"They can type these blood drops and see if they match the ones we saw on the car."

"My thought exactly. And we'll see if any of these businesses have security cameras going, especially where you think the attacker's car was parked." His cell beeped, and he stared intently at his phone screen.

"What is it?"

"A text from Griffin. He wants us down at the FBI field office as soon as we can get there." He showed her the message. "It's about the carpet in Stedler's apartment. I'm gaining tremendous respect for that nose of yours, Kendra."

CHAPTER.

10.

IN LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR, they were in the eighth-floor FBI lab staring at the four-foot-by-eight-foot section of carpet that the forensics team had removed from Jeff Stedler's apartment after Kendra and Lynch's visit. Griffin and a ponytailed young forensics specialist named Dustin Freen stood with them at the long worktable.

"First of all, you were right about this being a different batch from the carpet that was in the rest of the apartment, sir," Freen told Griffin.

Griffin leaned toward the carpet. "Interesting. You're positive about that?"

"No question." Freen gestured toward a monitor on the stand behind them. "We took fibers from this piece and from samples taken from the rest of the apartment, then compared them under a microspectrophotometer. It shows us how light interacts with the fibers. It can change with time, environment, and slight differences in the manufacturing process. Even though it's the same carpet and same manufacturer, there's no doubt that this piece comes from a completely different run."

"Pretty much what Kendra's nose told us," Lynch said dryly. "Did your people follow up with the building maintenance staff?"

Freen nodded. "They didn't replace this. They have some sc.r.a.ps in a utility room that they use for repairs, but we cut some samples and it's all fairly close to the carpet in the rest of his apartment." He picked up a sheet of paper. "This carpet is made by a company in Dalton, Georgia. It has a gold tint that's not all that fashionable these days, but someone did purchase forty square yards of it just last week."

"That's not much," Kendra said.

Lynch nodded. "Just about enough to cover a good-sized walk-in closet." He pointed to the sample in front of them. "Or this piece."

Freen smiled. "You're going to like this. The buyer insisted that it be sent out via overnight air freight to San Diego."

Kendra, Lynch, and Griffin exchanged glances. "Tell me we have a name and delivery address," Lynch said.

"Just a name, Bill Carthers. It was picked up here at the airport offices of the shipping company, Profit By Air. Whoever he is, he paid much more to ship it out here than he did for the carpet itself."

"Method of payment?" Griffin asked.

"Cash on delivery. We haven't gotten anywhere following up on the name. You might follow up at the shipping office for some more details."

"We'll do that," Lynch said as he turned toward the door. "Good work, Freen."

He shrugged. "Just doing my job."

"Thanks for the heads-up, Griffin," Lynch said as they left the lab and walked toward the elevator bank.

Griffin shrugged. "Least I could do. It was Kendra's catch. Besides, aren't we still sharing info with each other?"

"We are."

Griffin gave him a distinctly cool glance. "Then why have you tasked two of my agents to log traffic cams from Rancho Bernardo?"

"We have reason to believe that Jeff Stedler was there shortly before he disappeared, so I have them looking for his car. I figure with the pattern-recognition software, it won't take too long to find if it pops up."

"Two days, minimum. It's a lot of video and a lot of manpower that's desperately needed elsewhere. I know you have powerful friends, but you still don't get to make a.s.signments in my office."

Lynch said quietly, "I could have danced around, playing nice, filling out forms, but in the end those agents would have ended up doing exactly what I told them to do. If you'd told me no, I would have made one phone call, and you would have been overridden. I thought I'd save me the time and you the embarra.s.sment."

"Let me worry about that. I don't embarra.s.s easily." His jaw set belligerently. "I don't know why the h.e.l.l you've been given carte blanche to do whatever the h.e.l.l you want, and it p.i.s.ses me off. But the fact that you're here this morning is proof that I'm trying to give you all the support I can. But it's going to be my way and under my orders. I'm still running this investigation, and I need to coordinate the efforts of my team. So don't pull that c.r.a.p again. Understand?"

Kendra could sense the tension and leashed anger in Lynch though his face was without expression. She was half expecting an explosion, but instead he leaned back, thought for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I can, actually. You're right. From now on, I'll run this stuff through you."

Griffin seemed almost as surprised as Kendra. Braced for a fight, his shoulders suddenly relaxed. "Well ... Good."

Lynch nodded back toward the lab. "That was helpful. Thanks. Kendra and I will follow up, and we'll let you know what we find out."

Kendra didn't say anything as she followed Lynch back through the hallway and down the elevator. As they crossed the foyer to the elevator to the parking garage, she suddenly laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"That was unexpectedly 'gracious' of you. Even Griffin didn't quite know how to respond."

"That's why I did it."

"I had a feeling that was the reason. You completely disarmed him."

"Also, I was wrong." Lynch shrugged. "I know what it's like to lead a team, and it totally undermines your authority to have someone else come in and start giving orders to your subordinates. I was trying to be expedient, but what I did is known in the trade as a 'd.i.c.k move.'"

"Not just in the trade."

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "Did you just call me a d.i.c.k?"

"If the shoe fits..."

"This is why I usually work without a partner."

She gazed at him blandly. "'Cause you know you're gonna be called a d.i.c.k?"

