Look Behind You

by Iris Johansen

  Griffin shrugged. “We have our best profilers working on that question right now. But frankly, I doubt they have much to compare this to. They don’t have anyone who’s ever performed in this way before.”

  “Performed,” Kendra repeated the word numbly. “Yes, that’s what he’s done all these years. He’s set the stages and chosen the actors and then made himself both star and director. But maybe he’s getting bored with no audience to applaud him or maybe he wants a grand finale.”

  “But that still doesn’t answer the question ‘why here?’” Griffin said. “He’s very calculating. He has to have a plan.”

  “Yes, he has a plan. He chose this place for a reason.” She was looking at the photo of Amanda Robinson. “Two victims. Two sets of trophies. Two clues that would link him to other cities, other revelations. It seems he’s trying to tell us what it is.” She moistened her lips. “No, he’s tossing it in our faces.”

  “Conjecture, Kendra,” Griffin said.

  Kendra realized that was true, but it still felt right. Those photos on the bulletin boards were whirling around her. Burned, scorched victims, stabbed, sliced, bodies like Todd’s, one old lady who had been tied and run over by a truck in her own driveway. So much evil, so many victims … And it had gone on for more than a decade.

  She tried to shake off the images. “Have you been in touch with the investigators in each of these other cases?”

  “Yes,” Griffin said. “All except the D.C. detective, and I have a call into his department. I’m looping all of them into our investigation and some or all may join us here to assist.”

  Metcalf clicked his tongue. “And we’re going to have to babysit a bunch of local cops while we try to catch this guy?”

  “Adjust your attitude,” Griffin said curtly. “These people know our killer better than anyone. There probably hasn’t been a day in the past few years that they haven’t thought of their cases and tossed every detail around in their heads. Whether they’re here or not, they’ll be a good resource for you.”

  Metcalf nodded, but Kendra wasn’t sure if he was convinced. She turned to Griffin. “He obviously believes he can’t be caught, that he’s too clever. Your profilers would recognize that brand of arrogance. They just haven’t run across it in this quantity before. You might throw that possibility at them.”

  “I already have,” Griffin said bluntly. “It took a great deal of arrogance to stay in that closet taking photos with a victim bleeding out while that young woman was strolling from room to room.” He paused. “Arrogance or madness.”

  “Or both,” Metcalf said.

  Griffin nodded. “I never said that wasn’t possible. Aren’t most serial killers designated by society as insane? It just depends on how the courts look at them.”

  Metcalf was looking at the Connecticut murder photos. “I think the prosecutors in these particular cities will fight very hard to get him the death penalty and not a cushy mental hospital.” He glanced at Gina. “What do you think?”

  “I think we’d better concentrate on catching him and not worry about extradition,” she said dryly. “I’ve been doing my part while you’ve been narrowing your vision down to that one cold case in Oxnard. Don’t you think you should start going through all these cases I’ve given you to work on?”

  “Ouch,” Metcalf murmured. He was suddenly grinning. “Point taken.” He turned to Griffin. “Should I take your orders or hers, sir?”

  “It better be mine, if you want to keep your job.” He glanced at Gina. “But she did okay when you two left me in the lurch here with all these cases to work. It’s good to know that I have a replacement available. Get busy.” He turned to Kendra. “And you could make yourself valuable as well, but I don’t suppose you want to volunteer for overnight duty.” He scowled. “Even though you started all this.”

  “I believe it was the murder case you tried to involve me in that started all this,” Kendra said. “And, no, I have no intention of staying here and being just one more pair of hands to put out the fires. I’m going home and get a good night’s sleep. And then I’ll see how I can schedule my sessions for tomorrow to give me enough time to go over the case files Metcalf and Gina are going to send to my printer tonight.” She turned to Gina. “Don’t email them to me. Send them directly to my printer. I want paper I can hold and compare. Okay? Every city. Every victim.”

  She nodded. “You’ve got it. Does Metcalf have your printer’s IP address?”

