Look Behind You

by Iris Johansen

  Detach.

  Concentrate.

  She pointed to a series of marks on the corpse’s torso. “Stab wounds?”

  Metcalf nodded. “Eleven to be exact. It was the cause of death. The punctures were made with a large, double-serrated blade, two and a half inches at the widest point.”

  “The wounds are how they were able to connect the first two murders,” Gina said, pointing to the other bulletin board. “It’s a unique signature. The serrations on each side of the blade are remarkably different. One side is better suited for scaling fish, the other better for skinning a deer. There aren’t many knives out there with that size and character. Our lab is pulling together a list.”

  Kendra’s eyes narrowed on a photo of the corpse’s feet. A short length of twine was knotted around one of them and extended out of frame.

  She looked up. “Was something tied to her left ankle?”

  Metcalf pointed to another photo. “This small plastic bag. It was sealed tight. There were two objects inside.” He pointed to a pair of photos. “A pocket watch and a sun visor.”

  Kendra leaned closer for a better look. “Do you have them here in evidence?”

  “Afraid not. We officially took this investigation over from San Diego PD just today. We’ll be picking up all the evidence later in the morning.”

  “Yet another reason why you should have waited,” Gina said.

  “Not that you’re bitter or anything.” Kendra was still studying the photos. “These objects probably weren’t hers. Not many twenty-something women wear watches of any kind and even less carry antique brass pocket watches. And that visor looks far too big for her.”

  “That’s the consensus,” Metcalf said. “But we don’t have any idea why this was attached to her. Just like we don’t know why that stuff was attached to the chair today.”

  She moved on to the next board, which was centered by an eleven-by-fourteen-inch print of another woman’s corpse. The skin was a light shade of blue and her hair looked almost like icicles dangling in front of her face. Her eyes were wide open, but not in the thousand-yard stare she’d seen in too many dead bodies; the victim looked strangely alert, almost expectant in her bearing. Kendra abruptly turned away. “What happened to her?”

  Gina picked up another file folder. “She was found thirty-six hours after the first victim. Her name was Amber McKay. She was an assistant manager at a movie theater. She was abducted late Monday after she got off work and was walking toward her car in the small lot behind the theater. Her purse, phone, and keys were found on the ground by her manager less than ninety minutes later. Amber turned up just a few hours later in a freezer behind a Chinese restaurant. It’s normally padlocked, but it looks like the lock was snapped off by a pair of bolt cutters.”

  Kendra pointed to the corpse’s left wrist which had a cord wrapped around it. “And this?”

  “Bolo tie,” Metcalf said. “And threaded through it is a 300 ring.”

  “A what?”

  “The American Bowling Congress used to give away a commemorative diamond ring every time a bowler scored a perfect game during sanctioned league play.”

  “And they didn’t go broke?”

  “Perfect games used to be rarer. These days, bowling alleys oil the lanes in such a way to make it easier to score higher.”

  Kendra turned back to face him. “Something tells me this is knowledge you didn’t just recently obtain.”

  He shrugged. “I grew up in St. Louis. Big bowling town.”

  Kendra nodded her approval. “Apparently.”

  “Anyway, there’s a number inside the ring and we’re trying to track its owner through the association that took over a few years ago.” Metcalf grabbed a freestanding bulletin board from the other side of the room and rolled it closer to the others. Its surface was only partially filled with photographs of the crime scene they’d visited just hours before. “We started this after we got back here. It’s not complete, but it might jog your memory about what we saw out there in front of the school.”

  She didn’t need her memory jogged; it was too vivid at the moment. “Thank you.” Kendra stepped back to look at all three boards at once. “Three murders in four days. Serial killers usually take more time between kills.”

  “And yet these seem just as methodical as any I’ve seen,” Gina said.

  “I agree,” Kendra said. “There’s nothing rushed about this. The killer is extremely methodical. He obviously chose his victims carefully and had been watching to get a sense of their schedules. He managed to abduct and murder three women, then dispose of their bodies in fairly public areas, all without getting caught or seemingly leaving a trace of himself behind. He’s been planning this for weeks, then killing them quickly, one after the other, for maximum impact.” She looked grimly at Metcalf. “He may have his next victims already picked out.”

