Double Blind--A Novel

by Iris Johansen

  Griffin glared at him. “No. But interesting that was your immediate go-to. Maybe because it’s what you would have done?”

  Lynch didn’t reply.

  Kendra glanced impatiently from one to the other. “Never mind Lynch. We all know what intrusive and appalling things he’s capable of.”

  “Thanks for the support,” Lynch said dryly.

  “So out with it,” Kendra said. She didn’t like the possibility Lynch had brought up. “How did you know?”

  “We tried to call first,” Metcalf said. “I guess that’s your phone over there by the mat?”

  “The one that’s powered off? Yeah, that’s mine.”

  “Then we went to your condo and you weren’t there. But I just happen to know that your best friend lives one floor down from you, so I paid her a visit.”

  Kendra mock-slapped her forehead. “Olivia … I told her I was coming here.”

  “And she told me.” Metcalf grinned. “None of that fancy electronic snoop stuff for me. Hey, I’m a Federal agent. I know how to do things.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do,” Kendra said absently. She was looking Metcalf and Griffin up and down. “So who was she?”

  “Who?” Griffin said.

  “Well, I’m not talking about Olivia. The murder victim in the case you’re investigating. It was a woman, wasn’t it?”

  The two men nodded.

  “Then let’s get this over with, Griffin. You got a call in the middle of the night, probably from San Diego PD. Fortunately, your wife wasn’t disturbed because she wasn’t with you. Not having trouble again at home, I hope?”

  Griffin’s forehead creased in annoyance. “Were you this big a pain in the ass when you were blind?”

  “Oh, you have no idea.”

  “Wrong. I have a very good idea. For the record, there’s no trouble at home,” Griffin said. “My wife has been up in Portland for the past couple of weeks caring for her mother. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let her continue.” Lynch was smiling slyly at both Kendra’s demonstration and Griffin’s unease. “I love this part.”

  “I’m not here to entertain you, Lynch.” She continued to study Griffin and Metcalf. “After you got the call, Griffin, you could have tasked it out to Metcalf or dozens of other agents at your disposal. But something about this case made you get out of bed and go to the scene yourself. You don’t generally subject yourself to that kind of punishment. One of the perks of being boss.”

  “Sometimes being boss isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “This was obviously one of those times,” Kendra replied. “The murder was in the city. The body was outdoors on the street. The police left her out there for quite a while longer than usual. Maybe waiting for you? But not only for you. You decided to call Metcalf to join you. He arrived not long after you did and spent even more time inspecting the corpse than you did.”

  Metcalf smiled. He was obviously enjoying her riff, but Griffin still seemed mildly annoyed.

  Kendra studied Metcalf for a moment longer. “So you had to get up in the middle of the night, too. But you weren’t alone. Overnight female companionship obviously isn’t a problem for you, is it, Metcalf?”

  “Shit.” He grimaced. “Now I’m in for it?”

  “I don’t see why not. I hope you know her well, ’cause it’s kind of awkward to leave a stranger alone in your house.”

  Metcalf smiled sheepishly. “I know her … pretty well.”

  “I think you’re safe. I’d say she makes more than you do.”

  “Right again. She’s a software engineer.”

  Lynch patted him on the shoulder. “As long as it’s not another FBI agent. That didn’t work out too well for you last time, did it?”

  The smile instantly disappeared from Metcalf’s face. “Uh, can we move on? Please?”

  Kendra smiled. “Sure, Metcalf. But there’s one thing I can’t figure out … Why are you coming to me with this case? You usually wait days or even weeks before you decide you want my help. It’s only been hours.”

  “It wasn’t our idea,” Griffin said sourly.

  Kendra frowned. “Then whose idea was it?”

  “The corpse’s.”

  Kendra stared at Griffin. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  Metcalf spoke gently. “Do you know someone named Elena Meyer of Fairfield, Connecticut?”

  Kendra thought for a moment. “No.”

  Griffin pulled out his camera phone and held it up. “Are you sure? She knew you.”

  Kendra swallowed hard as she stared at the image on the phone. It was the face of a dead young woman, maybe thirty, lying on the street. Her cheeks were pale, her lipstick smeared, and brown curly hair fell over her forehead. She looked so young, with her whole life to live …

  “No,” Kendra said quietly. “I’ve never seen her.”

  “This woman bolted out onto Fifth Street and was struck by a car,” Griffin said.

  Lynch looked at the photo. “Hit and run?”

  “No. It wasn’t the car that killed her. She ran out of an alley with a gunshot wound in her torso.”

  “Any leads?” Lynch asked.

  “Not so far. Her family didn’t even know she was out here.”

  Kendra was still staring at the photo. “What did you mean by … it was her idea to bring me into this?”

  Griffin swiped his finger across the phone screen as he spoke. “She was carrying an envelope in her jacket pocket. There was a name and address printed on it.” He angled the phone back toward Kendra.

  “Mine,” she said.

  “It looks like she was trying to get to you when she was killed,” Metcalf said. “She was on Fifth Street, just a few blocks from your condo. You’re positive you don’t even recognize the name … Elena Meyer?”