  “Yes, I do,” Metcalf said. “Is this discrimination, Kendra? I’m the good guy, remember?”

  “I remember,” she said. “But Gina’s becoming Wonder Woman. So adjust and conquer or have her drag you behind her chariot wheels.”

  He flinched. “Now that hurt.”

  “You’d be more use if you’d hit the phones with me,” Griffin said. “I have to start talking to police captains in all these cities and making explanations and begging records and info.”

  “But I don’t want to be of use to you,” Kendra said. “At least not in that way. That’s not why you pulled me into this case.” She turned back toward the elevator. “I’m afraid we’re all going to be dealing with it very soon. But I’ll handle it in my own way and not yours, Griffin.” She got on the elevator and pressed the button. “Get me those case histories right away, Gina.”

  “No problem,” Metcalf said quickly. “They’ll be at your place before you know it.”

  “Thanks.” As the door closed, she leaned back and took a deep breath. She felt smothered, sick, her chest tight.

  All those victims.

  The blood.

  The scorched skin.

  The pain.

  The death.

  The memory of that first killing was with her now, she could almost smell that burned flesh again.

  She had barely managed to hold herself together before she could escape that FBI war room. The monumental numbers and scope of those deaths had stunned her. Serial killers were not new to her, but this one was different …

  They were all different, she told herself. She was being foolish.

  But there had been a kind of frightening intimacy about the way she had felt about these murders. It was as if she had been standing next to Todd Wesley when his life had been taken. And her urgency to find this monster was unusual. She had even mentioned it to Lynch …

  Instinct?

  Had she felt driven because somewhere deep inside she had felt how truly deadly, what a complete threat he was, to everyone around him?

  Twenty-six cases. Perhaps more.

  He had been touring, skipping around the country, pausing wherever it pleased him, and then killing again and again. He’d reached out and a young man died. He’d reached out and a girl was made into a human torch.

  She had to compose herself. The elevator doors were opening and she had to pretend she was as tough as these professionals like Metcalf.

  The hell she did. She didn’t have to pretend anything after what she had seen upstairs on the fourth floor. She was human, and she would stay that way. The minute she stopped feeling that sense of horror and outrage, she would never work another case.

  Tonight she would go home and do exactly what she’d told Griffin she would do. But maybe she’d also say a prayer for all those poor men and women who had suffered so terribly at the hands of that beast.

  * * *

  HER FRONT DOOR WAS unlocked.

  Kendra paused, automatically tensing, as she removed her key. It could be nothing. Olivia had her key. Kendra had excellent security these days since she’d been invaded a couple years ago. But it wasn’t like Olivia not to call before she came—

  “Well, are you going to come in or not?” Her mother threw open the door. “I’ve made coffee, and I picked up some of that Danish that you love from that deli across the street.”

  Mom. Relief fought with the surprise she felt. Of course, Mom had a key to her condo, too.

  “Hey, what on earth are you doing here, Mom?” She re
ached out and hugged her. “I just heard from you last week. You’re supposed to be in Athens, aren’t you?”

  “I got depressed. All that ancient glory and it’s all going to hell for lack of filthy lucre and care. So I spent a few days in London and then decided I’d come back here.” She tilted her head critically as she slammed the door. “You look tired. Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “I get a fair amount.” Her mother, on the other hand, looked her usual energetic self. Dr. Deanna Michaels was vibrant, attractive, in her late fifties but looked younger. She was a brilliant and highly-regarded professor of history at UC San Diego. She was also dominant, loving, and as involved with Kendra’s well-being as she’d been for all the twenty years when Kendra had been blind. “And as a matter of fact, I was planning on getting some sleep tonight.” She raised her brows. “And I could have met you for coffee and Danish tomorrow morning. Did that occur to you?”

  “Yes, but my flight landed two hours ago and I decided this would be better.” She moved toward the breakfast bar. “If I’d gone home, I would have dwelt on all this nonsense in which you’re currently involved, and then I wouldn’t sleep. Jet lag is bad enough. I wasn’t about to allow anything else to interfere with my sleep time.” She poured two cups of coffee. “It’s bad enough that you permit it to disturb yours.”

