Chapter 3

Kendra, what in the hell have you gotten yourself into now?"

Kendra turned over in her bed and looked at the clock: 3:15 A.M. She was only barely aware of the phone in her hand. But she knew she recognized the voice. "Lynch?"

"Sorry for the insanely early call."

"You should be sorry. Where in the world are you right now? Are you still sticking with the Switzerland story?"

"I'd rather not say. I'll tell you about it later."

She smiled. Pure Adam Lynch. Someday he'd tell her about his mission in some exotic locale. "Okay, so maybe you can tell me why you're calling me at three in the morning."

There was a short silence. "Then I don't suppose you've heard."

"Heard what?"

He was silent for a long moment before replying. "You recently met with a retired San Diego police detective. You're helping her with a cold case."

If she hadn't known him so well she might have thought that he had someone spying on her, but she knew Lynch had close contacts with the police and FBI. Still, this was invasive even for him.

"You're incredible. I haven't even known her for twenty-four hours. Her name is Paula Chase, and for your information, I still haven't decided if I'm helping her or not. I'm not sure if I could be of value."

"I'm afraid that may not be an issue, Kendra… She's dead."

"What?" Kendra sat up in bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll soon hear it from the police or maybe the news, but I wanted you to learn about it from me first. You tend to become involved."

"Of course I do," she said numbly. Kendra was still having trouble comprehending what she had just been told. "I suppose you even know what happened?"

"Justice thought I might be interested since you were involved." He added roughly, "Of course I was interested. Why the hell didn't you tell me that you were dealing with this kind of shit? You didn't even mention it."

"It wasn't any of your business. Besides, all you had to do was access another of your contacts about Paula. I'm sure no one would chance upsetting you by keeping you in the dark about anything concerning me. How did she die?"

"She was murdered in her home. A neighbor called it in last night. The first officers on the scene thought she might have interrupted a burglary, but it turns out she was just at the downtown station yesterday, trying to get some help on a missing persons case that may be related to an old investigation of hers. She told the detectives that she'd gone to you for help. I guess she thought that might light a fire under them."

"I can't believe it."

"My source in the SDPD was a bit incredulous, too. But since it concerned you, he knew I'd be interested. He didn't give me many details, but her murder did accomplish one thing: The police are now taking that case much more seriously."

"Good."

"So there's really no need for you to get involved."

"I don't know how you can say that. Or was that a command?"

"No. Be for real. I know you better than to try that. You don't respond well to commands, from me or anyone else. It was just an observation. That missing persons case is now a priority, and I'm sure they'll be searching to see if there's any connection to the old cold case. It's all being covered."

"Maybe."

Lynch clicked his tongue. "You're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

"You do know me, Lynch. I don't see that I have all that much choice."

"Of course you do."

"Paula Chase didn't have to get involved. She's been retired for years, but she put herself on the line for those two young women. Which is more than anyone else was doing. She may have died for them."

"I suppose you're right."

"Which means I have to do what I can."

He sighed. "Of course you do. Where will you start?"

Kendra threw the covers off and swung her feet over the bed. "Her house. Now."

"Will you keep me informed?"

"Why should I bother? You're a busy man. But I'm certain that you'll be able to check your usual sources."

"Kendra."

"Sorry. I'm a little irritated. And I liked Paula. But I might be inclined to forgive and forget if you pull some strings that help me find out who the devil killed her."

"Did it occur to you that I was feeling helpless and wanted to touch base with you occasionally?" he asked quietly.

"No," she said. "You never feel helpless. You rule the world."

"Have it your way." She could almost imagine him shrugging. "I'll see if I can run a little of it your way if I get the chance. Take care of yourself, Kendra."

"Always."

"That's the problem I've been having. ‘Always' is a word that's not in your vocabulary on a regular basis. You're too damn independent. Perhaps we'll both have to make a few adjustments."

