
Kendra shook the sketch. “Just a name. It’s information that can’t be traced back to you.”
He scowled. “Why should I help you?”
Kendra shrugged. “As the victim of your attack, my testimony can help you or hurt you. You can be seen as a woman-hating monster or someone who was acting under duress. It could mean the difference between years of your life in prison.”
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