The Dead Room

job processing the evidence.

Something about the binoculars bothered her. She thought about Randy’s grid map and carried the evidence report with her to the conference room.

52

Darby stood in front of the whiteboard. The binoculars had been found in the upper-left-hand quadrant of the woods, a good distance away from the incline leading up to the road. Randy had recovered sneaker prints near the binoculars. These same prints matched the ones on the back deck steps, and so belonged to the person who had shot their way inside the house. This person had been far away from the others. It was possible this person was acting independently of the other men – had no connection to them. Okay, so why did the binoculars bother her?

She flipped back through the pages. Here. Smooth glove prints and a couple of smudged latent prints Mark had tried to enhance without any luck.

She read the specs on the binoculars. They were made by Nikon. Inexpensive. Not the sort of thing a tactical person would use. The bald guy with the tactical vest had had night-vision goggles. The Fed, Alan, had used some sort of HERF device to fry the circuitry inside the hospital’s security cameras. The TV cameraman she’d seen watching the house had had a camera with a laser mike. High-tech equipment. These binoculars were small, meant to be folded and tucked into a back pocket. You used them to watch birds, maybe a sporting event or a concert. They weren’t used for surveillance.

She turned the binoculars over in her mind’s eye. Saw the cracked plastic and the screws, the screw had –

Darby left the conference room and checked the binoculars out of the evidence locker.

The screws had been stripped. Someone had taken apart the binoculars to fix them. Someone had touched the inside of the binoculars. Mark had only fumed the outside.

She carried the evidence bag back to serology. She told Mark about the binoculars.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I never… It didn’t even occur to me.’

He took them to the exam room across the hall.

Randy said, ‘The fingerprints came back on the Belham house. No matches except for those belonging to Kendra Sheppard and her son. The ones that we couldn’t identify I’m guessing belong to the people who own the house.’

‘Wexler,’ Darby said, wondering why neither the man nor his wife had returned her call.

She turned her attention to the bloody clothes spread out across the bench.

Kendra found out who Sullivan really was, Ezekiel had said, and she also found out about the Boston Feds setting up local witnesses and informants… Kendra told me she’d kept the tapes, notes, all of it. I don’t know where they are; she didn’t tell me.

Audio tapes and notes are bulky things. She couldn’t have carried them with her all the time. That meant she must have locked them away somewhere safe. Where? A safety deposit box?

No, Darby thought. You have to fill out a form for that, you need to show a licence. Whatever identity she was using would have to have been logged on the bank’s computer system. Kendra didn’t trust computers. She wouldn’t have wanted to give these men a way to trace her.

So where had she stored these tapes?

‘The clothes are pretty much dreck,’ Randy said. ‘Lots of blood, yes, but most likely it’s the vic’s. We’re using…’

Randy’s voice trailed off in her mind. Darby was thinking about an airport locker. That was anonymous. Stuff your items in the locker and pay a fee – you could use cash. Problem: you couldn’t use an airport locker indefinitely. The fee covered you for a day or two, depending on the airport. An airport was anonymous but not convenient. Kendra would have wanted to keep the evidence she had close to her – within arm’s reach. She’d need access to it quickly in case she had to run. She had been running for a long time.

‘… just what they’re reporting on the radio and TV about the bomb site,’ Randy was saying. ‘Dr Edgar and his grads students are still unaccounted for, along with Jennings. Lots of injuries but no names given, lots of witnesses…’

Running, Darby thought. Kendra had been on the run for twenty plus years, changing identities for her and her son. Ezekiel had said something about Wisconsin. Kendra working at an insurance company, Kendra seeing Peter Alan heading inside the building and Jack King sitting behind the wheel of a car parked right out front.

She picked up Sean from school and started driving to look for a new place to live, Ezekiel had said, just left all of her stuff behind.

Darby said, ‘Randy, I need you to get Kendra’s handbag from the evidence locker.’

‘I searched it and didn’t –’

‘Don’t talk, just go get it.’

In her mind she saw Kendra spotting the dead FBI agents. What did she do? She drove away to pick up her son from school.

Drove to find a new place to live.

Left all of her stuff behind.

But not everything – not the most important thing, a cold, flat voice said. Kendra wouldn’t have left behind the evidence. She needed that. So after she picked up Sean, she drove – she didn’t stop, she just kept driving because she already had the evidence with her. She figured out a way to have it with her at all times, within arm’s reach in case she needed to run. She had the evidence with her at all times.

Randy removed the handbag from the evidence bag and placed it on the bench. Darby’s attention never left the blood-soaked clothes, afraid that if she looked away she’d lose the connection to the voice speaking to her: She had the evidence with her at all times. She had the evidence with her at all times.

Darby reached for the box of latex gloves. She put them on and started with the handbag.

Black leather Liz Claiborne wallet holding nothing but cash and a Vermont driver’s licence for Amy Hallcox.

Three plastic-wrapped tampons.

Next, the box of Altoids. Nothing in there but mints.

She had the evidence with her at all times.

You couldn’t carry a handbag with you at all times. Kendra would have used something that she could have with her at all times.

What was left? Watch and jewellery.

The watch had already been dusted for prints. Darby picked it up. Black polyurethane strap and a black faceplate surrounded by a stainless-steel mask with a brushed-steel finish. The second hand ticked along steadily. Silver numbers but no manufacturing stamp identifying the watchmaker.

She turned it over. The back of the watch looked normal, but not the left side. A small rectangular piece of plastic. She grabbed a pair of tweezers and pushed out a plastic tab belonging to a small USB flash drive.

‘Holy shit,’ Randy said. Then his surprise turned to embarrassment. ‘I never would’ve thought… I examined that watch myself and not once did I notice that.’

‘You weren’t supposed to. It’s concealed. I need to take this to my office. Oh, and before I go, I should tell you that there’ll be some people inside here momentarily sweeping the office for listening devices.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Sorry, Randy, I can’t tell you. Orders of the commissioner.’

‘Say no more.’

Darby thought about the USB drive. Kendra Sheppard had gathered information during a time when such