Night Watch (Kendra Michaels #4)(10)

Kendra had known this was coming. “Do this for me, and we’ll talk about it. I have to get in that room, Griffin.”

“Believe it or not, most big-city police departments employ very competent investigators. Is there anything that leads you to believe they’re not doing their jobs?”

“No. But they can always use an extra set of eyes.”

“Especially yours?”

“Yes. That’s what you always told me when you wanted my help.”

“But Santa Monica PD hasn’t asked for your help. Or the FBI’s help.”

Griffin was playing with her, trying to manipulate her as he usually did. He hadn’t liked it that she had opted to stay away from the Bureau this long. Put up with it. She needed him at the moment. “Waldridge isn’t just a British citizen. He’s an internationally renowned medical researcher. We may want to get a head start on this.”

“So now it’s ‘we.’ I know this doctor means something to you, Kendra, but you—”

“Then make the call. Get me in there.”

Griffin sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. The Huntley Hotel?”

“Yes. Thanks, Griffin.”

“Don’t thank me yet. And if I do get you in there, do me a favor and don’t treat them like they’re total idiots. Okay?”

“But what if they are total idiots?”

“Keep it to yourself.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s not very comforting. Good-bye, Kendra.”

*

DESPITE A TRAFFIC SNARL-UP in Irvine, Kendra reached the Huntley Hotel in less than two hours. She stepped off the elevator on the eighth floor and immediately spotted a uniformed officer at the end of the corridor. As she walked toward him, he quickly sprang into intercept mode.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll have to ask you to—”

“It’s okay, Officer,” a voice called from the end of the hall. “Let her through.”

Kendra looked up to see a stocky detective with close-cropped blond hair and a bright red face. It wasn’t a sunburn, she decided. He was probably just of Irish descent.

She extended her hand. “I’m Kendra Michaels.”

“Tommy Shea, Santa Monica PD.” He shook her hand. “In the past couple hours, I’ve heard from both the FBI and the San Diego PD about you, Dr. Michaels. They seemed to think it was extremely important that you take a look at this crime scene.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I’m the one who helped piece together your connection with Waldridge. After I couldn’t get hold of you, just to be safe, I called San Diego PD and had them make contact.”

“Which they did. That’ll teach me to go running without my phone. Have you found anyone who might have seen him after I did last night?”

“He popped up on security cams in the lobby and parking garage around 9 P.M. After that … nothing.”

“That’s strange. No sign of him leaving?”

“No. And no sign of anyone suspicious around him. I looked at the video myself.”

“Is his rental car still here?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t appear to have been disturbed. The keys were in the room next to his wallet and phone. We’re having it towed in.”

She glanced inside the room. “You’re not about to break the scene down, are you?”

“Actually, we are. We’ve got what we needed. Fingerprints, photos…”

“DNA?” she asked.

“They took a few swabs, but you probably know what disgusting Petri dishes hotel rooms are.”

She grimaced as she recalled the few times she’d seen a hotel-room comforter illuminated by a UV light. “Gotcha.”

“Besides, we’re not even sure there was a crime committed here. Except maybe a little property damage. So if you want to take a look, knock yourself out. But after that, we’re packing up his belongings, and the hotel will send up their handyman to get the place back in circulation. There might be someone else in that bed tonight.”

“Great. Well, guess I better get to it before someone else obliterates whatever evidence might be left.”

Shea smiled and shook his head. “Naturally, you’re assuming there’s evidence we’ve missed. Detective Ortiz told me about you.”

“And still you’re letting me in.”

He gestured toward the open door. “Chalk it up to curiosity.”

“Anything that gets me inside.”

“Knock yourself out.”

She entered and stopped short inside the door. One side of the room looked as if Waldridge had merely stepped out for a bucket of ice, with his wallet, rental-car keys, and hotel-parking-garage ticket on an end table next to the unmade bed.

The other side, however, was a mess. The flat-screen TV was shattered, with weblike cracks emanating from the center. Fresh dings played over the pressed-wood white chest of drawers below, obviously struck by the overturned chair. Kendra looked at the desk, where the smashed phone had been knocked on the floor and a long ethernet cable had been stretched taut, halfway to the bed.

Kendra felt a sickening chill as she looked at the cord. “This cable was used as a weapon.”

Shea crossed his arms. “What makes you say that?”