“I’m the one who helped piece together your connection with Waldridge. After I couldn’t get hold of you, just to be safe, I called San Diego PD and had them make contact.”
“Which they did. That’ll teach me to go running without my phone. Have you found anyone who might have seen him after I did last night?”
“He popped up on security cams in the lobby and parking garage around 9 P.M. After that … nothing.”
“That’s strange. No sign of him leaving?”
“No. And no sign of anyone suspicious around him. I looked at the video myself.”
“Is his rental car still here?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t appear to have been disturbed. The keys were in the room next to his wallet and phone. We’re having it towed in.”
She glanced inside the room. “You’re not about to break the scene down, are you?”
“Actually, we are. We’ve got what we needed. Fingerprints, photos…”
“DNA?” she asked.
“They took a few swabs, but you probably know what disgusting Petri dishes hotel rooms are.”
She grimaced as she recalled the few times she’d seen a hotel-room comforter illuminated by a UV light. “Gotcha.”
“Besides, we’re not even sure there was a crime committed here. Except maybe a little property damage. So if you want to take a look, knock yourself out. But after that, we’re packing up his belongings, and the hotel will send up their handyman to get the place back in circulation. There might be someone else in that bed tonight.”
“Great. Well, guess I better get to it before someone else obliterates whatever evidence might be left.”
Shea smiled and shook his head. “Naturally, you’re assuming there’s evidence we’ve missed. Detective Ortiz told me about you.”
“And still you’re letting me in.”
He gestured toward the open door. “Chalk it up to curiosity.”
“Anything that gets me inside.”
“Knock yourself out.”
She entered and stopped short inside the door. One side of the room looked as if Waldridge had merely stepped out for a bucket of ice, with his wallet, rental-car keys, and hotel-parking-garage ticket on an end table next to the unmade bed.
The other side, however, was a mess. The flat-screen TV was shattered, with weblike cracks emanating from the center. Fresh dings played over the pressed-wood white chest of drawers below, obviously struck by the overturned chair. Kendra looked at the desk, where the smashed phone had been knocked on the floor and a long ethernet cable had been stretched taut, halfway to the bed.
Kendra felt a sickening chill as she looked at the cord. “This cable was used as a weapon.”
Shea crossed his arms. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s pinched in two places about two feet apart, as if it had been gripped and wrapped around a pair of hands. Then it was stretched. Just the way it would look if had been used to…” Her voice trailed off.
“Strangle someone?” Shea finished.
Hearing him say it was like getting a punch to the gut. “Yes,” she whispered.
“For the record, I saw it the same way. I’ve already had it swabbed.”
“It probably won’t help. Whoever handled it was using gloves.”
Shea glanced back at the cable. “How do you figure that?”
“That cable has a soft sheaf. Soft enough to show ridges on the spots where it was gripped. Ridges from hard rubber grips on a pair of gloves. With some time, your forensic people might be able to tell you the brand of gloves. It’s worth a shot.”
Shea nodded, looking closer at the cable. “That I didn’t see. Not that it makes a lot of difference. Hundreds of people probably pawed that cable in the past few weeks. In any case, I’ll be bagging it and sending it to the lab.”
Kendra turned away. She didn’t want to look at that cable any longer. She was having trouble keeping from shaking. What in hell happened here, Waldridge?
“Dr. Michaels?”
She forced herself to look back. This was no time to fall apart, not when Waldridge might need her. She cleared her throat. “Was there luggage?”
“Yeah. In the closet. But we checked it, and he’d totally unpacked.”
“I’ll take a look anyway.”
Shea produced a pair of latex evidence gloves from his jacket pocket. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course.”
Kendra pulled on the gloves and moved to the open closet door. Hanging there were a pair of slacks, three shirts, and the jacket Waldridge had worn the previous night. His rolling suitcase was on the floor.
Kendra knelt beside it. A small blue-and-white tag was affixed to the handle, imprinted with the code L35. She angled the tag toward Shea. “Any idea what this means?”
“No. Only that it wasn’t put on here by a bellman. I asked.”
She dragged out the suitcase, unzipped it, and looked inside. As Shea had indicated, it was empty.
“Satisfied?” He crossed his arms, watching her.