The Naked Eye (14 page)

“Look, Griffin, I’m not going to disturb evidence. You know me better than that. Just let me go in and see what the bastard wants me to see.”

He just looked at her.

But he had an expression of sly satisfaction, and he hadn’t kicked her out of his office. Was he enjoying this? It was possible. Their relationship was often conflicted, and he’d never liked the fact that he couldn’t control her as he did his agents.

“I’m not going to beg you, Griffin. I’m sure you’d enjoy that, but it’s not going to happen.” She put her hands flat on his desk. “I’m just going to ask you what you want from me.”

“Why, I don’t know what you mean. We’re both professionals, and we’re merely having a difference of opinion.”

“What do you want?” she repeated.

He was silent, then nodded. “What any civilized professional requests to settle a dispute. Compromise. If I do you a favor, it’s only reasonable to expect a favor in return.”

“What kind of favor?” she asked warily.

He smiled. “I haven’t decided.”

“What?”

“I believe I’d like to tuck that favor away for a rainy day.”

“And let you hold it over my head for the foreseeable future?”

“That’s about it.” He leaned back in his chair. “After all, it’s not as if I’m going to ask you to do anything illegal. Considering my position, that would go without saying.”

“Would it? I don’t know what you’ll ask me.”

“No, you don’t. And that may bother you a little. But no more than the discomfort you’ve caused me on occasion. And this is going to be something of a headache. I’ll have to make a call and back it up with my presence.” He looked at his watch. “I have an appointment. But I could cancel it and call the superintendent in charge of the Hunter case. Should I do it?”

She hesitated. If she made the promise, she would be bound to keep it. She hated the idea of being obligated to Griffin.

She wanted to sock him.

She turned toward the door. “Make the call.”

*   *   *

THE EARLY-MORNING SUN SHIMMERED ON
the San Diego Bay as Kendra and Beth drove slowly toward Marina Cortez. They had stopped for coffee at Starbucks when Kendra had joined Beth after talking to Griffin. She had wanted to give Griffin plenty of time to get his ducks in a row. It should have been a beautiful drive, but Kendra couldn’t shake the horrible image that had greeted her and Lynch there the other night.

It was now quieter, with a single TV news van parked nearby and a reporter from the local Spanish-language station doing his stand-up on the dock. The houseboat was still cordoned off with yellow police tape, and four men in their shirtsleeves were waiting nearby.

Waiting for her.

“Do you know them?” Beth asked.

“Yes. Three of them are cops, the other is FBI Special Agent Michael Griffin. He’s the man I had to stop to see at FBI headquarters downtown. He’s the only reason I’m being allowed in here today.”

“Good of him to show up,” Beth said. “I’m surprised. You were looking pretty grim when you came back to the car after seeing him.”

“I was feeling pretty grim.”

“But evidently he decided to come and smooth things over for you.”

“That’s the way it looks, doesn’t it? More likely to make sure I play nice with the local cops. He stuck his neck out for me, and he wants to keep me from abusing the privilege.”

“Will it work?”

“We’ll know soon.”

They parked and walked up the narrow dock to Sheila Hunter’s houseboat. Kendra extended her hand to Stokes. “Detective, I do appreciate this.”

Stokes shook her hand. “Thank my boss. Or my boss’s boss.” He grimaced. “Or whoever your FBI associate here strong-armed.”

“Strong-armed?” Griffin smiled. “Is that really how we describe cooperation between our law-enforcement agencies? I merely made a request.”

Stokes gestured to the two other men. “I believe you’ve met Detectives Ketchum and Starger. They’ve gone over every inch of this place since the night of the murder. If you would care to tell them what you’re looking for, I’m sure they would be happy to—”

“I have no idea what I’m looking for,” Kendra said.

The detectives exchanged a look. “No idea at all?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Stokes’s tone was sour. “So much for cooperation between law-enforcement agencies.”

Kendra turned toward Griffin. She wasn’t sure how much information he’d given to their superior, and she wasn’t anxious to share what probably would sound like a wild-eyed conspiracy theory.

“Look,” Griffin said. “Dr. Michaels promised to share any observations she makes while in Sheila Hunter’s houseboat. That was my deal with your superintendent, and she will honor that. Fair enough?”