  Kendra shook her head. “Not at all. Do you know her occupation?”

  “She worked for a law firm in Connecticut. She was a paralegal.”

  Again, Kendra shook her head. “What was in the envelope?”

  “A flash drive,” Griffin said. “Nothing else. And there was only one file on it, a video.”

  “Have you watched it?”

  “We both have. Pretty much everyone at the office has seen it by now. We … don’t know what to make of it.”

  Kendra tried to read their expressions and all she saw was puzzlement. “Show me.”

  “We have a copy plugged into the A/V system of our van.” Griffin gestured toward the street. “We can show it to you there.”

  “Good.” She picked up her phone and keys while Lynch rolled up the two mats they had spread out. As they walked down toward Ladera Street, Metcalf turned toward Kendra. “How did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “All that stuff about us. You can’t leave us hanging.”

  “Would I do that to you, Metcalf?”

  “You’ve done it before,” Griffin growled. “I think you just like to show us how vulnerable we are to you.”

  “Maybe sometimes. It depends on how vulnerable I’m feeling at a given moment. Most of the time it just saves time and prevents lies.”

  “And sticks your nose where it doesn’t belong. How in the hell did you know my wife wasn’t with me?”

  “Because you don’t seem to know how to take your shirts to the dry cleaner. The only times your shirts haven’t been pressed and starched in the years I’ve known you is the two times you and your wife were separated. Instead, you launder them yourself with an overabundance of scented Bounce dryer sheets.”

  Griffin gripped his collar between this thumb and forefinger and sniffed it. “Too much?”

  “Too much. One is really all you need.”

  “You could have told me that years ago.”

  “Oh, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun for me.”

  “Nice. So how did you know about me being rousted in the middle of the night?”

  “That’s an easy one. You’re wearing glasse
s. The only time you wear those instead of your contact lenses is when you’re called to a scene in the middle of the night. Those particular glasses have an antireflective coating that’s starting to break down, giving the lenses some annoying streaks you probably wouldn’t tolerate if you wore them more often.”

  Griffin took off the glasses and looked at the lenses. “Is that what that is? They’ve been driving me nuts all morning. I keep wiping them, but it doesn’t help.”

  “Could be time for new specs.”

  “Could be.” He put the glasses back on. “Tell us how you know about Metcalf’s lady friend.”

  “Actually, his shirt tipped me off. He obviously left in a hurry, and I’m guessing it’s the same shirt he wore yesterday.”

  Metcalf glanced down at his blue, button-down collar shirt. “I thought it looked pretty good.”

  “It does. Most people would never guess that an attractive young woman was prancing around your home in it just a few hours ago.”

  “I don’t know if she was prancing…” Metcalf slipped his fingers between the top two buttons and made a show of airing the shirt out. “Am I radiating a womanly smell? Perfume?”

  “Body wash. And the smell is very faint. The cops at the crime scene probably weren’t making fun of you behind your back. At least not because of the way you smell.”

  “Good to know.”

  “But tell me something, what’s the special appeal of seeing a half-naked woman wearing your shirt?”

  “Depends on the woman.”

  Lynch nodded. “Depends on the shirt.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  Metcalf thought of something. “How do you know she makes more money than I do? Other than your awareness of my pathetic government salary.”

  “Her body wash is Frederic Malle Carnal Flower. That implies a level of income you and I can only aspire to.”

  “Hmm. Guess I should let her pay for dinner next time. So how did you know I was examining the corpse on a city street?”

  “Whenever you put on evidence gloves, you roll up your sleeves and take off your watch. I noticed that you’re not wearing your watch and your sleeves are unbuttoned. The knees of your pants show a bit of street grime and that polyester blend is surprisingly good for picking up fine impressions. The imprint on your knees was surely made by a rock, sand, and asphalt slurry seal, which coats most San Diego streets.”

  Griffin looked at her skeptically. “Slurry seal and not perpetual pavement?”

  “No. Two very different impressions. Metcalf was clearly on his knees on a city street, not a parking lot, evidence gloves on, inspecting a corpse.” She looked up at the two men. “And before you ask how I knew it was a corpse, you’ve never asked me to consult on an investigation where a dead body wasn’t involved.”

  Metcalf gave her a rueful nod. “If you want us to stop bothering you, you should try being wrong a little more often.”

  “Is that what it would take?” She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  They reached the path’s end on Ladera Street and Griffin led them to a white-paneled van parked near the park entrance. He slid open the side door and ushered Kendra and Lynch inside. “Climb in. The next show starts in two minutes.”

  Kendra and Lynch slid into the second row of seats while Griffin and Metcalf took their places up front. Griffin turned a knob on the console and a ceiling-mounted monitor flickered on.

  Kendra nodded toward it. “Looks like the same setup my friends use to babysit their kids on road trips.”

  “Not this particular one unless they want to give their kids nightmares,” Griffin said. “We’ve reviewed some of the goriest crime scenes imaginable on that screen.”

  “What exactly are you about to show me?” Kendra said.

  “We’re trying to figure that out ourselves. It’s what Elena Meyer died trying to deliver to you. I hope to hell you can give us some idea why.”