  Kendra stiffened. “What nonsense?”

  “The nonsense that’s all over the San Diego news sites. Four intensely hideous murders.” Deanna sat down on the stool beside her and lifted her cup to her lips. “Very nasty stuff. Did you really think that I wouldn’t check on what’s going on in my own hometown? Particularly when I know you have a passion for choosing the most worrisome possible cases on which to work.”

  Her mother’s tone was light, but Kendra was aware of something a little feverish and tense beneath that smooth exterior. It was making her uneasy. “No, I know you keep informed.” She lifted her coffee to her lips. “But I wasn’t really involved until yesterday. Did Olivia text you?”

  “No, though I did call her from my taxi when I was on my way here. She seemed more concerned with your sexual choices than with serial killers. You must have downplayed exactly what you were facing.”

  “I don’t lie to Olivia. I told her this one was a monster.” She shrugged. “But she was busy trying to convince me that Lynch and I were—” She broke off. “You know Olivia. She thinks she knows me through and through.”

  “Maybe she does,” Deanna added serenely, “but I know you better. I just seldom express opinions to keep from arguing with you.”

  Kendra grinned. “The hell you don’t. Why else are you here?”

  “Well, not about Lynch. I have mixed feelings about Lynch. Part of me wants you to jettison him because he’s undoubtedly dangerous.” She shrugged. “Another part of me wants you to keep him close … again because he’s dangerous. You persist in living in a lethal environment, and he’s capable of keeping your head above water.”

  “I’m capable of keeping my own head above water,” Kendra said. “And at present, Lynch is in Guilin, China.”

  “Olivia told me he was off to some outlandish place.” Her mother was frowning. “When is he coming back?”

  “I have no idea.” She was watching with alarm as the expressions flickered across her mother’s face. “No, Mom,” she said firmly, “I would not be pleased if you decided to casually call Lynch.”

  “There’s no way of casually calling someone in China,” Deanna said regretfully. “It comes off as a big deal however you’d do it. But I’d feel better if he was around.” She smiled. “Oh, well, I’ll think of something.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She shook her ahead. “Look, Mom, you’re right, this one is a monster. And I can’t avoid working the case. But it’s developing into something gigantic, and there will be all kinds of FBI and police after him. It’s not as if it will be one on one.”

  “Good God, I hope not.” Her smile disappeared and that smooth façade had cracked. “I couldn’t take that, Kendra. I’d stop worrying about how you’d feel about me interfering and I’d call Lynch, the FBI, the CIA, and maybe the president. You keep away from that bastard.”

  “It will be okay. I told you, the case is growing out of—”

  “I know how the case is growing.” Her mother’s lips were suddenly taut, her eyes glittering. “You don’t have to tell me. Your damn printer has been doing that for the last thirty minutes.” She slipped from the stool and strode across the room to Kendra’s cubbyhole of an office that was more like a laundry room. “It kept going off while I was making the coffee. I went back to check and see if it needed paper.” She threw open the door and Kendra heard the sound of the printer. “It didn’t, but the tray had overflowed and there were sheets all over the floor. Do you want me to tell you what they were?”

  Kendra flinched as she caught a glimpse of the gruesome body in the first photo on the floor. Metcalf had been busy but not selective. She could imagine the effect on her mother. “No.” She crossed the room and took Deanna in her arms. “I know what they are. I’m sorry you had to see it.”

  “So am I.” Deanna’s arms closed tightly around Kendra. “I didn’t want to see any of it. I don’t want you to see it. I don’t want any of it to touch you.”

  “I know. But you just saw some of what he did to those victims. He can’t go on, Mom.”