Stokes motioned toward Beth. “Who’s this?”

“Her name is Beth Avery. I brought her to take notes.”

Stokes turned toward Griffin. “Was she part of your deal, too?”

“I suppose she is now.”

Stokes handed Kendra, Beth, and Griffin pairs of latex evidence gloves. “If you wish to touch something, call one of us over to supervise.”

Kendra snapped on her gloves. “No problem, I have a feeling you won’t be too far away.”

“We won’t. This crime scene is still under the jurisdiction of the San Diego PD.”

Griffin nodded. “And I’m sure you’ll keep reminding us of that.”

“Only if it becomes absolutely necessary. It’s up to you,” Stokes smiled. “Ready?”

Am I ready, Colby?

What have you got to show me in there?

You must have been here in this very spot, plotting, planning.

Killing.

She nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”

They stepped off the dock and walked through the doorway of the boxy one-story houseboat. Kendra was immediately struck by the luxurious interior that eschewed any hint of a nautical theme. The floors were covered by intricately patterned tile that looked like something out of a Beverly Hills estate. The lighting was soft, with several small ceiling spots highlighting framed art deco travel posters for European ski destinations.

Beth stepped around a large brown leather sofa. “Nice place. Very nice. I can see why you thought an online journalist wouldn’t be able to afford digs like this, Kendra.”

“I told you, it’s registered to an executive of her media company.” Kendra’s eyes darted around the room. “Strange.”

“What?” Beth asked.

“There are a few objects in here that have been wiped clean. Recently, in the last day or two.” She turned toward Stokes. “I know forensics wouldn’t have done it. Your men wouldn’t have done it either, would they?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but our department doesn’t provide maid service for murder victims.”

She pointed to a guitar propped up on a black metal stand in the corner. “That guitar has definitely been wiped down. Its glossy finish would show every fingerprint and each speck of dust, but there are none.” She pointed to a ceramic cigarette lighter resting on the countertop that divided the kitchenette from the living room. “Same story with that lighter.”

“Lighter?” Beth turned toward the police officers. “Did she smoke?”

“No.” Kendra answered before they could reply. “I would have picked up the odor on her, but someone was in the habit of smoking an occasional cigar in here. And the glass tabletop and the back of the chairs do have fingerprints. No one was concerned about wiping those clean.”

Detective Starger spoke for the first time. “We lifted quite a few prints from the tabletop and elsewhere in here.”

“Good,” Kendra said. “I’d like to know what the story is with that guitar. Especially since she didn’t play it.”

“How do you know?” Griffin asked.

“Anyone who plays an acoustic guitar with any regularity develops calluses. I have them. It’s actually necessary to play well. Sheila Hunter’s fingertips were smooth, and her nails long and beautifully manicured.”

“Maybe a boyfriend?” Beth suggested.

“Maybe.” Kendra turned toward Stokes. “Was she in a relationship?”

“Not as far as we’ve been able to determine. We’re still exploring that possibility.”

Kendra scanned the kitchen. “Everything seems to be in place in here.”

“There were two glasses in the sink,” Stokes said. “Both had Sheila Hunter’s prints and her prints alone.”

Kendra nodded and turned back toward the living room. “Any sign of the area rug?”

“Area rug?”

“About six by eight feet, red and cream with gold medallions. It was in the middle of the living room, under the couch and coffee table.”

Detectives Starger and Ketchum exchanged a look before turning back to face her. “There was no rug here,” Ketchum said.

“Actually, there was. The only question is whether it was removed before or after Sheila Hunter’s murder.”

Stokes crossed his arms across his chest. “And how would you know that?”

“I saw it.”

“You’ve been in here before?”

Oh, Lord, now they were suspicious of her again. “No, never.”

“Then how—”

“You saw it, too,” she said impatiently. “All of you did. You just weren’t paying attention.” Kendra walked back toward the entrance, where the wall was covered by a collage of framed photographs. She pointed to a group shot of Sheila and her friends in the living room wearing oversized football jerseys. Some were sitting cross-legged on the rug, others were standing around it. “Right here.”

