Close Your Eyes: A Novel Part 5

Silence.

"You can't be serious," she said. "You're supposed to be law-abiding."

"I'll see you there in ten minutes."

He cut the connection.

KENDRA STOOD OUTSIDE THE main entrance of Jeff's six-story building, trying her d.a.m.nedest not to feel nostalgic for the good times she'd had there.

There had also been plenty of bad times, she reminded herself. Arguments, both subtle and broad pressures being brought to bear, the bitter realization that she had been used. Memories that couldn't be erased no matter how much Jeff had wanted her to try.

"Thanks for doing this."

She looked over her shoulder to see Adam Lynch walking up the sidewalk toward her.

He smiled. "I wasn't sure if I'd ever hear from you again."

"But then you'd have just kept nudging me to do what you want." She stared him in the eye. "I'm not committing myself to anything more than a quick look around."

"Fair enough. From what I've seen, a quick look around from you is worth quite a bit."

"You weren't serious about breaking into his place, were you?"

"'Breaking' is such a harsh word. It conjures up images of splintered door frames and smashed locks."

"Ahh. You're just going to gently coax our way inside?"

"I'm sure Stedler's FBI buddies wouldn't mind arranging a visit for you, but I don't want to wait that long. You would also have them breathing down your neck the entire time you were in there."

"I see. So instead, I'll just have you breathing down my neck."

"You could do a lot worse for yourself." He opened the building's front door. "After you."

They took the elevator to the fourth floor and made their way down the carpeted hallway to unit 432. Except for the addition of tan wallpaper on the corridor walls, nothing had changed in the year and a half since she had last been there.

Lynch gripped the doork.n.o.b and fumbled with it for a moment.

She smiled. "Is that your definition of 'coaxing'?"

Another twist, and he pushed the door wide open. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

Only then did she see that he was holding a brushed-metal picklock device in his palm. "You're fairly good with that thing."

He shrugged. "I'm glad you think so. Some women are more impressed with the sight of a man hurling himself at a locked door."

"That's a little too caveman for me. And stupid. I don't appreciate stupidity."

They stepped inside the condo, a comfortable two-bedroom unit with a large living-room area that joined an open kitchen.

She scanned the room. "Cleaner and neater than it used to be."

"Maybe he has a girlfriend who keeps it clean. I used to date someone who was a neat freak, and my place never looked better than it did when she-"

Kendra cut him off. "Possible. But it's far more likely that he's started employing the cleaning service on the refrigerator magnet." She tapped the magnet that was shaped like a vacuum cleaner. "Has anyone called them to see if he's missed any of their scheduled visits?"

Lynch smiled. "I'll ask. Anything else different?"

"Nothing but the television." She gestured toward the large flat-panel screen and pair of dark gla.s.ses on the coffee table. "I knew he wouldn't be able to resist it once the sports networks started broadcasting in 3-D."

Lynch glanced at the framed sports memorabilia on the wall. "Yeah, I didn't know he was such a sports nut."

"Then you don't know him well at all."

"Can't say that I do. I only met him once. Anything else?"

She walked around the living-room area and stopped in the vicinity of a dinette set consisting of a square table and four chairs. "Something happened here."

He tensed and took a step closer. "What, exactly?"

"I don't know. But the carpet over here has recently been replaced. Just in this area. The rest is six or seven years old, but this has been put down just recently."

He knelt to give the carpet a closer look. "Are you sure? This entire room looks like it's all of a piece."

She nodded. "Yes, it's a good job. One would think it was all laid at the same time."

"So what makes you think any differently?"

"The smells. Carpet goes through a period of outga.s.sing to release the odors of manufacturing chemicals. It's faint, but I can pick up traces of butylated hydroxytoluene, formaldehyde, and 4-phenylcyclohexine."

His brows rose. "What's 4-phenylcyclohexine?"

"You may know it as 4-PC."

"Oh, of course." He rolled his eyes. "I don't smell a thing."

"That's because you didn't spend the first twenty years of your life depending on your sense of smell to help make your way through the world." She pointed down at the carpet. "You might have better luck if you bury your nose in the carpet fibers."

"Uh, no, I'll take your word for it. You can really identify each of those chemicals?"

"Sure. They're fairly common in most new carpets." She dropped to her knees and began pulling apart the densely packed carpet pile. "Here's the seam. See?"

Lynch slowly nodded.

She pointed to the wall behind the dinette table. "It probably goes all the way back there. Maybe seven feet by four feet."

"The pieces look exactly the same as the rest of the carpet."

She stood up. "That's what worries me. I wouldn't be disturbed if the new piece looked new. I'd expect it. But it looks like someone went to a lot of trouble to make this new piece look just like the six-year-old carpet in the rest of the room."