  Griffin pushed a button on the front console and the video started playing on the screen.

  Kendra didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration.” The song played over a video of tables of well-dressed, happy people eating, drinking, laughing, and snapping pictures.

  The video appeared to be the work of an amateur, perhaps shot with a mobile phone. The continuous shot swept through the large room, which was decorated with helium balloons and multicolored streamers. A DJ lorded over the small dance floor, where half a dozen rhythmically challenged couples moved to the beat.

  “It’s a wedding reception,” Kendra murmured. “What the hell?”

  “Kind of the reaction of everyone who’s seen it,” Metcalf said.

  The shot moved past the dance floor to a long table where the wedding party was seated. The bride and groom greeted well-wishers at the center.

  The video continued for almost twenty minutes, ticking off the boxes for a typical wedding. The cake-cutting. The teary-eyed toasts. The bouquet toss.

  Then it was over.

  Kendra stared at the blank screen for a long moment. “Show it to me again.”

  Metcalf punched a button on the console, and the wedding video restarted.

  Kendra watched the video again, this time concentrating on the faces, the voices, the clothing, the fine details she may have missed the first time. Very little had escaped her, she realized.

  “Well?” Griffin said after it ended. “Do you recognize any of those people?”

  “No. Not one.”

  “Any idea why our victim would have wanted you to see it?”

  Kendra leaned back. “No idea at all. And I don’t believe the victim was even at this reception. I didn’t see her anywhere.”

  “We didn’t either,” Griffin said. “We’re thinking maybe she’s the one who took the video.”

  “She wasn’t.”

  Lynch turned toward her. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Assuming the videographer was holding the lens at about eye level, it was a tall man, probably around six-foot-two. Crime scene markers in the photos Griffin showed us indicate that the victim was about five-foot-four. For a second, you can see a shoulders-down reflection in a decorative brass wall ornament. Whoever took the video was wearing a tux.”

  Metcalf jotted this down into a worn leather notebook. “We’re checking with the major hotel chains to see if they recognize the venue, but it could also be a reception hall or events facility. Since the victim lived in Connecticut, we’re starting there.”

  “Don’t. Start here in southern California. And this is in a large country club, one with a golf course.”

  Metcalf looked up from his notebook. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Next time you watch the video, look at the pillars. They’re mahogany. It’s dark, but you can still see that the top of each one is carved with golf symbols: tees, clubs, flags.”

  “We missed that,” Griffin said. “How do you know it’s here in California?”

  “Dialects. The groom and his family are from the northeast, but the bride, her parents, and most of her friends are from here. The bride’s father was definitely playing host, talking to the DJ, bartender, and servers at various times during the video. I’d say he was a member of the country club, wherever it is.”

  “Anything else?”

  Kendra shook her head. “No. It looks like every boring wedding video ever made. Why would a woman die trying to get this to me?”

  “We were hoping you’d tell us,” Metcalf said.

  “I can’t. At least not yet.” She glanced at Lynch, and he reached out and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. He could see this was already getting under her skin. She turned back to Griffin and Metcalf. “I want a copy of this video.”

  Griffin ejected the flash drive and offered it to her. “This one’s yours. We’d appreciate anything else you can tell us.”

  She stared at the stick. She’d wanted to tell Griffin to go to hell, and now here she was up to her eyeballs in this ca
se.

  But this poor woman, for some reason, had spent her last moments on Earth trying to get this video to her. It gave Kendra a strange sense of bonding.

  Okay, this one’s for you, Elena Meyer of Fairfield, Connecticut.

  Kendra grabbed the flash drive and climbed out of the van.

  * * *

  SHE WAS ALMOST TO HER CAR when Lynch caught up to her. “Wait up.”

  She turned. “You had no idea they were coming for me today?”

  “Of course not.”

  She gave him a doubtful look. “Really?”

  “Yes. You think I was here on a recruiting mission? I left the FBI a long time ago. You called me, remember?”

  He was right. She was being paranoid. But she was aware of what machinations Lynch was capable. Governments and companies paid him enormous amounts of money to go into seemingly impossible situations and change the outcome to suit themselves. It was difficult to trust a man with those kinds of abilities. Yet she did trust him … most of the time. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sure it happened just like Metcalf said. Olivia would have no reason not to tell them where to find me.” She looked at the flash drive in her hand. “Anyway … this one is personal. This is one I need to do.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I just wish I knew why she chose me.”

  Lynch put his hands on her forearms. “I’ll contact some of my NSA sources. I’ll see if there’s any common ground between you and her as far as work or educational background, associates, whatever. She may have just read about one of your cases sometime. Your energy is best spent figuring out what she was trying to tell you with that video.”

  “I’m already working on it. It’ll be hard for me to work on anything else.”

  “I know,” he said lightly. “It’s that obsessive streak I find so endearing. I’m always plotting how to get you to focus it on me.” His smile faded. “But you can’t let it take over your life. Let me take you to lunch at Mister A’s. I guarantee their Maine lobster strudel will take your mind off everything else.”

  “Can’t. It’s a work day. I have three clients this afternoon.”

  “Then dinner.”