Hindsight, p.11
Hindsight, page 11
Fine. She’d take the stairs. She climbed to the fourth floor and moved toward unit 416 where Kit Randolph lived. She pressed the doorbell button but heard no sound from inside the apartment.
She rapped on the door.
Still nothing.
She could have called first, but she usually got better results if she showed up unannounced.
Only, of course, if the interview subject was home.
She pulled out her phone and punched the number she had just seen on Randolph’s interview report.
As she counted the rings, Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World” echoed from…somewhere. Kendra cocked her head. It could have been coming from the apartment. Could it be Kit Randolph’s ringtone?
She cut the connection and punched his number once more.
Again, “Joy to the World.”
But it wasn’t coming from the apartment.
She spun around, trying to get a fix on the sound. From one of the other apartments? No. It almost sounded like it was coming from…
She looked at an open window at the end of the corridor. There.
She moved toward it, keeping the phone connection open. The song grew louder and more distinct. But four floors up?
She stood before the window for a moment, then stuck her head out.
No sign of Randolph. Just a fire escape and a depressingly ugly view of an abandoned shipyard.
But still that song was playing.
She looked down. It wasn’t coming from there. That only left…
She craned her neck upward. It was coming from the building’s rooftop. Was Randolph trying to hide from her or other unwanted contacts there?
The music stopped and she looked at the phone in her hand. Her call had gone to voicemail.
Kendra looked at the fire escape. It had been freshly painted, but that was probably only to hide multiple layers of rust. It was obviously seventy or eighty years old, but it should still support her weight.
Right?
She climbed out the open window and took a tentative step. The fire escape creaked and groaned, but it held. Kendra climbed a dozen short steps and hopped off onto the roof. It had been recently resurfaced and sealed. Curved metal vents jutted from the building in the shape of dozens of question marks. Fitting.
She glanced around. No sign of Randolph. She punched his number again.
“Joy to the World” blared. This time it was close. Almost on top of her.
It was coming from behind one of the large vents. She walked around one, then another. No dice.
Then she reached the third. This was it, she realized. The music was there.
She ducked around the other side, prepared to give chase if he bolted. She threw herself forward, and—
Shit!
It was a very bloody corpse!
She’d stumbled, almost falling on top of him.
The man was seated, leaning against the vent. His throat was cut from ear to ear and he was covered in blood. The wounds were fresh. His face was battered, his eyes swollen shut, but his features matched the picture on the interview sheet. Kit Randolph. She knelt beside him to make sure he was dead.
Dammit. No question.
“Joy to the World” was still playing over the awful sight, blasting from the phone in his breast pocket. She cut the connection and stared at him for a moment longer as the sun set behind her. Without the blaring song, it suddenly seemed very quiet, with only a gentle wind and sounds of the harbor in the background.
And the reverberation of footsteps coming toward her from behind.
Not good.
Move!
Kendra scrambled away, toward another one of the tall vents. She ducked behind it.
Had she been spotted?
No. She heard two pairs of footsteps, probably both men. And their pace hadn’t quickened since she dove for cover.
She leaned low and peeked from behind the vent.
The men carried a large blue tarp as they walked toward Randolph’s corpse.
Kendra strained to get a better look at them. It was impossible to see their faces in the shadows where she stood because of fast-encroaching darkness, so she focused on their builds, gait, hairstyles, and anything else she could gather. The taller man breathed through his front teeth, emitting a slight whistle. The shorter of the two men had long, dark sideburns, and his gait was lithe, graceful.
“I know I heard someone up here,” the smaller man said, his speech clipped. British? “You heard it, too.”
“Don’t know what I heard.” The second man with that whistle had a Southern accent, probably Tennessee Valley. “We just need to get the hell out of here.”
“Wait. Be quiet.”
Both men went still.
Kendra quickly ducked behind the vent.
Mustn’t move.
Mustn’t breathe.
The smaller man finally spoke. “Let me check something. His phone kept going off.”
Kendra heard the rustling of fabric and the crumpling plastic tarp as she imagined him kneeling over their fresh kill.
After a long moment, he finally spoke. “Kendra Michaels!”
She jerked and felt an icy chill. But he was only reading the caller ID screen on the dead man’s phone.
“She called over and over again, Kendra Michaels. Three times in four minutes.” He called out, “Is that you we heard up here, Kendra?”
She held her breath.
“I think it was!” His voice dropped to a menacing purr. “And you’re still here.”
She cocked her head. Footsteps.
They were on the move. The men had separated, searching the rooftop for her. It was only a matter of time before they—
RING-RING-RING-RING-RING!
Her phone, still in her hand, blasted the ringtone. The call had come from the dead man’s phone.
The man with the sideburns had redialed her. They now knew exactly where she was.
“Over there!” he yelled.
She got one clear, brief glance at the faces of both men as they ran toward her.
Shit!