Less than half an hour later, Kendra was driving through Paula Chase's pleasant San Marcos neighborhood where, she was sure, local television stations would soon be interviewing shocked residents about the horrible crime that had shattered their peaceful hamlet. It was still a good hour before sunrise, making it easy to spot the work lights and police flashers from almost a mile away.

Kendra parked her car, climbed out, and ducked underneath the yellow-and-black police tape stretched across the driveway.

"Kendra?"

She stopped and turned around. FBI agent Roland Metcalf was just a few steps behind her, slightly favoring his left leg. "What are you doing here? Somebody must have really begged you to be a part of this."

"Somebody did." Her lips tightened. "The victim."

"The victim?" Metcalf pushed back his mop of thick brown hair. He was a handsome young agent, about thirty, who had recently spent several weeks in the hospital recovering from a killer's booby-trap explosion. He'd been far enough away that he avoided the worst of the blast, and Kendra was happy that his recovery seemed to be going so well.

"Yes, the victim. Paula Chase herself. I just met her yesterday. But why are you here, Metcalf? This doesn't seem like the FBI's beat."

"Normally, it wouldn't be. But she'd been pushing us to follow up on an old serial killer case that our office had been helping investigate back in the day." His eyes widened and he gave a low whistle. "She got you to help her, didn't she?"

"It wasn't definite. I hadn't decided yet."

"Neither had we. But when this call came in, Griffin sent me to represent the Bureau in case there might actually be some connection to that Bayside Strangler case."

Metcalf flashed his badge at the officer guarding the scene, and he and Kendra stepped inside the one-story house. Kendra stopped. The place was a shambles, with every drawer, every cabinet, even the stove and refrigerator opened and contents spilled onto the floors.

"Wow," Metcalf said. "I take it Detective Chase didn't usually live like this."

"I doubt it." Kendra scanned the scene, trying to get some sense of what the intruder might have been looking for. She'd seen several murder scenes where the killer ransacked the place to give the appearance of an interrupted burglary, but this wasn't one of those. It was clear the searcher had been on a mission, and didn't leave until every nook and cranny had been explored.

A photographer and four forensics techs were working the scene, and a red-haired detective with a wrinkled shirt and blue sport coat emerged from a back doorway. Kendra had seen Detective Ronald Breen a few times before, and he still wore a short strip of facial hair above his upper lip that creepily resembled a Hitler mustache.

Breen reacted in surprise at seeing them. "Huh. No one told me the FBI was taking over the case. Fine. Give me a sec to pull my guys out."

"Just the guys?" Kendra said. "Two of the techs and the photographer are women."

Breen pulled a thin-lipped smile. "No sexism implied, Dr. Michaels. So nice to see you again."

His voice was dripping with sarcasm. Although several cops had resented her involvement over the years, Breen was often one of the most hostile.

"The Bureau isn't taking over anything," Metcalf said. "This is San Diego PD's show all the way."

"So you're just here for an evening's entertainment?"

"Trust me, I'd rather be in my nice warm bed. Paula Chase was in our offices in the past few days about a missing persons investigation and how it might relate to an old cold case."

"She's been beating down our door, too. As a matter of fact, my partner and I may have been among the last people to see her alive."

"Where?" Kendra asked.

"Downtown, at police HQ. She didn't think we were doing enough to search for the Morgan sisters." Breen rolled his eyes in a way that Kendra knew must have infuriated Paula. "That lady thought the girls might have actually cracked a case the police and the FBI couldn't make a dent in."

"Those women never gave up," Kendra said. "They were still at it years after everyone else threw in the towel. You know how details can shake loose after a few years. Maybe they found something no one else did."

Breen nodded. "Well, that's what the deceased kept trying to tell us."

Kendra winced. The deceased. Less than eighteen hours before, Paula Chase had been a vibrant older woman, passionately fighting to help those missing sisters. Now she was the deceased.

"Did you know her from before?" Metcalf asked.

"Nah, Detective Chase was a bit before my time," Breen said. "Some of the old guard have nice things to say about her, but I really wasn't fond of the way she implied I wasn't doing my job, you know?"