The detectives, Griffin, and Beth followed her to the wall to gaze at the photos. “I’ll be damned,” Stokes said. “But there’s no telling how long ago that rug—”

“Sixty days, give or take,” Kendra broke in. “That’s the most recent Super Bowl on the TV behind them. I have no idea who won, but those were the teams, right?”

Stokes studied the photograph again. “Uh, yeah.”

In the photograph’s glass reflection, Kendra caught Griffin smiling. He was clearly enjoying her display and the discomfort it was furnishing the detectives more than he did on his own investigations. That annoyed her, too. After that far-from-subtle holdup he’d maneuvered to get her permission to come here, she didn’t like that he was getting any amusement from the situation.

She turned a warm smile on Stokes. “Actually, it’s perfectly understandable that you’d not notice the photo. You’d be surprised what Special Agent Griffin’s team manages to miss, and they have all that expensive, technical equipment at their disposal. I’m sure you did a good job here, Detective.”

Stokes nodded. “Thanks.” He smiled. “It’s good to be appreciated. Anything else you need to see?”

“Yes.” She moved toward a rear doorway, passing Griffin, who was no longer smiling. “Bedroom?”

“Just a single bedroom and bath.”

The group followed Kendra back to the bedroom, which, like the rest of the houseboat, was tastefully decorated. A queen-size bed headed one wall, and a closet and cherrywood chest of drawers anchored the left side. A small desk was pushed into the corner, where a laptop, printer/scanner combo, and a bulletin board formed Sheila’s home office. Kendra motioned for Beth to capture the photo of the bulletin board contents with her iPad.

Beth crouched beside the desk and panned over the board. “Looks like she was working on a few different stories.”

Kendra nodded. “It’s likely she did a lot of work in her office downtown.”

“We’ve been to her cubicle and spoken to her colleagues,” Starger said. “Including some who witnessed your blowup in the plaza. It was quite the scene.”

“Then I suppose you’ve read her story about me.”

“We have. You’re saying it’s inaccurate?”

“No. My problem was that she lied and possibly used illegal means in order to get me to participate in a slam piece against myself.”

“Yeah, the captain told us he’d received some kind of hard evidence that had happened.”

Lynch. He’d told her that he’d find a way to do it, but she hadn’t thought he’d had time yet.

Griffin shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time that a journalist gained the cooperation of a source under false pretenses.”

“She was scum,” Beth said bluntly. “I had a front-row seat to the whole thing. Lying scum.”

“Calm down, Beth. Her actions speak for themselves, as your captain will confirm, Detective,” Kendra said. “I’ll just leave it at that.”

“That’s all well and good,” Stokes said. “But we may still wish to have you come in and discuss this with us a bit further, Dr. Michaels.”

She stared at him, trying to decipher his tone. Was he threatening her? Or merely trying to check all the necessary boxes in the investigation? Or he might just be trying to pick her brains so that he would look good to his superiors. She was leaning toward the last option. It was what he had done at that first crime scene where she had met him. No problem. As long as he needed something from her, she might be able to get information. Cooperation would definitely be the correct course. She was probably going to have to live with suspicion until she was able to prove Colby had killed Sheila. She’d have to walk very carefully indeed. “Anytime.”

She stepped through the bathroom doorway and froze. The shower was blocked by several lengths of police tape, pulled taut over the glass door. “What’s this?”

Starger joined her in the cramped bathroom. “The forensics team has indicated that they might want to come back for another look there.”

“Why?” Kendra said as she examined the white tile shower walls. “The only reason they’d do that is if…” Realization hit her. “… they think the killer might have cleaned up here.”

Starger nodded.

Kendra knelt beside the shower to get a closer look at a tiny stain on the wall tiles. “Is that blood?”

“Yes,” Starger said.

“Would you care to elaborate and tell me whose blood?” Kendra asked. “Purely in the spirit of our vaunted cooperation?”

Stoker spoke to Griffin as well as Kendra. “The blood is Sheila Hunter’s. But we obtained other genetic material here. We’re trying to push it through the lab.”

“What genetic material?”

“We found some hair in the shower drain that wasn’t hers.”

Kendra moved closer and examined the toiletries on a small shelf above the sink. “Nothing out of the ordinary here. This is all the same shampoo, soap, and cologne she was wearing on the two days I saw her.”