She tossed her phone, leaped to her feet, and bolted across the rooftop. They were already close and gaining on her.
She only remembered seeing one rooftop exit into the building, and it was behind her.
Keep running.
Keep pushing.
Keep thinking.
Another fire escape! Just ahead!
The footsteps pounded louder.
Shit.
The edge of the fire escape loomed only yards away.
But she couldn’t see what was beyond the edge. She didn’t know if there were actually steps, or if she’d be jumping into nothingness.
No time to stop. No thinking it through.
Just take the shot.
She leaped over the edge and landed hard on the metal stairs of the fire escape four feet down.
BAM!
Damn, that hurt.
She rolled over and flew down the stairs of the fire escape, searching frantically for an entry point into the building.
She passed window after window blocked by a rigid metal mesh, until she finally stepped down…into nothingness. The dilapidated fire escape simply ended…and left her dangling four stories above the concrete below!
She frantically gripped the handrail, trying to regain her footing.
BAM! BAM!
The men jumped onto the fire escape above her. They’d be on her in seconds.
Down, there was only pavement. To her right, the impenetrable windows. To the left…
She took a deep breath. To her left, there was another building. Another abandoned factory, another fire escape, and dozens of accessible windows.
At least seven feet away. Could she make it?
The men’s footsteps clanged on the metal fire escape above her.
She had to make it. But she needed a running start.
She followed the fire escape around the front corner of the building. There she had an eight-foot straightaway to build up some speed before going airborne.
She turned to face the other building. That seven-foot abyss looked even farther from here. This was insane.
But it was more insane to stay here and risk getting her throat cut like Randolph.
She crouched in a sprinter’s position and got ready. She raised her chin.
Raised her chin? As if that would keep her from splatting on the sidewalk below?
The men were getting closer.
She couldn’t wait any longer. She just had to do it.
Time to fly.
Kendra ran with all the speed she could muster, then launched herself from the very edge of the fire escape with all her force and strength. Dear God, let it be enough.
For a few seconds she felt as if she were lost in a bizarre dream.
Wind slapping against her cheeks.
Her pursuers yelling curses behind her.
The odor of decades-old shipyard oil catching in her throat.
SMASH. She hit the neighboring catwalk, rolled, and shattered the factory window with her right shoulder. She rolled back, trying to avoid the glass guillotines slicing downward.
SMASH-SMASH-SMASH-SMASH! She buried her head in her hands, feeling the glass spray pierce any exposed skin.
She looked at the backs of her hands. Cuts on both the backs and the palms. Blood.
But she was alive.
She hurtled through the open window and found herself on an interior catwalk. It looked like an old machine shop, with a massive main floor where ship engines were once built or repaired.
That smell…machine oil vapors. Dizzying, overpowering.
Ignore it. Fight through, find a way out…
She stumbled down the catwalk, weaving through a maze of old machine parts.
SMASH!
She turned back. At least one of the men had followed her crazy building-to-building leap. He stood silhouetted against the factory windows. He appeared to be the taller one.
Guess it was too much to hope for him to have been decapitated by falling glass, she thought regretfully.
He staggered through the same opening she’d entered, looking one way, then another.
She crouched low and moved behind a machine panel. She grabbed a steel pipe.
The man was now walking toward her, shaking the catwalk with what sounded like a limp.
THUMP-thump. THUMP-thump. THUMP-thump.
He stopped.
She peeked around the panel. He was obviously injured. She could use that.
Which leg was he favoring?
THUMP-thump. THUMP-thump.
The injury was to his right leg. It was bleeding.
He had stopped again and he was looking down.
He was tracking her, she realized. Using the bloody trail from her cut hands.
She reached down and slowly, quietly, raised the metal pipe. It was heavy.
Good.
THUMP-thump. THUMP-thump.
Gotta make this count.
She jumped to her feet and swung the pipe at the man’s good knee. He howled in pain, but before he could recover, she swung at his already-bleeding right leg.
He went down in a torrent of curse words.
She ran.
Her eyes were now adjusted to the darkness, but it still took a moment to see the stairs that led to the complex’s main floor. She jumped over a small sign and half ran, half slid down the stairs.
Light from the streetlights outside filtered through the floor-to-ceiling painted-over windows at the factory’s main entrance. She could do this, even if she had to break some more glass to do it.
She stopped halfway down.
Oh, shit.
The other man was down there waiting for her. He stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Behind her, the still-howling, still-cursing man had pulled himself to his feet.
She was boxed in.
She sized up her opponents. She’d take her chances with the downstairs guy first. The man behind her was still nursing his wounds, so he might not be such a—
CRASH!
A Toyota SUV burst through the front of the factory, shattering at least a dozen windows.
Kendra froze, stunned. What in the holy hell?
The man at the bottom of the stairs was clearly as surprised as she was. He spun around.
They stared at the still-running SUV. Its headlights blazed in the dark factory.
