Kendra pulled out two more plastic evidence bags. “How about these?”
Monica took a moment to compose herself. “Yes. That’s definitely his diver’s watch. He would time his workouts, and it would vibrate on his wrist when he was done. And those look like his earplugs in the other bag. He always used Aqua Sphere brand.”
Kendra put away the plastic bags. “Thank you. This will help us enormously.”
“Where did you get those?” Monica stared at the canvas satchel in Kendra’s lap. “It’s been six years and you just now found these things? If you haven’t found Daryl’s killer, then how—?” Monica froze as she made the connection. “He’s killed someone else. Hasn’t he?”
“We can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” Metcalf said.
“Of course you can’t. But why else would you have come all this way?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s not dead. He’s not in prison. He is still out there.”
“It’s possible,” Kendra said. “We don’t know for sure.”
“You’re being so careful. Neither of you want to tell me something that’s not true.” She shook her head. “But you don’t understand. You brought me hope today. Do you know how important that is?” Monica thought for a moment. When she spoke again, it was not from a place of weakness, but of strength. “I’ve felt completely helpless, but now I know someday you may knock on my door and tell me that you found that monster who killed my son. But before you do that, do something else for me, will you?” Her voice was uneven as she got to her feet and turned toward the door. “When you find him, make him pay. Make him hurt. Just like all the other people he’s hurt.” She headed for the door. “Remember them, remember us. Make him hurt…”
*
KENDRA AND METCALF SPENT most of the trip back to the airport in silence. To Kendra’s surprise Metcalf appeared to be visibly shaken after their meeting with Monica Lanton. It was a distressing change from the glib, tough young man she’d known from previous investigations.
Shortly after their plane took off, she tapped him on the arm. “Hey, what’s going on, Metcalf?”
He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen you talk to family members of murder victims before. That lady got under your skin.”
“You’re right.” He looked out the plane window where the sun was setting behind the ocean. “Dealing with the survivors, giving them bad news is a terrible part of the job. I know I’m about to give them the worst day of their lives. I can’t say I’ve ever gotten used to it, but I’ve found a way to deal.”
“And what was the difference with her?”
Metcalf leaned back in his seat. “I’ve never worked a cold case before. Six years later that woman is still living in hell. And I’m not sure if it would be any better if they’d caught the guy. When we solve a murder case, I like to think I’m giving the family some peace, you know? But seeing how this has devastated her, even after all this time … There’s not much peace to be had.”
“Maybe not. But even if there isn’t much we can do for her, we might save other families from going through this. Right?”
Metcalf nodded.
“That’s what keeps me going.” She made a face. “This investigative stuff isn’t fun for me. You know that, Metcalf. It’s nothing I’ve ever really wanted to do. But there are so many monsters out there. If I can keep one of those monsters from taking one more life, from devastating one more family, it’s worth it to me.”
Metcalf nodded. “I know it is. And Griffin knows it, too.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When I recruited you for this case, he told me to tell you that you owed him. And if that didn’t work, he told me to remind you that innocent people might die if you didn’t help us.”
“That son of a bitch.”
“Does it really surprise you that he’d use that?”
“Not really. I guess it just annoys me that he’s so up-front about being a scumbag.”
“Are you kidding? He’s made a career of it. But at least he’s a reliable scumbag, and no one cares about the job more than he does. And he always has our backs, which you don’t often see. He probably would have gone further in the Bureau if he’d been willing to grab more credit from us or occasionally throw one of us under the bus when something didn’t go his way.”
Kendra smiled. In an organization where bashing the boss was practically a team sport, it was refreshing to hear Metcalf come to Griffin’s defense. “Why do you do it, Metcalf? It’s not an occasional case, like it is for me. You’ve made it your entire career.”
He shrugged. “Why do you think? You seem to have everyone else in the world figured out, I’d be interested in why you think I do it.”
“Those are just parlor tricks. I really don’t have any special insight into what makes people tick.”
“Take a stab at it.”
“Well, I know you’re a comic book geek, and you have been for your entire life.”
“I make no secret of that, which probably explains the sorry state of my social life.”
“Your social life is fine. No less than three women have tried to call you in the last two hours.”
“How do you know that?”
“Cindy, Beth, and Hannah. Their names popped up on your Apple Watch each time your phone vibrated.”
He chuckled. “You know there’s a razor-thin line between brilliantly perceptive and just plain nosy. And for the record, Beth is my sister.”
“Then you’re really only juggling two women.” She grinned. “Gotcha.”
“And just what does my interest in the fine art of visual storytelling—”
“Comic books.”
“Okay, comic books. What does that have to do with my career choice?”
“We all like stories of an ordinary man who can suddenly become a superhero who catches the bad guys. I think this is your way of becoming a hero yourself.”
He wrinkled his nose. “That makes me sound kind of … pathetic.”
“I disagree.” She looked out the window at the clouds below them. Metcalf was no Adam Lynch, but it wasn’t fair to compare them. Lynch was rock-star unique. Metcalf wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet nor did he leap tall buildings in a single bound. But he was solid and hardworking, and he genuinely cared about making a difference in this world. All of which was enough to raise him to be a superhero contender. “It makes you one of the good guys, Metcalf.”
*
AFTER THEY LANDED, METCALF’S phone vibrated before their plane even reached the gate. He looked at his phone and frowned.
“Let me guess,” Kendra said. “Cindy or Hannah.”
“Neither. It’s Griffin. He’d like for us to come up to the office right away.”
“Now? It’ll be after eight by the time we get there.”
Metcalf put away his phone. “He knows. There’s something going on.”