Authors: Iris Johansen
Kendra turned and burst out laughing. Sheila Hunter’s official photo had been pulled from the Web site and blown up to cover the dartboard, which emitted a pinging sound to allow blind players to zero in on its location. The target was covered with feathered darts, the most on the reporter’s smiling, lying, mouth. “You’ve been busy. I love it.”
“We needed to let out our frustration,” Beth said. “Olivia is much better at it than me. She’s got that magnetic stuff down to a science. Want to try?”
“No, thanks all the same. I vented in person.”
“So everything she told us was a lie?” Beth asked. “She just wanted an interview?”
“Pretty much.” Kendra filled them in on her conversation with Lynch and her follow-up with Sheila Hunter.
Beth’s fists clenched into fists. “Now I really want to pound her into the ground.”
“She’s not worth it. I’ve already given her more attention than I should have.”
Olivia nodded. “I’m sorry, Kendra. I know this is the last thing you need right now.”
“My mistake. I wanted it too much. I trusted her.”
“You know, The Kinsley Chronicle’s parent company tried to buy my site last year. It would have made me pretty rich.”
Kendra raised her brows. “Really?”
Olivia’s Web site, Outtasight, had quickly become a major online destination for the blind, who browsed its pages with one of several screen-reading applications. The site featured product reviews, interviews, and news stories, mostly written by Olivia herself. In a little over a year, what had been a spare-time hobby now afforded her a comfortable living.
“Yeah, I turned them down. What would I do, retire? Anyway, after seeing the number they pulled on you, I would never want to sell to a company like that.”
“I’m sure it’s just things the cops and FBI have been saying about me all along. They can say whatever they want about me, but as I told that reporter, I don’t want the investigation to be compromised. And I guess…” Kendra paused. “I guess I’m thinking of the families of Colby’s victims. They thought they had at least some measure of closure. This is just picking at the wound.”
Beth shrugged. “Hey, don’t worry about that. Whatever closure they had, they still have. Anyone who reads that article would have to believe you’re crazy.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Anytime.”
Olivia gestured toward a chair at her dining-room table. “Have a seat, Kendra. Beth has been treating me to some concoctions of hers that will make you forget all your troubles. And probably your own name.”
Kendra chuckled. “Then I’m surprised you hit the dartboard at all.”
“I had motivation. That bitch hurt my friend.”
Kendra was touched. Their affection and support was soothing away the stinging indignation and outrage and putting the wound in perspective. “As appealing as that sounds right now, I think I’m going to pass. I’m just going to head back to my place and catch up on some paperwork.”
“No.” Olivia shook her head. “I’ve already promised to take Beth out and show her some of the San Diego hotspots. And you’re coming with us.”
“Not tonight, okay?”
Kendra expected Olivia to fight her on it. But after a long pause, she finally responded. “Okay. I’m not sure if the town could handle the three of us tonight. We’ll just bombard you with embarrassing texts to update you on our progress.”
“Do that.” She smiled. Olivia might still be blind, but she was the observant one, the person who always knew what the people around her needed. Kendra turned to Beth. “Will you be okay?”
“We’ll see. I’m not sure if I can keep up with Olivia here, but I’ll give it my best.”
“Oh, I have faith.” Kendra moved to the door and stepped into the hallway.
Beth was right behind her. “Kendra … Hold up for a second.”
She stopped. “Yes?”
“Look, this has turned out to be a horrible time for you to be playing hostess and tour guide for me. May I just hit the road and get out of your—”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Damn sure. Beth, your coming here is the only good thing to happen to me this week. Stay.” She smiled. “Please.”
“Okay.” She lowered her voice. “About Olivia … She’s supercool but I haven’t spent a lot of time with people that are…”
“Blind?”
“Yeah. Anything I should know?”
“Well, you probably shouldn’t let her drive. Other than that, you’re good to go.”
Beth smiled. “Okay, I deserved that. Thanks for the tip.”
“My pleasure.”
* * *
“OPEN THE DAMNED DOOR!”
BAM BAM BAM.
“Kendra!”