The man on the floor shielded his eyes from the glare with his forearm. He stepped toward the vehicle.
“Hello?” he shouted.
No answer.
The man above yelled down at him. “Who is it?”
“Hell if I know.”
“What do you mean?”
The man on the floor was standing next to the driver’s side door peering inside. “No one is in there.”
“What?”
“The car’s empty.”
“Bullshit.”
“Get your ass down here.”
In the darkness behind her, Kendra heard what sounded like a choking sound, then a man’s scream. She turned just in time to see her pursuer on the catwalk hurtle over the railing and fall to the factory floor.
And a familiar lithe form appeared at the top of the stairs.
Jessie Mercado was in the building.
Kendra stared at her in disbelief. “Jessie?”
Jessie ran down the stairs to meet her. “Get in my SUV as soon as you can,” she whispered.
Kendra was still incredulous. “What in the hell?”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
Then she was gone, melding with the darkness as she slid under the railing and moved hand-over-hand on the metal stairs’ underside.
The man on the floor was still dazedly trying to get a fix on what had happened. Then a windowpane shattered behind him. Then another. Then another.
The large wall of painted-over windows was getting smaller by the second.
The effect was that of sniper fire, but Kendra knew it was likely from Jessie’s odd stock-in-trade: ball bearings from her jacket pockets hurled at maximum force.
The man ducked for cover.
Kendra’s cue. She ran for the SUV’s passenger door and slipped inside.
She looked around. What now?
Stupid question. With Jessie, the show was probably just beginning. She glanced out the window.
Kendra gasped. The man was no longer cowering on the factory floor. She spun around. Where in the hell was he?”
For that matter, where was Jessie?
WHAM! WHAM!
Kendra jumped and turned around. The man who’d been on the floor was swinging an old fire extinguisher against the car window, trying to get to her.
Kendra threw herself into the SUV’s backseat, where Jessie kept her private-eye tools of the trade. Binoculars, listening devices, camcorder…Where was a good stun gun when you needed it?
Amazingly, the man still wasn’t making much headway against the glass of the window. Kendra squinted into the shadowy darkness behind him as she glimpsed something…Was that—?
FWAPP! Jessie snapped her leather jacket over the man’s head, pulling the ends of the collar over his throat like a garrote.
He struggled, but each of his movements was met with a knee to his kidneys. Jessie finished by repeatedly slamming his head against her SUV roof.
She pulled the jacket from his head, revealing that the man was now unconscious with a bruised and bloodied face. His nose and right cheekbone appeared to be broken. He fell to the floor in a heap.
Jessie ran around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and put the SUV into gear. She backed up, spun the car around, stomping on the accelerator as she headed south on Harbor Drive.
She checked the rearview mirror. “I don’t think we’re being followed.”
Kendra looked at her dazedly. “What are you doing here?”
Jessie smiled. “Saving your sorry ass.”
“No, I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” She shrugged. “I just got into town a little while ago. I dropped in at FBI headquarters because I thought you might be there and Metcalf told me that you were headed here to talk to the victim’s ex-husband. I thought I’d join you.”
“Just like that.”
“Yeah. But then I saw you running across a rooftop with those two thugs after you. I thought you could use a little help.”
“A little help…” Her heart was still beating so hard it was painful. “Did you kill that man?”
“Nah. He won’t be posing for class pictures anytime soon, but he’ll live.”
“What about the man you threw off the catwalk?”
“Oh, him. No guarantees there. Would you like to tell me what happened?”
Kendra picked up Jessie’s phone from the console and started dialing. “I need to call Metcalf. I think those were the men who just killed Kit Randolph. I found his body and I have to get someone out here to arrest them.” She rubbed her aching temple. “And I should meet Griffin and Metcalf here at the crime scene. We should go back and make certain the evidence isn’t—”
“Hold it.” Jessie took the phone away from her. “We’re not going back and letting you hold that corpse’s hand until your FBI buddies get here. I’m taking you home.” She spoke into the phone as Metcalf picked up. “Jessie. I’ll let Kendra talk to you in a minute when she’s thinking straight. Randolph has been murdered and she ran into the assholes who might have done it. They might still be on the premises, so you and Griffin get out here and take care of the situation. She’s not in great shape. I’m taking her home and getting her patched up, providing I don’t decide to go to the ER if the bleeding is too bad. Just tell her she’s barred from the crime scene and you’ll give her a report later.” She handed the phone back to Kendra. “Now you can talk to him. Give him all the information you think he needs. By that time I should have gotten you back to your condo. But try not to get blood all over my phone.”
The advice came too late, Kendra realized. She’d forgotten her cut and bleeding hands. “You made it sound as if I was really hurt. I’m fine. Just a few cuts.” She spoke into the phone. “Jessie was just being difficult, Metcalf. But you should really come quick and I’ll try to be there when you—”
“We’re on our way. And you do exactly what Jessie says.” He paused. “How bad is it?”
