Night Watch--A Novel

by Iris Johansen

  Brantley shrugged. “A lesson for next time, then.”

  Lynch put a warning hand on her arm as if to hold her back. He knew that Brantley was annoying the hell out of her, and she was literally biting her tongue to keep from retaliating.

  Brantley turned to Lynch. “Did they let you hear the 911 recording?”

  “Yes. It was a woman’s voice, and she was obviously on her motorcycle when she called. She most likely had a headset in her helmet.”

  “And you think she might have murdered this guy?”

  Kendra cut in curtly, “No, I don’t think that at all.”

  “Then why the hot pursuit?”

  “We wanted to know why she was here,” she said. “We could see from her footprints that she’d scoped the place out before she found him.”

  Lynch gestured toward the cottage. “From the footprints we saw here, it’s obvious she looked in those windows before discovering the body. She brushed away just enough snow to get a read on who it was. It’s not the behavior of someone who had murdered him two days before.”

  “We’re inclined to agree,” Brantley said. “But it’s my understanding you’re investigating another case. The disappearance of another man?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Charles Waldridge. He’s from England, just as this man probably was. They knew each other.” Kendra told him about the surveillance video at the airport and the rental car.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Yes,” Lynch said. “But it’s probably not the correct one. He rented the car under the name of Peter Hollister, but the driver’s license was a phony.”

  “That’s the same name he used to rent this house. We’ve already been in touch with the property-management company that handles it. They’ve sent someone over with a key.”

  “You haven’t been inside yet?”

  “No, we haven’t been here all that long ourselves. I’m guessing you’d like to join the fun?”

  “We would,” Kendra said.

  Brantley nodded. “Since the FBI and half the police departments in Southern California have instructed us to extend you every courtesy, I guess we can make that happen.” He looked back at the corpse. “We’ll get prints and DNA off the body, and your FBI buddies have already promised to try a facial-recognition match with passport entries. But it would make everybody’s job easier if there was something in that house that could ID him.”

  “Something like a passport?” Kendra asked.

  “Dare to dream, Dr. Michaels. Let’s go to the front door.”

  Kendra, Lynch, Brantley, and two uniformed officers walked around front, where another officer was standing with a middle-aged woman who could only have been the property manager. She wore a pink ski jacket and matching boots over a pair of flannel pajamas. An old lift ticket on the jacket identified her as Stacie Liston.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Brantley said to the woman. “But you really could have taken the time to have gotten dressed.”

  “I kinda freaked when I got the call.” Her hand trembled as she handed him the key. “We had someone O.D. in one of our properties once, but never anything like this.”

  “Did you ever meet the victim?” Kendra asked.

  Stacie shook her head. “No. He arranged the rental a few weeks ago. He paid a month’s rent and a security deposit up front with a cashier’s check.”

  “From where?”

  “Some English bank…” She thought for a moment. “Barclays. He picked up the key at our after-hours lockbox.”

  Brantley unlocked the door and handed the key back to her. “We’ll be here at least until midmorning. We’ll give your office a call when we’re about to leave.”

  Stacie made a face. “You don’t think there’s anybody else in there, do you? I mean … like him?”

  “You mean dead?”

  She nodded.

  “Probably not.” Brantley patted her arm. “Go on home. We’ll take care of things here.”

  She nodded uncertainly and headed back up the front walk.

  Brantley opened the door, and Kendra took a deep whiff. Pinecones, wood varnish, and mint. Nothing that would indicate another corpse inside.

  Thank goodness for small favors.

  Or perhaps a gigantic favor. She’d been afraid if they found another corpse, it might be Waldridge.

  They moved into the front hallway and looked around. Inside, it looked less like a fairy tale and more like a standard-issue ski lodge with an abundance of wood, shag rugs, and more wood. The furniture was heavy and dark, and ski equipment adorned the walls in such a fashion that Kendra couldn’t tell if it was there for storage or decoration.

  Lynch glanced around. “There are no personal items here. None.”

  Kendra nodded. “You’re right. The only sign that anyone was even here is that half-empty coffee cup on the end table.”

  Brantley shrugged. “Maybe upstairs.”

  They mounted the stairs, which featured twin banister posts carved in the shape of boy and girl skiers. The steps creaked as they made their way up to the second floor. Kendra looked each way as they reached the top. It was basically a long hallway with doors to three bedrooms and a single bathroom. Small prints of snow scenes hung on the hallway walls, punctuating the gaps between rooms.

  Kendra opened the door of the first room they passed and paused, staring into the darkness. “Dr. Waldridge stayed in here.”

  Brantley turned on the wall switch and peered inside at the room. “How do you know?”

  “Arlington.”

  “As in the national cemetery?”

  “As in the British-made cologne. Waldridge is the only man I’ve met who uses it. I’m also smelling a spray-on deodorant he uses. It’s called Fogg.” She turned toward Lynch. “I saw both bottles in Waldridge’s hotel room this morning. He sprayed both in this room recently before he went to Santa Monica.”

  Brantley stared at her. “How can you possibly—?”

  “Long story,” Lynch said. “Let’s look at the other rooms.”