  He nodded. “Griffin agrees. That’s why he called in that favor from you. It’s all hands on deck around here.”

  Kendra studied the crime scene photos again, trying to glean something, anything that could help them catch this monster before he struck again. But her eyes kept going back to the random objects that had been planted with each corpse.

  Keys. Bowling ring. Bolo tie. Pocket watch. Visor.

  She leaned closer and murmured under her breath, “What are you saying to us, you sick asshole…?”

  Metcalf bent down alongside her. “We’ve been asking ourselves the exact same question. Do you want us to give you a call when we get the objects from San Diego PD?”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather you get these up to the lab and see if you can get DNA from them.”

  “Sure. The visor band is a good possibility for that. The ring, too.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Does anything else jump out at you?”

  Her eyes darted between the various photos. “I would have had a better shot if I’d been there myself. Here, all I have to go on is what I can see. I feel a little…”

  “Handicapped?” Metcalf offered.

  “At a disadvantage. I really can’t see anything that—” She froze. “Wait.”

  “What is it?” Gina asked.

  Kendra squinted at the young victims in the first two crime scenes, staring at one, then the other, then back again. “Do you have high-res photos of these victims’ faces?”

  Metcalf flipped up the lid of a laptop on the conference table. “San Diego PD gave us dozens. Which would you prefer? From the crime scene or the autopsy table?”

  What a choice, she thought. How in the hell had she gotten to this point?

  Because she’d insisted on coming here tonight over the objections of everyone. Way to go, Kendra.

  “Let’s start with the morgue shots. It would show us both victims under the same lighting. But I need to see pictures taken before the bodies were cleaned.”

  Metcalf tapped the keyboard, scrolling through the photos. He grabbed a remote control and switched on a flat panel monitor at the end of the room. “I’ll put them up there side by side. Pre-autopsy morgue shots of the first two victims.”

  The monitor flickered, then displayed head-and-shoulders pictures of the two murder victims. Amber McKay’s eyes were still open, but from this angle she appeared less expectant and more … sad.

  Kendra walked toward the monitor and studied the victims’ faces for a long moment. She turned back to Metcalf. “Can you zoom in on these? Tighter on the faces.”

  With a few keystrokes by Metcalf, the women’s faces filled the monitor screen.

  Kendra turned back to Metcalf and Gina. “See it?”

  The agents stared at the monitor.

  Metcalf shook his head. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be—”

  “The lipstick,” Gina interrupted. “That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Kendra pointed to the peach-tinted lips on each photo. “The lipstick is identical. The exact same shade and le
vel of gloss on each. And what’s more, I’m pretty sure the burned corpse we saw was wearing the same lipstick.”

  Metcalf grimaced. “How could you tell?”

  “The left corner of the corpse’s mouth was reasonably intact. She was wearing lipstick. This lipstick.”

  Metcalf thought about it. “Okay. That means either we’re dealing with a killer with a serious grudge against women with peach-colored lipstick…”

  “… or, more likely, he’s putting it on them himself. Either before or after he kills them,” Kendra said.

  Gina glanced back and forth between the photos. “Why in the hell would someone do that?”

  “Why do psychopaths do any of the things they do? Maybe he stole it from his nasty boss. Maybe it was worn by the prom queen who wouldn’t give him the time of day in high school. Maybe it’s what he’d like to be wearing himself, but he just can’t admit it.” She turned to Metcalf. “Call Kearney Mesa. Make sure they scrape a sample of the third victim’s lipstick before they clean and prep her body for autopsy.”

  “And if they’ve already autopsied her?” Gina asked.

  Kendra shrugged. “Then some lucky lab assistant will soon be rummaging through bags of medical waste.” She looked at Metcalf and then at Gina. “Let’s go there now.”

  “Seriously?” Metcalf said. “Just show up at the medical examiner’s offices at three-thirty in the morning?”

  “Why not? You know someone will be there. Death doesn’t have much respect for a nine-to-five work day.”