She snapped awake. What in the hell…? She checked the time—10:40
P.M.
She was on her living-room sofa. She’d spent a couple of hours writing her day’s sessions, then curled up for what she thought would be a quick nap.
BAM BAM BAM.
“Kendra!”
Lynch’s voice.
Still groggy, Kendra hurried to the door and threw it open. “At least you didn’t jimmy the door this time. Though how the hell did you get past my entry buzzer downstairs?”
He pushed past her. “You went to see Sheila Hunter today.”
“Yes, you know I did. Is that why you’re here? To rub it in? You were right, okay? I should have just left horrible enough alone.”
“No. I’m not rubbing anything in. There were people who saw your blowup with her in front of the Hobart Building.”
“Good news travels fast.”
He glanced around, then grabbed her jacket from the back of a dining-room chair. “Here. Put this on. We’re going down to the marina.”
“It’s been a hell of a day, Lynch. The last thing I want to do is—”
His lips tightened. “We’re going.”
Normally, she would have been angered by his insistence. Not now. He wasn’t bullying her. She knew the difference between Lynch just wanting to have his own way and Lynch worrying.
And that worry was beginning to scare her.
“Why?” she asked. “What’s in the marina?”
“Sheila Hunter’s dead body. Or at least what’s left of it. She’s been murdered.”
KENDRA SHOOK HER HEAD IN
disbelief as she buckled herself into the passenger seat of Lynch’s Ferrari. “I can’t believe it. I just saw her a few hours ago.” She turned toward him. “You don’t have any details at all yet?”
“Next to none. A source of mine at the FBI field office just tipped me off. I didn’t wait for details.”
“So the FBI wants my help on this one?”
“No. Nobody asked for you.”
“Oh. Good to know.”
“As far as I know, the case is still under the jurisdiction of SDPD. But it’s a hell of a coincidence that she’s killed just hours after posting a story about your serial killer.”
“Since when did he become
my
serial killer.”
“Since you started tilting at the Colby windmill and became the only one who’s convinced he’s still out there. Though I guess he really became yours the night you put him away. He was obviously preoccupied with you.”
She looked down, remembering the chill she felt in Colby’s cell at San Quentin. Every inch of the place papered over with hundreds of photographs of
her
. He knew just how to burrow into her psyche.
And stay there.
Lynch’s car stereo was tuned to the local police band, and the speaker crackled with dispatches directing officers to the murder scene. Lynch turned down the volume with his steering-wheel control. “Anyway, if we waited around for you to get an engraved invitation to join the case, it might be too late for you to do any good.”
“So much for me taking a step back.”
“I figured this is one you need to be there for.”
“You’re right. Thanks, Lynch. I do need to be there.” Her eyes narrowed on his face. “But you meant something else, didn’t you?”
“We need to wrap this up before the police decide that you thought Sheila Hunter might do enough damage to your career to warrant killing.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“It’s a possibility. You came out of this as an obsessed crazy woman, and she came out as a squeaky-clean journalist.”
“Not quite.”
“From the outside, that will be how it looks.”
“Only until you look a little deeper.” She took out her phone and handed it to him. “Play the last recording.”
He pressed the button.
Sheila Hunter’s voice was suddenly there in the car with them.
He listened for a few minutes and turned it off. “You recorded that last conversation with her. You’re right, she came off as an unscrupulous bitch, framing you to get a story and not caring whom she hurt.” He paused. “You didn’t tell me.”
“She tried to record me again, and I stopped her. I was so angry that she probably didn’t think I had the composure to record her instead.” She looked at him. “You didn’t, Lynch. I wouldn’t have confronted her if I hadn’t had an ace in the hole to protect myself.”
“My apologies.” He shook his head. “I should have known.”
“Why? It was pure instinct. I was angry and emotional, but I knew that I couldn’t walk into another trap. So I made her say a few things that would put an end to any other articles she might write about me.”
“You could have told me afterward.”
“I was sick about the whole mess. I just wanted to forget it.” She looked down at the phone. “But I don’t believe anyone would think that Sheila came out on top. I could have caused her career more damage than she could mine. I might have come off as obsessed to find a killer. She came across as callous and crooked. I definitely wouldn’t have killed her out of fear or frustration.”