  They walked down the hallway to a brightly-colored bedroom with bunk beds.

  Brantley turned to Kendra. “Let me guess. The aroma of Play-Doh?”

  She shook her head. “Just Ortho Home Defense Max insect spray. I don’t think anyone’s been in here recently.”

  The sergeant smiled. “Certainly not any roaches. One room to go.”

  The master bedroom at the end of the hallway was more than double the size of the others, and it featured a canopy bed that appeared to have been hand-carved. A flat-screen television was mounted to the opposite wall suspended over a rustic set of dresser drawers. An open suitcase was next to it stuffed with wrinkled clothing.

  “Someone has gone through this suitcase,” Kendra said.

  Lynch looked at it. “Are you sure? You should see my bags after I’ve been out of town for a few weeks.”

  “It looks like it’s been turned upside down onto the floor, and all the contents shoved back in here a piece at a time. It’s possible he did it himself, but the rest of the place is so immaculate that it doesn’t seem consistent with his fastidious nature.”

  Lynch looked around. “No computer.”

  “No computer, no phone. Although he did have an Acer laptop and an iPhone in here. And a computer bag, too. They were taken.”

  Brantley’s brow wrinkled. “How do you figure that?”

  “There are two power adapters still plugged in under the table. One’s for an Acer laptop, the other has an Apple iPhone connector.” She turned back to the open suitcase. “In that jumble of clothes, there’s a leather computer-bag carry strap. With a good look and a bit of research, we’ll probably even be able to identify the maker and style of the computer bag it goes with.”

  “You can’t tell us off the top of your head?” Brantley joked.

  “Don’t even say that,” Lynch said. “I have a hunch she’ll soon know more about laptop-bag carry straps than we ever knew existed.”
<
br />   “Only if it’s necessary,” Kendra said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t waste my time right now.”

  Brantley stared at her. “I’m starting to get an idea why the FBI and all those police departments like you so much.”

  “That’s not at all accurate. I don’t think any of them will admit to actually liking me.” She continued her scan of the room until she spotted his toiletries next to the sink in the connected bathroom. She stepped inside and looked them over. “Nothing unusual here. Though it does help to confirm that he was English. Maclean’s toothpaste is a British brand.”

  Lynch had already begun opening the drawers and closet door. “Nothing here,” he said. “Just a jacket in the closet, nothing in the pockets.”

  Kendra shook her head in frustration. “Unbelievable. Not a thing to let us know who he really was or what he was doing with Waldridge.”

  “We’ll take the whole place apart to make sure there’s nothing hidden someplace,” Brantley said. “And, of course, we’ll photograph and fingerprint the body in the next few hours.”

  “Good,” Lynch said. “We’d appreciate it if you could forward your docs to the FBI field office in San Diego. It might help to find the man we’re looking for.”

  “We can do that.”

  Kendra stepped back into the hallway. Damn. The trail to Waldridge had come to an abrupt halt, right to that man lying dead in the snow. A man without a name or even a—

  She stopped.

  What in the hell?

  The work lights outside bathed the shadowy hallway in a dim glow, just enough that she could see that something was out of whack in the wood-paneled hallway.

  “I know that look of yours,” Lynch said quietly from behind her. “What do you see?”

  “The pictures in this hallway … Can you see it?”

  Lynch studied the nature scenes. “Other than they wouldn’t be out of place in a cheap hotel room? No.”

  “It’s not the pictures themselves … It’s the walls. They’re slightly faded from the sunlight that streams in here. It’s darker where the pictures have been hanging. But it looks like they’ve been rearranged.”

  Lynch nodded slowly. “I see what you mean. The walls are slightly darker where the pictures have been, but they don’t quite match now.”

  She stepped closer to the picture nearest to her. “It looks like these have been taken down for some reason, then put up in different places. And it happened recently.” She pulled the picture off the wall and stared at the backside.

  “What is it?” Lynch asked.

  “Nothing, except…” She turned the picture around to show that the back of the canvas was covered with several purple splotches.

  “Paint?” Brantley asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She dabbed her finger into one of the splotches. “It’s still sticky.’

  Lynch pulled two more pictures from the walls and spun them around. The backsides were covered with splotches that matched the ones on the first. He put them on the floor and continued down the hallway, pulling pictures off and setting them on the floor with their rear sides exposed. All ten pictures had the same markings.

  “They’re fresh,” Lynch said. “All of them.”

  Brantley picked up one of the pictures and examined it more closely. “I don’t get it.”

  “Join the club,” Lynch said.

  Kendra picked up the smallest of the pictures. “I want to take this one with us. The FBI lab might be able to tell us what it is.”

  * * *

  KENDRA AND LYNCH DROVE back to the Big Bear Airport, and as arranged, they left the car parked outside the main departure building with the keys in a magnetic box tucked under the rear wheel. Kendra held the picture carefully in front of her as they boarded the plane.

  “What do you think you have there?” Lynch asked.

  “I have no earthly idea. Just like everything else we’ve run across … Lots of questions, but no answers. And I don’t feel like I’m any closer to finding Waldridge.”