Maybe because you weren't, Kendra wanted to say. Instead she held her tongue for a change and just nodded. There was a reason why she was not popular with a number of officers, but she was working on it… sometimes.

"Are you working her murder?" Metcalf said.

"Nope, I'm not in homicide. Perry and Ellenshaw are on it. They're around here someplace. I got sent over because I've been working the Morgan sisters' disappearance, and there's now some thought this might be related, since the deceased had been squawking so much about it."

Squawking. Kendra shook her head, positive that there was no way she could continue to hide her dislike of the man standing in front of her.

Metcalf obviously saw she was about to lose it. He quickly gestured toward the back doorway. "Murder scene is in here?"

"Yeah. Knock yourselves out."

Kendra and Metcalf moved through the doorway, where Paula Chase's bloody body was sprawled on the floor beside her torn-up bed.

As difficult as it was to see, Kendra forced herself to keep looking. She'd never get used to the grisly and depressing sight of someone murdered in cold blood. The two latex-gloved forensics techs leaning over her obviously had no such issues, as they worked with clinical detachment.

Paula Chase wore the same cream-colored suit she'd been sporting at her and Kendra's one and only meeting at the Pacific Villas retirement community the day before. Her hands were bagged to preserve later evidence collection efforts at the morgue, and there were at least three puncture wounds on her torso. Her face was frozen in a horrible grimace, showing how excruciating her last minutes were for her.

"She definitely walked in on her intruder," Kendra said, trying to adopt the same steely discipline as the techs. "He continued tearing the place apart after he killed her."

"How do you figure that?" Metcalf asked.

Kendra pointed toward the mattress stuffing around the corpse. "Most of the stuffing and other debris is beneath her body, but some is on top. He killed her after most of the place had been ransacked, but finished the job after her murder."

"You're saying ‘he.' Is there a reason for that?"

"Yes. In the living room, there's a faint partial heel print in blood. It's a large heel, probably a man's size twelve or thirteen. It was tracked in there after Paula's blood was spilled. There's a texture to it that suggests the print was stamped through a medical bootie."

Metcalf pointed to the bootie-clad feet of the evidence collection techs. "It could have been one of them."

Kendra shook her head. "Not likely."

"I agree," a strong male voice said behind them.

Kendra and Metcalf turned to see a police detective Kendra hadn't met before. He wore his badge and ID around his neck, identifying him as Detective Raymond Perry.

Perry nodded at Kendra. "The living room print is from an athletic shoe, which none of our people on this scene is wearing. Am I right?"

"Yes." Kendra extended her right hand. "Kendra Michaels."

Perry shook her hand. "I'm glad you're here."

"Really? It's more than your colleague would say."

"Breen? I'm not sure he wants to be here himself. Anyway, I'm quite confident of our ability to investigate this case without your help, Ms. Michaels. I was referring to the fact that you were among the last people to see Paula Chase alive. You're on my list of people I need to talk to."

"Of course." Kendra looked back down at Paula's corpse. "It's still so hard to believe. I'd just met her. She seemed like a special lady. She tried so hard to do the right thing for those missing women. I'm not sure she got the respect she deserved in the last days of her life."

Metcalf nodded. "My feeling is, she didn't get a whole lot of help from the FBI." He looked up at Perry. "I'm Special Agent Roland Metcalf. She came to see us, too. Who found her?"

"We got a call from the next-door neighbor. The houses are close together here, and he had his windows open. He heard a lot of strange noises from here early in the evening. Breaking dishes, toppled furniture, that kind of stuff. Shortly after dark, he saw someone leaving the residence that clearly wasn't Ms. Chase."

"Did he see the guy well enough to give a description?" Kendra asked.

"Not much of one. Just that it appeared to be a man dressed in dark clothing. He walked down to the corner and turned right. The neighbor could see Paula Chase's car in the garage, so he knocked on the door to check on her. When there was no answer, he tried to look into the windows. The blinds were drawn all around, but there was one opening just big enough for him to see that the place had been trashed. So he called the police, and they came for a welfare check. They broke in and found her."