  Metcalf stared at her. “You know, I think I liked Reluctant Kendra better. Gung-ho Kendra can be exhausting.”

  Her lips curved in a half smile. “Too bad. You opened this Pandora’s box.”

  “My boss opened it. He just made me pick up the heavy end of the lid.”

  Gina took one last look at the side-by-side photos before turning around. “I’ll drive.”

  “Really?” Metcalf said. “I was about to tell you to go home and grab a few winks while Kendra and I went over there.”

  Gina shook her head. “No, I’m beginning to see why the boss wants Kendra on the case so much. I want to see where this goes.” She pulled her keys from her pocket. “Ready?”

  San Diego Medical Examiner’s Office

  Kearny Mesa

  They made the short drive to the M.E.’s office in a neighborhood dominated by office parks and industrial structures. After a brief confrontation with an over-zealous private security officer, they entered the office building and were escorted to the office of Dr. Christian Ross. The heavyset man was seated at a cluttered desk, about to devour a chicken parmesan sandwich.

  He leaned back and regarded the three of them with a bemused expression. “A man with my abilities and experience doesn’t have to work the overnight shift, you know. Everyone here thought I’d gone mad. But you know why I did it?”

  Kendra smiled. “So you wouldn’t have to talk to people like us?”

  “Exactly. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Metcalf said.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve performed an autopsy with police officers pacing the halls outside, figuratively cracking the whip? Or how often I’ve been brow-beaten for a report, when it’s all we can do to stay above water?”

  Kendra sat on the edge of his desk. “A lot?”

  “A lot. But it almost never happens on the overnight shift. I work in peace. I eat lunch at three A.M. and I interact only with a few like-minded souls who populate this place while the rest of the world sleeps. It’s a good life.”

  “And it will be good again in just a few minutes.” Kendra cocked her head toward the two FBI agents. “Do you know Special Agents Metcalf and Carson?”

  Dr. Ross nodded toward them. “I know Metcalf. How do you do, Carson?”

  “A pleasure,” Gina said.

  Dr. Ross took a large bite of his sandwich. “So what brings you to my door at this ungodly hour?”

  “The burnt female Jane Doe that came in today,” Kendra said. “Has she been autopsied yet?”

  Dr. Ross sighed. “And the whip gets cracked again.”

  “I’m hoping the answer is no,” Kendra said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a switch. And you’re in luck. We got a new kid who called dibs on it, but he won’t be in until nine A.M. What do you need?”

  “Lipstick.”

  Dr. Ross didn’t bat an eye. He’d obviously seen it all before. “I just might be able to help you with that.” He stood and grabbed his white lab coat from the chair back. “Follow me.”

  They accompanied Dr. Ross downstairs to the morgue, and Kendra was struck by the creepy vibe the building gave off in the pre-dawn hours. They didn’t see a single person during their journey, and about two-thirds of the overhead fluorescent lights were turned off, casting shadows in long stretches of the corridors. The morgue itself, by contrast, was almost blindingly bright, with white-tiled floors and chrome fixtures reflecting the light in a harsh glare.

  Dr. Ross consulted a clipboard and led them to a row of refrigerated drawers. He pulled one open and before Kendra could brace herself, she once again saw the burnt corpse.

  Metcalf saw her wince. “Doesn’t get any easier to look at, does it?”

  “No.”

  “At least here it doesn’t smell like it did out on the street.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Gina said. “Look at the left corner of her mouth.”

  Kendra was already looking. As she’d remembered, it was the same peach lipstick as on the others.

  Metcalf turned toward Dr. Ross. “I need to swab this. Can I have an evidence vial?”

  “I’ll swab it,” Dr. Ross smiled. “I’m a professional.”

  Dr. Ross used a sponge-tipped swab to scrape the lipstick from the relatively burn-free side of the corpse’s mouth. “FYI, it appears that the lipstick was applied post-mortem.”

  “Are you sure?” Kendra asked.

  “Almost positive. Cosmetics interact differently with a corpse’s epidermis than they do with a live person’s. The oils and oxygenation affect the way it absorbs—or doesn’t absorb—into the skin.”