His lips turned up on one corner. "I've been called a lot worse."

"That makes two of us."

"Really? Now who-" He stopped. "I won't even go there."

"Good. Let's go to the freight office instead."

THE PROFIT BY AIR BRANCH manager's name was Diddy Riese, and he was a burly, bearded man with huge, out-of-proportion arms that Kendra could only regard as Popeye-esque. His voice's volume rose and fell in direct relation to the sounds of the jets taking off and landing from the nearby San Diego International Airport.

"After the FBI called, I pulled up everything I could find," he said, thumbing through a stack of papers on the front counter of the cramped office. "I even called the Atlanta office to see what they had."

"We appreciate that," Kendra said. "I'm sure you don't get many big rolls of carpet moving through here."

"It's expensive, but it's not unheard of. A designer suddenly realizes that he's shorted a job, or maybe someone needs to get their remodel finished in time for a party. When it happens, it almost always comes from our Atlanta office. From what I gather, Dalton, Georgia, is the carpet capital of the U.S."

"Now there's a claim to fame," Lynch said. "Were you here when it was picked up?"

"Yeah, I helped the guy load it into his van. He didn't say too much, but he tipped me twenty bucks."

"You wouldn't still happen to have that twenty, would you?" Lynch asked.

Riese chuckled. Then he looked at Kendra and realized that Lynch wasn't kidding. "Uh, no. Sorry. Guess you could've gotten fingerprints off it, huh?"

"Worth a shot. What kind of van was he driving?"

"It was a white-panel cargo van. A Ford Ecoline, I'm pretty sure." Riese looked back down at his papers. "Anyway, the Atlanta office said that the carpet roll was delivered by the carpet company at 11:43 A.M. on Friday the twenty-third."

"Twenty-third?" Lynch shot Kendra a meaningful glance. She had caught the significance of that date but she wished she hadn't. It scared her. The delivery was on the day after Jeff's disappearance.

Riese was looking at another paper. "And it was picked up here at 6:09 P.M. that evening."

"Good," Lynch said. "And can you describe the driver?"

"Don't need to." Riese pulled a color printout from the folder. "We have a security camera out on the loading dock."

"Oh, how I was hoping you would say that."

Lynch took the printout and held it so that Kendra could see. It showed a short, middle-aged man standing next to the van. "Does that tell you anything?"

She examined the photo for a long moment. "Well, only that they need to invest in a better security camera. I've seen forty-dollar baby monitors with sharper pictures than this."

Lynch nodded. "Believe me, this is sharper than most. Ask anyone in law enforcement, and these things have to be pretty far up the list of pet peeves. But does this tell you anything else at all?"

"Other than that man is left-handed and obviously wears a hairpiece? No."

Lynch's eyes narrowed on the photo. "Nice."

Riese nodded. "I think he was working just as hard holding down the rug on his head as he was lifting the other one into the van." He handed Lynch a DVD. "This is the video for the entire time he was here. I looked at it, and l don't think you can make out the license plate. You guys probably have some special machines to make it sharper, though."

"Not that special. But thanks, this could be helpful."

"This shot looks like it was taken while he was talking," Kendra said. "Did he say anything about where he was headed or where he came from?"

"Nope. He actually didn't talk a whole lot. I didn't know if the carpet was for him or if he was just making a delivery. He was kind of in a hurry, but so are a lot of our customers. Otherwise, they would just ship it ground."

Lynch pointed to the short stack of papers. "Are those for us?"

Riese handed him the stack. "All the info I have on the shipment, including the receiving doc.u.ments that I had faxed from Atlanta. I just wish I knew why the FBI is interested in a guy for shipping carpet."

"Sorry," Lynch said as he held open the door for Kendra. "It's an ongoing investigation."

"Ah, I figured," Riese said, disappointed. "Maybe I'll read about it in the newspaper."

"You never can tell," Lynch said. "Thanks, Riese."

KENDRA WAS STUDYING THE printout as she and Lynch sped away from the cargo office. "You don't think the FBI forensics team can really get any more out of the security video, do you?"

"No. In my experience, if you start with mush, no amount of zooming and sharpening is going to give you anything else."

"Still, it's not a bad shot of this guy. Don't they have some kind of facial-recognition software?"

"Sure. Only it's nowhere near as sophisticated as the stuff Facebook and Google are developing. Even if we send this to Washington, we'll have a better chance of getting results from my contacts in northern California."

"So is that our next step?"

"Actually, I want to try something else first." He cast a sideways glance at her. "You're not the only one who knows people on the fringes of society."

Her brows rose. "I have the feeling I'm about to meet one of them."

"If he's still alive."

"Is he old?"

"No, but he does have some rather self-destructive appet.i.tes. His name is Derek Carner, and he was one of the best cleaners in the business."

"And what exactly does he clean?"

"Crime scenes."

"Ah. And I'm guessing he doesn't wait until after the police are done with it."

"No. It's his job to make sure that no one knows there ever was a crime there. He worked for the MacDougal crime family until they went out of business a few years ago."

"Out of business? Victims of the recession?"

"Victims of me, if you'll excuse my immodesty. After the organization imploded, Carner went freelance. I was rather hoping that it would be him in that picture, but Carner is taller and thinner than this guy, and his face isn't nearly as round."