He nodded grimly. "A lot of trouble ... and a very narrow field of expertise."

"You can start by tracing this carpet to the manufacturer. See if anyone has ordered it recently."

"I'll run it by forensics."

She stood up. "When people engage in deception, whatever it is, they usually only consider the visual. They don't think about the sounds, odors, and tactiles."

"Unfortunately, most people in law enforcement don't think about those things, either."

She turned and headed for the bedroom. "I'm finished in here. Let's look at the rest of the apartment."

They examined the bedroom, guest room, and two bathrooms. Everything was in place, exactly where it was supposed to be. There was no evidence that Jeff had been recently dating anyone, Kendra noted, unless Jeff 's sleepover companion limited her stash to a year-old tube of lipstick.

"Is his car here?" Kendra asked.

"In the garage downstairs. I'll take you there."

They took the elevator down to the garage's dim lower level and walked toward Jeff 's Ford Explorer. Kendra stopped a few feet short of the vehicle.

"Have the FBI guys been in there?"

"I don't think so."

She narrowed her eyes as she slowly walked around the Explorer, soaking up as much information as she could in the shadows of the garage.

"Anything?" Lynch asked.

"Jeff wasn't the last person behind the wheel."

"How do you know?"

"The driver's seat has been moved much farther back than he ever would have had it. He's five-eleven, and that seat is set for someone six-four, maybe even six-five. But the rearview mirrors are still angled for Jeff 's height. As if someone else was sitting in there, maybe cleaning or looking for something. But I'm quite sure you noticed that."

"As a matter of fact, I did. The seat, not the mirrors. But I don't think anyone else caught it. Anything else?"

"The windows have been wiped clean, but if you'll look under the wipers, you'll see some pollen."

Lynch lifted the right wiper blade and looked at the thin, powdery line on the bottom edge of the windshield. "Red."

"Pink, really."

Lynch produced a small evidence envelope and scooped up some of the pollen. "The FBI lab has a guy who could identify this in no time. He'll put it under a microscope and-"

"Pineland Hibiscus."

He glanced at her. "You're sure?"

"I'm positive that's what this is. But by all means check it out."

He pocketed the envelope. "Would you like to tell me how you could possibly know that?"

"Plants with unique fragrances are very special to someone who can't see. So when I could see-"

"I get it, I get it. Anything else?"

She made one more circle around the car before answering. "No."

"This has been very valuable. I could really use your help, Kendra," he said quietly.

She looked away from him. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"It's not enough. Come with me to Jeff's office tomorrow. Take a look at his desk, talk to the other agents there. They'll show you his notes."

"Are there recordings?"

"You mean his voice memos."

"Yes. He was always talking into that d.a.m.ned little recorder. He played his voice memos back through his car stereo whenever he was driving somewhere. He said it helped him keep case details straight. I used to tell him that he just liked hearing the sound of his own voice."

"We have most of his recordings for this case. He backed them up to his laptop just a couple days before he disappeared. I can get you a copy of the transcriptions."

"I don't want transcriptions. I want to hear them myself."

He studied her for a moment. "Does that mean you'll help me?"

Kendra cursed under her breath. Dammit, Jeff. You're not even here, and you're still dragging me back into that h.e.l.lish hole ...

"I'll pick you up at your place." Lynch's gaze was fixed on her face, reading her expression. "Eight tomorrow morning."

"One visit to his office. I'm not promising anymore."

"Fine."

She turned away and strode back toward the elevator. She didn't like anything that she'd found that night. It was scaring her. The comforting premise that Jeff had gone undercover and might turn up safe and sound was fading.

"You're worried." Lynch was next to her, pushing the b.u.t.ton of the elevator. "I don't blame you. Let me help. We can do this together."

His voice was persuasive, and that magnetism was in full effect. He was taking advantage of a moment of weakness and making the most of it.

"You're thinking I'm on the attack," he said quietly. "And I am. But it doesn't change the fact that I can help you. You're afraid I'm going to use you. Turn the tables on me. Use me."

"I might do that." She got onto the elevator. "It depends on what I find out tomorrow. He could still be alive, you know. For all I know, Jeff could have just found another way to draw me into this d.a.m.n case. They call you a master manipulator? Jeff wasn't far behind you." She punched the b.u.t.ton. "And if I help find him and discover that's the truth, I'm gonna kill him myself."

HALF A BLOCK FROM JEFF Stedler's condo, Oscar Laird crouched low in the front seat of his Range Rover as Lynch and Kendra Michaels roared past him in their respective cars and turned the corner. The street was well illuminated by streetlights, but he had found a shady stretch under a large Dutch elm tree.