11
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Kendra, Lynch, and Jessie stood in the living room of Powers’s house watching as the police searched every drawer and surface. Metcalf emerged from a back room with an expression that was far from encouraging.
“Anything?” Kendra asked.
“Not yet.” Metcalf shook his head. “No ski mask, no night-vision goggles, nothing that you saw him wearing the other night.”
“The guy knows how to clean up after himself,” Jessie said.
Metcalf extended his hand to Jessie. “I’m Special Agent Roland Metcalf. FBI. Your motorcycle makes me think you might be the person who lent a timely assist to Kendra the other night.”
She shook his hand. “I’m Jessie Mercado. I guess I was just in the right place at the right time.”
“Uh-huh. Something tells me there’s more to it than that.”
“There is,” Kendra said. “I’ll explain it to you later, Metcalf.”
“Sure.” Metcalf’s eyes were narrowed on Jessie’s face. “Have we ever met? I have a nagging feeling that I’ve seen you before.”
She smiled. “I don’t think so.”
He was still staring. “I’m pretty sure I have.”
“I think I just have one of those faces.”
“No, you don’t. It’ll come to me.”
She shrugged. “If it does, let me in on the secret. Because I’m sure we haven’t met.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it.” He pulled his gaze away and finally turned to Kendra. “As for our search of the house, we’ve only come up with one interesting thing so far.”
“What’s that?”
He placed a business card on the table in front of them.
Kendra leaned over and read the card aloud. “Peter Hutchinson, Attorney at Law.”
Lynch chuckled. “That is interesting.”
Kendra looked up. “Why? Other than the fact that we’re supposed to be impressed by his willingness to spend big bucks on silk-laminated business cards.”
“He can afford them,” Jessie said. “Peter Hutchinson is probably the highest-priced lawyer in the city.” She glanced around the living room. “Too high-priced for anyone who lives here, for damned sure.”
Lynch turned to Kendra. “Does anything here catch your eye?”
Kendra scanned the foyer, living room, and small kitchen. “Not much. He makes his living as a manual laborer of some kind. There are work boots in the foyer, construction gloves tucked inside. He owns an RV. It’s probably stored in a facility nearby, so it might be worth checking out.”
“How do you figure that?” Jessie asked.
Kendra pointed toward a hook in the kitchen where a ring of keys hung. “Fleetwood ignition and rear-compartment keys, plus a Medeco security key cut on a slant that most likely goes to a storage unit.” She glanced at Metcalf. “Did you find any medication?”
He looked surprised. “Yes, actually. In the bathroom.”
“Injectable?”
“How did you know?”
“There are two sterile syringe wrappers in the waste can next to the computer desk.” She thought for a moment. “Are they prescription?”
“The vials look commercial, but there wasn’t a prescription label.”
“Hmm. Let me take a look.”
Kendra and Metcalf walked back through a messy bedroom to the master bath. Metcalf pointed to two small vials next to the sink. “Here they are. The labels have no product name and no manufacturer name, just a series of numbers. Maybe batch and sorting ID codes.”
Kendra knelt, and her gaze narrowed on the bottles. “I don’t know what they mean.” She raised her phone and snapped a picture of both labels. “Can you bag these and take them to the lab?”
“Any special reason?”
Kendra stood up. “I saw two bottle impressions on a hand towel in Waldridge’s hotel bathroom. They were the exact same size as these. It might mean nothing, but we should check it out.”
“Oh, I agree.” He smiled. “You’ve been racking up some major lab time. Griffin isn’t going to like it.”
“He can take it out of my pay.”
“What pay?”
“Exactly.” She turned toward the doorway where Lynch and Jessie were standing. “I think we’ve gotten what we can from here for now. What do you say we go to the hospital and continue our conversation with Powers? He should be out of ER by now.”
“THERE WILL BE NO CONVERSATION with Wallace Powers.”
Kendra, Lynch, and Jessie stood in the hospital corridor, gazing at the tall, broad-chested man blocking their way. He wore a charcoal-gray Brioni twill suit that had to have cost him thousands, Kendra thought.
The man handed each of them a business card identical to the one they had seen at Powers’s house. “My name is Peter Hutchinson. Any communication you wish to have with Mr. Powers must be conducted through me.”
“You’re his attorney?” Kendra asked.
“I am.”
Lynch pocketed the card. “I just spoke with the officers on duty here. They told me Powers hasn’t made any phone calls.”
“I’m sure he hasn’t.”
“Then how did you know he was here?”
Hutchinson’s plump, pouty, lips smiled. “It’s my job to be attuned to the needs of my clients, Mr…”
“Lynch. Adam Lynch. You didn’t answer my question. How did you know he was here?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to accept my seemingly glib response, Mr. Lynch. May I ask, what is your official capacity in this matter?”
“No you may not. But you can ask me,” Kendra said. “My official capacity is victim. Your client attacked me.”
“Allegedly. We have slander laws in this state, Miss…”
“If you want her name, ask your client,” Lynch said. “He knows. And while you’re at it, ask him why he did it. Unless you know already.”
“Why would I have knowledge of such a thing?”
Kendra smiled. “Whoever is paying you may have told you. By the way, who is paying you? I have a feeling it isn’t Powers.”
“Financial matters are between me and my client.”
“Right.” Jessie stepped forward. “But are you really representing Powers’s best interests? We already have some rock-solid evidence against him, so unless he gets cooperative very soon, he’s going to jail. That may be okay with whoever’s paying your bills, but I have a hunch it won’t be okay with the man in that room. Even if he isn’t willing to talk, you can’t keep a cop from coming and telling what is or is not his best interest.”
“They’re certainly welcome. But I’m willing to put my powers of persuasion against those of a local police detective, any day of the week.”
“Maybe they’ll let me in the room,” Lynch said. “I’ve been known to be very persuasive.”
Hutchinson smiled. “Ah. So you can get in a few more licks on an injured man? Trust me, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you stay as far from him as possible.”
Time to throw out another bit of bait and see if he’d take it. “Your client may be involved in another abduction,” Kendra said. “A man named Dr. Charles Waldridge.”
He didn’t change expression. “Your proof?”
“We’ll have it. I promise you, if anything happens to him, we’ll find all the proof we need to nail everyone responsible.”
Lynch added softly, “Everyone.”
“More threats, Mr. Lynch.”
“Call it a warning. In my line of work, I’ve always found threats a waste of time. You just make a decision, then you act.”
“Call it whatever you like. I’ve instructed my client not to speak to anyone about this case. Go look elsewhere for your proof.”
Hutchinson crossed his arms in front of him, assuming the pose of a thuggish bouncer guarding the door of a college-town bar. Something that didn’t quite work in this setting, Kendra thought. Maybe it was the six-thousand-dollar suit.