"Security cameras or webcams in the neighborhood?" Metcalf asked.

Perry nodded. "Two webcams on this block, a few more around the corner. After sunrise, we'll ask the owners for access and see if there is anything saved in the cloud we can use."

"Good." Kendra looked at the objects strewn all over the floor. "Any idea what the killer was looking for?"

"No. Her purse was emptied in the foyer. If there was any cash in it, that was taken. But credit and ATM cards are still there."

Kendra turned and knelt on the bedroom floor. "Even the tiniest drawers and cubbies have been searched. It could be something very small. And the pillows have been shredded. What could you possibly hide inside one of your bedroom pillows?"

"Something worth killing for," Metcalf added.

Something occurred to Kendra. "Did you find her dog?"

"He was locked in a hall closet. The doggy is fine. The next-door neighbor has him now. Her sister's flying in from out of state, so I guess she'll figure out what to do with the pooch."

"That's a relief."

Perry half smiled. "… you say as you stand over their owner's slaughtered corpse."

"I'm quite sure Paula would be even more relieved. She loved her dog."

"Judging from all the framed photos I've seen around here, I'd say you're right," Perry said.

Kendra looked at the smashed photo frames and papers spread over the floor. "You know… This may be nothing, but there is something that might have been of interest to whoever broke in here."

"What's that?"

"Are you aware of the Bayside Strangler case files that the Morgan sisters compiled?"

Perry wrinkled his brow. "They had a copy of the police file?"

"No. Well, that might have been part of it, but they've spent years interviewing witnesses and doing their own investigating. It never really led anywhere, but the sisters' aunt offered it up to the police after they went missing. I assume it was probably Detective Breen. Anyway, the offer was refused. I guess your department didn't think it had much bearing on the missing persons case. Paula took possession of the files to study them. There were thousands of pages."

"Huh." Perry glanced around. "I haven't seen anything like that around here. You think maybe they were taken?"

"No. Definitely not."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I have them. All of them."

Metcalf looked as surprised as Perry. "How did that happen?"

"Paula gave them to me. I told her I'd take a look and let her know if I thought there was anything I could do to help. They're in my condo."

Perry nodded. "Interesting. You really think there's anything in those files that could trigger this kind of mayhem?"

"I haven't had a chance to look at them yet, but Paula went through all those boxes page by page. She didn't see anything that jumped out at her."

"Maybe we should take a look. How about if I send someone by to pick them up later today?"

"Sure. Call first, and I'll make sure I'm around."

"Good. No problem. Will do. Thanks for cooperating."

Dawn was breaking when Kendra and Metcalf stepped outside Paula's house and walked together down the driveway.

"What do you think?" Kendra asked. "See anything that will make the FBI want to get involved?"

"Not sure. I'll write my report later this morning. The files that those women pulled together may have more interest for everyone now. Sad to say, Paula Chase will probably have better luck attracting interest in the case just by dying."

Kendra made a face. Not only sad, totally tragic. "Unfortunately, I was thinking the same thing."

Metcalf glanced at his watch. "It's still early. Want to grab some breakfast?"

"I'm afraid I can't. I have to meet a client at my studio."

"Now?"

"In about an hour. I've been working with an autistic child a couple of times a week. She's fresher and more responsive in the mornings, so her mother brings her before school."

"Too bad. I'm thinking about chicken and waffles at Hash House a Go Go."

"Rub it in, Metcalf. You know I love that place."

"Or I might go for the pumpkin waffles at Cafe 222."

"Now you're just being cruel."

"It's what I do best." He shrugged. "Sorry you can't join me. It would be nice to catch up."

"Soon, I promise."

Metcalf nodded and held eye contact with her as he backed away. Most of Kendra's friends and colleagues, especially Lynch, insisted that Metcalf had a major crush on her, despite the fact that he never seemed to have any shortage of female attention. She'd refused to believe it until recently, when his long looks and sedated hospital proclamations finally convinced her they might be right. Face it, she hadn't wanted to believe it. She had enough problems with her career—and then there was Lynch, who was constantly on the scene and in her life.