“I think I might borrow your phone recording and let San Diego PD have a listen. It might stop a problem before it begins.”
“Whatever. I just hope that it doesn’t get in the way at this murder scene.”
In a few minutes, they passed the airport and drove down Harbor Village Drive to Marina Cortez. The choppy bay water glittered from the lights of the city and work lights and squad car flashers immediately pointed the way to the crime scene. It was a houseboat on the marina’s outer edge.
As they drove closer, Kendra’s eyes narrowed in shock at a sight so horrible that it just didn’t seem real. “Shit. Did you know?”
Lynch jammed on the brakes and just stared at the grisly scene for a long moment. “No. No idea.”
The work lights were trained on the top of the houseboat’s tall mast, where Sheila Hunter hung from a guide rope wrapped around her neck. Blood oozed from her throat, down the front of her clothes to the deck below.
A fire truck had pulled alongside the dock, and its extension ladder soared over the mast, where a police photographer was snapping shots of the corpse.
Lynch gave a low whistle. “How would you like that job?”
“I’m going up there.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
Lynch glanced over at her. “Of course you are. Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.”
“It’s the only way.” Kendra felt that familiar chill again. “Look at her eyes.”
Lynch nodded. “Wide open.”
“Unnaturally so. Almost like…”
“… like the top of her eyelids had been glued,” he finished. “Just like Colby’s victims. But he decapitated his kills.”
“It may not be Colby’s work.” Kendra pushed open the car door. “I need a closer look.”
Kendra swiftly climbed out of the car and hurried toward the fire truck.
Lynch was right behind her. “Be real. You can look at the photos he’s taking.”
“Photos can’t show me everything, you know that. And if looking at pictures was enough, I could have stayed home.”
Lynch pointed up at the photographer. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the ladder is occupied. Do you plan to share that perch with him?”
Kendra jumped to the fire engine’s rear running board. “Of course not. The second he climbs down, I’m going up.”
“The hell you are,” a voice called from the other side of the rig.
Kendra looked over to see Detective Martin Stokes, whom she had met at the domestic murder scene less than forty-eight hours earlier. “Dr. Michaels, get off the fire truck.”
“Not you, too.” She let out a long breath. “Fine. I’ll sign a waiver. If you’re worried that I’ll fall and—”
“That’s the least of my worries right now. I need you to immediately step away from the area.”
“I don’t think you understand. I met this woman just yesterday, Stokes. I find it very disturbing that—”
“I understand more than you think.” He raised his phone, which had The Kinsley Chronicle displayed on its screen. “Interesting reading. Especially when it’s written by a woman who lambasted you just a few hours before she’s murdered on her houseboat.”
Kendra stared at him. “You actually think I may have had something to do with this?”
“At this point, I’m not ready to think anything.”
“Obviously.”
He ignored the jab. “Okay, no, I don’t think you killed the woman. I respect my own judgment. I’ve been around long enough to sift out the bad guys. I’d let you go up there if I could. Look, you helped me the other night. You made me look good.”
“I take it you took full credit.”
He shrugged. “I might have left a few things out of my report.”
“I don’t care about that. Just let me climb this damn ladder.”
He shook his head. “Can’t do it. My captain would say you’re definitely a person of interest. Your, shall we say, contentious relationship with the deceased means that I can’t let you contaminate the crime scene. But I do need to get a statement from you.”
“Now?”
“I’m a little busy at the moment. Stand back and let us do our job.”
She shook her head in disbelief as Stokes turned and walked toward the houseboat.
Lynch took her arm. “Come on. I’ll make some phone calls. We’ll set that guy straight.”
Kendra’s eyes were still fixed on the houseboat’s tall mast. “Give me a minute.”
“What do you see?”
“Nothing yet. But if I can just…”
The sheer horror of the crime scene was preventing her from truly comprehending what she was seeing, she realized.
Block out the terror and the pain that was etched over this woman’s face.
Detach. Concentrate.