Close Your Eyes: A Novel Part 46

"Maybe." Kendra leaned over and examined the victim's wounds. The woman's throat had been opened in five horizontal gashes, plus over a dozen punctures to the torso.

Who did this to you, Marissa? Could it really have been ... him?

Show me. Give me something. Anything ...

Her eyes flicked from Marissa's face to the back door.

Of course.

Kendra stood up and brushed herself off. "Thank you all. I'm sorry for disturbing you." She turned and walked out of the room.

Stokes ran after her. "Wait. That's it?"

"Yes."

He grabbed her arm. "You didn't find out anything?"

"Yes, I found out what I needed to know."

He gazed at her in frustration. "Well, are you gonna let me in on it?"

"Of course." But she might not have notified him until the next day. She just wanted to get out of here right now. She stopped in the living room and looked back through the doorway. "This isn't the work of a serial killer. Certainly not the one I'm looking for."

"Then whose work is it?"

"Her husband's."

Stokes lowered his voice. "What?"

"That scene in the kitchen was staged. Check upstairs. She was killed there."

"How do you figure that?"

"The smell of blood is wafting down that staircase. Sickly sweet and more than a bit metallic. Plus a useless attempt to cover it up with a half a can of Lysol Powder Fresh."

He sniffed the air. "I smell the Lysol..."

"I'm sure you smell the blood, too. You just don't realize it. Send your forensics team up there with Luminol. The victim also has faint rug burns on the back of her heels. She was dragged down the stairs, posed, and maybe even stabbed a few more times postmortem. It looks like there are punctures without much bleeding."

"And the door?"

"He knew enough to go outside and kick it in to give the appearance of forced entry. But he obviously didn't go any farther outside than the patio. The ground in the yard is a muddy mess, but there are no footprints out there."

"Are you sure? It's dark."

"The porch lights give at least fifteen feet of visibility. Trust me, no one approached the house from the yard. And I spotted a tiny shard of orange rubber on the splintered door frame."

He stared at her. "Orange rubber."

She nodded. "Surely you noticed the obnoxious orange rubber soles of the athletic shoes her husband is wearing?"

"Holy s.h.i.t," Stokes whispered.

"I'm done," she said wearily. "Good night, Detective. I'm sure you'll have no trouble taking it from here."

Stokes didn't answer as he dashed out the door.

Kendra left the house and walked slowly down the driveway. She was in no hurry to get home. She was disappointed and tired, but there might be only nightmares when she got back to sleep.

She cast a glance back at Stokes as he approached the husband, who was still playing the part of the bereaved widower. The guy was an amateur; he'd undoubtedly left many more clues behind, and the cops would have their case against him sewn up in a matter of hours.

"Finished already?" A familiar voice called out mockingly to her from the street.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Adam Lynch ... Seriously?"

"Hey, I don't like your tone. You're hurting my feelings here."

She turned back and saw Lynch leaning against her car. While everyone else on the scene was middle-of-the-night bedraggled, Lynch's every dark hair was in place. Probably just the way he rolled out of bed, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He wore jeans, a pullover sweater, loafers, and a s.e.xy, high-wattage smile that seemed terribly out of place at a grim murder scene. But then, everything about Lynch was high wattage. He was a highly paid freelance agent who worked for any agency or nation who could afford his services. Those services were both deadly and innovative, as Kendra had found in the past year. But there had been times when she had been grateful for both his skill and that cool intelligence when cases had thrown them together. And other times when she had only been wary of how Lynch managed to stir her emotions when she knew how dangerous that could be. It had become a complex relationship that bound them together, and she never knew from one minute to the next how she would feel toward Lynch.

"Feelings?" she said. "Why would I think you actually have feelings?"

"You got me there." He checked his watch. "By the way, you wrapped up this case in about two and a half minutes. That's a new record, isn't it?"

"I didn't come here to wrap up the case."

His smile faded. "I know that, Kendra. I hear you've been visiting a lot of murder scenes lately."

"Not because I enjoy it."

"I know that, too."

She let the silence hang between them. "He'll be back, Lynch. We both know it."

"It's been four months."

"Colby's methodical. He's had years to plan his next move. What's another few months to him?" She was speaking only the truth. Colby was very patient. He was a serial killer who had killed at least twenty people in various terrible ways before he and Kendra had come together that night in the gully. He had taken his time with all his victims and made sure their deaths were agonizing. "He's driven. He has to kill. He just has to do it his way."

Lynch's gaze slid away from her. "You've got a point."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You don't need to. It's obvious you don't believe Colby is really still alive."

"If you believe it, I believe it."

She slammed her palms onto her car hood. "That's one of the most patronizing things anyone has ever said to me. And believe me, when I was blind, I heard a lot of patronizing things."

His gaze shifted back to her. "I mean it, Kendra," he said quietly. "I do trust your judgment."

"Even if the California Department of Corrections doesn't."

"Colby was their prisoner, and it was their responsibility to put him to death. For them to admit that they might have botched it and let a convicted serial killer escape, well, that's asking a lot."