  He placed his hand in the small of her back. “You’re closer than anyone else. And at least you’re out here asking the questions.”

  His touch should have felt casual. But somehow it didn’t. There was a warm comfort, an intimacy, about the way his palm was—

  She stepped away from him. “And you’re asking them with me.” She put the picture down and settled on the large leather sofa in the plane’s main compartment. She smiled wearily. “Thank you, Lynch.”

  “You’re very welcome. We’ll find him, Kendra.”

  There was something so definite about his tone that, for the first time since they’d found that body in the snow, she felt genuine hope. “Sure we will.” She leaned back. “I guess I’m tired.”

  “It’s been a long day. We’ll get in the air, and I’ll take you home.”

  She suddenly remembered. “My car … It’s at your place.”

  “You’re welcome to stay with me, and I’d certainly prefer it. But I know you well enough to know that you’ll be more comfortable in your own bed.”

  “You do know me well.”

  “I’ll drop you off at your place and pick you up tomorrow. The FBI lab may have some answers about that substance you found in Waldridge’s hotel room. And while we’re there, we can give them that picture to work on.”

  “Oh, they’ll love that.”

  “They’ll do it. Not because of the pressure I can put on them, but because they owe you. And they’re smart enough to know that they’ll need your help again sometime. You’re the one with the real capital, not me.”

  “If that’s true, I’ll use it all if it will help me find Waldridge.”

  “I know. Waldridge is a lucky man.” He picked up a throw blanket and draped it over her. “Get some sleep. I’ll have you home in no time.”

  Intimacy again, she thought drowsily as she watched him go into the cockpit. The way he had tucked the blanket around her, his smile, the comfort that he had managed to instill. He had sensed that slight withdrawal and moved to reassure.

  Why?

  It didn’t matter. Better just to accept the complications that made Lynch the man he was.

  Just as she’d learned to accept the complications of Waldridge all those years ago …

  CHAPTER

  5

  St. Bartholomew’s Hospital

  London, England

  Nine Years Earlier

  “ENJOYING YOUR TIME in London, Kendra?”

  It was Dr. Waldridge’s voice, she realized with relief.

  It had been almost half an hour since she’d been wheeled into the surgical theater, and she was beginning to wonder if Dr. Waldridge was even going to show. He could have changed his mind, couldn’t he? She smiled up from the operating table. “Nice of you to drop by. I hope I’m not cutting into your breakfast time.”

  “You are, but I’ll try not to hold it against you. I’ll make up for it at lunch. Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

  “Good enough, I guess.” She was lying. She had been too tense, too aware of what this day could hold for her. But now he was here and, as usual, she felt calmer, more able to cope. “I’m surprised they didn’t knock me out. They told me there isn’t even an anesthesiologist in the room.”

  “That’s right. No need. You’ll be awake the entire time. I don’t want you to miss a second of this.”

  “What kind of surgeon are you anyway?”

  “The cunningly brilliant kind. Most of the difficult work has already been done. We’ve already combined stem-cell cultures with cells from your eyes, and we’ll be secreting them back in with a formula we’ve developed to help your damaged retinas regenerate. Your body will be doing most of the work over the next few weeks, my dear.”

  “We hope.”

  “The human body is an amazing thing. You can sew on a severed finger and all those thousands of nerve endings will work furiously to reattach themselves within months. Incredible, isn’t it? The body wants so very des
perately to make itself whole. In this case, I’m just giving it a helping hand.”

  “Well, you do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  She cocked her head as she heard more footsteps entering the surgical theater. “But if this is such a simple procedure, why the big production?”

  “Production is right. We have video cameras covering this from several angles. We’ll be trying this a few different ways in our various subjects, and we need to see what works best.”

  “As long as mine is the one that works best, I’ll be happy.”

  He chuckled. “So will I. By the way, your mother is watching. She’s sitting in the observation booth above us.”

  “I told her she should go see Stonehenge or something.”

  “Well, maybe soon you can go see it with her.”

  Possibles. All those wonderful possibilities teasing her on the horizon.

  Kendra smiled. “Aren’t you supposed to manage my expectations? You told me yourself this was a long shot.”

  “And it is. But I have a good feeling about you.”

  “A ‘good feeling’? That’s funny talk coming from a research scientist.”

  “Agreed. And I can guarantee that I will never repeat it in any paper I write on the project. But instinct can be a powerful thing.”

  “If you say so.” Anything he said at this moment was going to be fine with her. She was trying to fight the fear and the excitement and not show him either.

  But evidently she hadn’t been totally successful. “I say so,” he said. “But you’re something of a skeptic, so I brought you something to remind you while I give you the benefit of all my cunning brilliance.” He took her hand and placed something in her palm. “Shh, don’t tell anyone. It’s not sterile.”

  “Are you trying to sabotage me?” Her fingers were probing, exploring. Tiny. Metal. Shaped like a—“Fish.”

  “Try again.”

  Then she knew what it was. “The dolphin charm you said your niece gave you. The one you always have on your key chain.”

  “It’s only a loan. I get it back after I prove myself to you.”

  “Is it supposed to be lucky?”