  “Then have someone else catch him.” She held Kendra still closer and then she released her and stepped back. “But you’re not going to do that, are you?” She cleared her throat. “We’ve had this argument before. Someday I’m going to win it.” She looked down at the photos and case histories lying on the floor. “But that’s not going to be today, is it? If he did all that, then he’s too hideous for me to budge you.” She drew a long, shaky breath. “Then I’ll have to try to find a way to help. I can do that. All your life I’ve helped you, haven’t I?”

  “All my life.” All the years of care and love and understanding, of searching for a cure when everyone told her mother it was hopeless. And at every defeat never making Kendra feel that she would be loved any less if that cure was never found. No one could have been kinder or more patient to a special child, or any child, than her mother. “You’re terrific.”

  “Yes, I am.” Deanna nodded brusquely. “You’re wise to realize that, Kendra. When you also realize that your mother always knows best, you will be totally perfect.”

  “Almost always,” Kendra said gently.

  “Perhaps. But not in this instance.” She hugged her again and then stepped back. “We’ll talk about this again and I don’t promise not to try to change your mind and the outcome.” She turned toward the door. “And now I believe I’ll go home and take a hot bath and then start thinking about how to do that. Lock your door behind me.”

  “The condo is absolutely secure.” She followed her mother to the door. “Except against the people I love.”

  “Then why did you hesitate before you came in tonight?” She looked over her shoulder. “Why, Kendra?”

  A young man bleeding-out in a closet.

  “I wasn’t expecting you.” She changed the subject. “And if you promise not to harass me, I’ll ask you to dinner later in the week. What about it?”

  “I’ll let you know. I’m a busy woman and you’re probably going to be wary of me for a little while.” She opened the door. “You should be. I can be pretty formidable. Ask my students.” She smiled. “Remember to eat that Danish I brought. I bet you haven’t had dinner. It’s not nourishing, but it will have to do. And you always did like sweets.”

  The door closed behind her.

  But Kendra knew she was waiting until she locked the door before she moved toward the elevator.

  She shook her head ruefully and then shot the lock.

  Formidable, indeed. But she wouldn’t have her any other way. It was just that right now she had no desire or energy to battle people she cared about. There was a bigger battle shaping up on
the horizon. She just wished her mother hadn’t seen the casualties that had already been inflicted.

  Then she turned away, went back to her office, and started to gather up the photos and case histories scattered on the floor. There were still others pouring out of the printer onto the tray. She felt overwhelmed at the sheer volume. She felt again as if that damn murderer was standing there watching, smiling … waiting.

  How many?

  Her hands were shaking as she grabbed up the last of the photos on the floor and then whirled back to the spitting printer with fists clenched.

  How many, you son of a bitch?

  4:35 A.M.

  The knot!

  Kendra’s eyes flew open as she woke from a sound sleep.

  Yes!

  She’d been studying those case histories all night and had only gotten to sleep a couple hours ago. But her mind had obviously still been working on them because she’d been jarred fully awake.

  The knot!

  She turned on the lamp, swung her legs to the floor, and jumped out of bed. The next moment she was rifling through the files she’d left on the chair across the room.

  Oxnard. Check.

  Jacksonville. Check.

  Washington, D.C. Check.

  She quickly went through the other cities.

  Yes.

  Okay. She had a key. Now what did she do about it?

  She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

  Detach.

  Concentrate.

  Who could help her the most?

  Lynch.

  Of course she’d immediately thought of him. But not available. Dismiss him.

  Griffin?

  Maybe. But he was limited to official channels and might be stonewalled. With bodies falling in all directions, she didn’t want that to happen.

  Who else?

  Qualifications. Smart. Innovative. The right background. Contacts.

  Jessie Mercado.

  She jumped to her feet, flew over to the nightstand, and reached for her phone. Jessie Mercado, private investigator extraordinaire, who was not only her friend, but had all the qualifications Kendra needed to explore the clue that had emerged from those files. Jessie would probably kill her for calling at this hour, but she was going to do it anyway. If she didn’t, she’d be tossing and turning for the rest of the night. She’d find a way to make it up to her later.