"The prison's attending physician and his wife were found dead less than forty-eight hours later. I can't believe they still think that was a coincidence."

"It appeared to be an accident. And even you couldn't find any evidence to prove otherwise."

Kendra nodded. "Colby and his partner were too smart to leave behind any evidence. The doctor administered a drug to slow Colby's heart and p.r.o.nounced him dead in front of a roomful of witnesses, and a rented hea.r.s.e drove him right out of the main gates of San Quentin State Prison."

"If you could offer any proof of this, I guarantee you that a lot of people would listen.

"I tried." Her fists clenched in frustration. "No one cared."

"I cared, Kendra."

"To a point."

"You weren't able to get anywhere with the cremation service?"

"No. A body with the correct paperwork was delivered to them that night. The crematorium didn't fingerprint the body or do anything to confirm the corpse's ident.i.ty. The system doesn't account for the fact that there are monsters out there who can drive to skid row and easily come out with a dead body no one will miss."

"Again, still no proof."

"Even you have to admit that there was enough to follow up on. Colby's partner, Myatt, had that medication they called the zombie drug in his possession, and he had the prison physician's name in his notebook. Before he died, he as much as told me Colby was still alive."

"He could have been taunting you. He had a history of that."

"That's what the FBI thinks." She shook her head wearily. "I thought you were on my side."

"I am. That's why I'm out here at four in the morning."

"So the FBI sent you to tell me to stop making waves and lay off-"

"No. For G.o.d's sake, I'm not the FBI's errand boy."

"Funny you should say that, when you're the go-to errand boy for any government agency that decides to pay your fee. Who is it this week? FBI, CIA, NSA?"

"None. This is all about you, Kendra."

"Is it?" She stared at him for a long moment. She'd gotten to know Lynch well during the course of their two previous cases together. So well that she'd found herself confused about how much was s.e.xual attraction and how much was the stimulation of working with a tough, intelligent partner who managed to strike a rare note in her mind and soul. In this moment, she was feeling a little of both but princ.i.p.ally she was aware of a new vibe from him. He was ... truly concerned. Concerned about her. The surge of warmth she felt at the realization made her smile. "You didn't look this worried even when you thought a killer was stalking me."

"This may be worse. Colby has gotten under your skin. In your head. Are you still having the dreams?"

She looked away and didn't answer. He was the only one she'd told about her nightmares. He'd been there for her in those moments of weakness following Colby's supposed execution, when the nightmares had started.

"You've been having that dream for months ... He pulls you back to that gully night after night. But it shouldn't be a nightmare. That's the night you caught the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. That's where you beat him, Kendra. Literally, I wish you'd killed him with that rock instead of fracturing his skull."

"I thought prison was the best place for him. I was wrong."

"Come back to my house. You'll feel safe there."

"I can't hide out in your suburban fortress for the rest of my life, Lynch. And if you remember, that's where those awful dreams began."

"Maybe that's where they can end."

"Besides, your Asian, bikini-model girlfriend might not like me hanging around."

"Ashley is almost never in town these days. Her career has taken off. She actually wants to meet you."

"I might say that she just wants to size up the compet.i.tion, but women that beautiful don't really have compet.i.tion."

Lynch stepped closer to her. "You're every bit as beautiful as she is, Kendra."

She looked up at him. His sudden closeness was disturbingly intimate.

Too disturbing, she admitted to herself. d.a.m.n him.

She made herself look away. "Now I know you're patronizing me. I don't have all that many fashion designers jetting me off to the French Riviera for photo shoots." She smiled. "I've seen her picture in a few magazines lately. Ashley has branched out from swimsuits to c.o.c.ktail dresses and athletic wear."

"Enough about her," he said roughly. "You're the one I'm worried about."

"Don't be."

"Then stop this."

"Stop what?"

He waved his arm toward the crime scene. "This. Dropping everything and running at the first sign of a b.l.o.o.d.y corpse. There was a time that the cops and the FBI had to beg you to come help them out on their cases. Now they can't keep you away."

"I a.s.sure you that they make me feel very welcome," she said wryly.

"You know what I mean."

"You're d.a.m.n right, I do." She stared him in the eye. "It's because I know Colby will be back. He needs to kill. It's part of who he is. He can hide for only so long. When he resurfaces, I need to be there."

"And you will be. But for now, just let the cops and the FBI do their job. They're good at it. They have labs, worldwide databases, and lots of manpower. Trust them."

"How can I? When they don't even believe he's alive? They're not even looking for him."

"He may not even be in the country. You can visit every crime scene in the state, but it won't mean anything if he's killing people in Budapest."

Kendra leaned wearily against her car. "I know. I've been spending a lot of time combing the Web for any sign of him."

Lynch shook his head. "You need to take a step back. Please. This isn't good for you. G.o.d, you look tired."

"It's almost 4 A.M. Of course I look tired. You're the freak here for looking so d.a.m.ned chipper."