But Metcalf was still lingering. "Let us know if you find out anything, Kendra."

"You know I will."

He slowly shook his head. "Not really."

"Point taken. Touch base with me if the Bureau decides to get involved. I promise I won't freeze you out, Metcalf."

He grinned. "I'll hold you to that."

"Good. See that you do."

Kendra drove straight to her studio in a medical plaza, where the large room was adorned with electronic keyboards, flatscreen monitors, and several other instruments, all in service of her music therapy practice. After a few minutes, eight-year-old Cecilia Barton arrived with her mother. The autistic child had been growing increasingly withdrawn in the years before they met, but Kendra discovered that she responded to a series of music games. Within months, Cecilia became more talkative and engaged in school and her other interpersonal relationships, and her parents and educators had given Kendra's exercises all the credit for her progress.

Kendra knew Cecilia could still slide backward, so she'd recently designed slightly more complex games that required even greater interaction. Cecilia had so far risen to the challenge, but this morning Kendra found herself distracted by memories of the murder scene she'd visited only hours before. She didn't think the girl or her mother noticed, but she hated not being completely present for her clients. Particularly when it involved a child. She concentrated and was able to give the girl her full attention.

"Good," Kendra said after seeing Cecilia correctly match three lengthy note sequences. "Try the next group."

The girl was getting better and faster with this game, but Kendra found it was herself that was finding it increasingly difficult to focus.

Damn. As long as the Morgan sisters were still missing and Paula Chase's killer was on the loose, sessions like this weren't going to get any easier.

The case had grabbed her and wasn't letting go.

Kendra said her goodbyes to Cecilia and her mother and was on her way out to her car when her text notification chimed.

She looked at her phone. It was a text from Lynch: HAVE FUN AT YOUR EARLY MORNING MURDER SCENE?

She leaned against her car and tapped out her reply: WONDERFUL. NOTHING LIKE A PRE-DAWN SLAUGHTER TO START THE DAY.

HMM. STILL QUESTIONING DECISION TO TIP YOU OFF. MAYBE SHOULD HAVE LET YOU SLEEP AND DREAM OF ADAM LYNCH.

She inserted a "rolling eyes" emoji and responded: AS ALWAYS, LYNCH HAS INSANELY INFLATED SENSE OF SELF.

MUST DISAGREE. SENSE OF SELF EERILY IN LINE WITH HIGH REGARD FROM WORLD LEADERS, LAWMAKERS, AND GENERAL POPULATION.

MORE IN LINE WITH NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER, PERHAPS.

CONVERSATION NOW TAKING MOST UNPLEASANT TURN.

She smiled and replied: MORE UNPLEASANT THAN GRUESOME MURDER SCENE?

FOR ME, PERHAPS.

SPOKEN LIKE TRUE NARCISSIST. WHERE ARE YOU? EXPECTED PHONE CALL, NOT TEXT.

His response came a few moments later: NOW SURROUNDED BY PARTIES TO A SENSITIVE NEGOTIATION. MAKING THEM BELIEVE CONCERNS ARE BEING TAKEN SERIOUSLY AND CAREFULLY RESEARCHED ON ENCRYPTED CELL PHONE.

INCREDIBLE. PERHAPS SHOULD TERMINATE TEXT CONVERSATION UNTIL LATER TIME.

NOT NECESSARY. TACTIC NOW GIVING NEGOTIATIONS ROOM TO brEATHE. BACK TO MORE PLEASANT MATTERS, WHAT IS THE STATUS OF YOUR INVOLVEMENT IN GRUESOME SAN DIEGO MISSING PERSONS/MURDER CASE?

Kendra crossed her arms in front of her while she thought about it. She knew the answer, of course. There was no way she could walk away from those young women or the heroic former police detective who may have given her life trying to save them. She tapped out her two-word reply:

ALL IN.