  Kendra watched silently as he deposited the dried lipstick sample into a glass vial. As he sealed it with a screw cap, Metcalf asked the question she’d been waiting to put forth. “There were two other corpses that came through here with that same lipstick. Wouldn’t the examiners have noticed that same thing on them?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. The difference is less pronounced with lipstick than with other types of makeup. It’s a thicker base, usually more solid than other cosmetics.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Most people here aren’t as good as I am.”

  “I believe that,” Kendra said.

  Dr. Ross handed Metcalf the vial. “Anything else?”

  “No,” Kendra said. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d close that drawer as quickly as you can.”

  Dr. Ross hip-checked the drawer and it quickly slid shut. He shrugged. “Like I said, I’m a professional.”

  * * *

  IT WAS AFTER 4:30 A.M. by the time Kendra made it back to her condo. When she’d said good-bye to Metcalf and Gina in the FBI parking garage, they were already on their way up to the lab with the evidence vial. The agents felt confident that the lab could identify the lipstick in short order.

  More information was better than less, of course, but Kendra found herself feeling more frustrated than ever. Even if they could ID the lipstick, what good could it do? It had most likely been purchased in one of the thousands of supermarkets or drugstores across the country.

  There had to be something else, some other path to the monster who had murdered those people.

  As she entered her building, she felt in her pocket for the USB flash drive Metcalf had given her. It contained the working files for all three murders. She’d upload them to her tablet and peruse them when she got the chance. Peruse, hell. She knew herself better than that. She’d study, memorize, and obsess over every de
tail.

  But first she needed some sleep. She had morning appointments at her studio and she’d be worthless if she didn’t get at least a few—

  BUZZZZ-BUZZZZ-BUZZZZ.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

  She pulled it out and saw that a text had come through. She squinted at her screen and saw a message from someone she hadn’t heard from in a long time. Well, ten days wasn’t that long, but it had seemed long to her.

  CAN’T KEEP YOU AWAY FROM A GOOD MURDER, CAN WE, KENDRA?

  She couldn’t help but smile. It was Adam Lynch, agent-for-hire, who Olivia had tried to convince her was the challenge she needed. His main skill was infuriating her to no end. But sometimes he was just what she needed, especially on a day like this one.

  She tapped out her reply: DEPENDS ON HOW WE DEFINE ‘GOOD’ MURDER. YOUR OWN?

  He replied immediately. KEEP DREAMING, KENDRA. I’LL BE AROUND TO HARASS YOU FOR A LONG TIME.

  He was probably right about that one, she thought. She typed. WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE YOU?

  GUILIN, CHINA. ON ASSIGNMENT. IMPRESSED YET?

  NOPE. SORRY. THOSE GOVT. PENCIL-PUSHERS WHO SIGN YOUR CHECKS DON’T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO.

  PROBABLY RIGHT ABOUT THAT. KEEP IT OUR SECRET. OKAY?

  She didn’t know a tenth of Lynch’s secrets and probably never would. But those words gave her a warm feeling of intimacy.

  She stepped into the elevator, knowing her phone had only a 50-50 chance of maintaining her data connection. She typed anyway: WILL KEEP YOUR SECRETS IF YOU KEEP MINE.

  His reply came quickly. AFRAID YOU HAVE NO SECRETS TO KEEP. YOU’RE AN OPEN BOOK. A FASCINATING, PAGE-TURNING OPEN BOOK.

  AND HERE I THOUGHT I WAS AN ALLURING WOMAN OF MYSTERY.

  ALLURING, YES. MYSTERIOUS, NO. ONLY FEARFUL PEOPLE ARE MYSTERIOUS. THAT ISN’T YOU.

  While she was still deciding how to respond, he added: HAVEN’T BEEN HOME SINCE THE NIGHT I SAW YOU LAST. WISH I WAS THERE NOW.

  She was momentarily taken aback by his uncharacteristic sincerity. She instinctively tried to joke. THAT MAKES ONE OF US.

  She paused. Wrong. Be honest. NOT REALLY.

  He responded. ARE YOU OKAY, KENDRA?

  Still sincere.