“What?” Lynch asked.
“He knew I’d see this. He knew I’d track him here, even if no one else did. This charm is a symbol of perseverance … of never giving up. It’s what he had to remind himself for his entire career. And now…”
“… now it’s his message to you,” Lynch finished for her.
She closed her hand around the charm. “Yes. He knew I’d be on his trail. He’s telling me not to give up.”
*
KENDRA WAS STILL HOLDING the charm as she, Lynch, and Metcalf walked out into the parking lot. She looked down at it in her hand. Its once-shiny surface was now dull, and the sharp features had been worn down by the years. But its meaning had never been more vivid, more startlingly clear.
Metcalf awkwardly produced a Ziploc evidence bag from his inside jacket pocket. “Uh, I should probably take that as evidence.”
Kendra nodded. “Sure.”
Metcalf opened the bag. She looked at the charm for a moment longer before dropping it inside.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll take good care of it.”
“You’d better. Waldridge will want that back.”
“Do you have a copy of all the security video?” Lynch asked.
Metcalf patted his pocket. “Right here. The whole thing is on one USB drive.”
“I’d like a copy of that,” Lynch said.
“Sure. After I get back to the office, I’ll—”
“I mean right now.” Lynch pulled out his phone and plugged a small adapter into the jack on its underside. “If you don’t mind.”
Metcalf shrugged and fished the thumb drive from his pocket. Lynch inserted it into his adapter and opened an app to upload the drive’s contents to his phone.
“This will be just a couple of minutes.”
Kendra looked around. “Maybe we can get some traffic-cam footage from that night. If we can track a vehicle going from the hotel to here at this exact time—”
“Griffin is on it,” Metcalf said. “They probably hit a dozen cameras between there and here. There’s a good chance that—”
Metcalf’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Speak of the devil.”
Metcalf answered, and after a terse few words, he cut the connection.
“Quick call,” Kendra said.
He nodded. “Griffin wants us all to get back to the office.”
“Why?” Lynch asked. “What has he heard?”
Metcalf snapped his fingers impatiently. “Can I have the flash drive back?”
“Another fourteen seconds. What has Griffin heard?”
Metcalf looked between Lynch and Kendra, then shrugged. “We have an ID on the Big Bear murder victim you found last night.”
“Who was he?” Kendra asked.
“His name was Porter Shaw. From London.” Metcalf glanced at Lynch. “Facial-recognition software matched your photo reconstruction with his passport picture.”
“Score one for Ashley,” Kendra said.
“Who was he?” Lynch asked.
“They’re building a file on him right now. We should know more by the time we get back.” He looked at Kendra. “Does his name mean anything at all to you?”
“Porter Shaw?” She shook her head. “No. Should it?”
“I thought it might.” He turned away and headed for his car. “Shaw was part of the Night Watch Project.”
*
KENDRA’S FINGERS FLEW OVER Lynch’s tablet for most of their ride back, but she was able to glean only small nuggets of information about Dr. Porter Shaw, former professor of human physiology at Cambridge University. It was only after their arrival at Griffin’s office that she discovered any further evidence of his association with Waldridge.
Griffin handed her a file of documents and photos still warm from the printer. “We’ll probably have more before you leave here, but this is what we have so far. I thought the Night Watch angle would intrigue you.”
“I don’t remember him,” Kendra said. “I thought I’d met everyone connected with the project.”
“You probably did. He only joined Night Watch in the past six years.”
She wrinkled her brow. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“Why not?”
“Waldridge stepped away from it long before then. He told me he had moved on to other projects.”
“Projects he wouldn’t tell you about?” Griffin asked.
“Yes. Honestly, I thought Night Watch ended years ago, when Waldridge departed.”
“Apparently it didn’t. There have been a couple mentions of it in recent medical journals.”
Kendra stopped at a photo of Shaw and Waldridge, standing together at a Cambridge alumni event. Her gaze narrowed on the date. “This was just last April.”
“What was his specialty?” Lynch asked.
Kendra raised a copy of an eleven-year-old journal article. “Internal medicine. According to his bio, he won several awards.”
Griffin leaned back in his chair. “He entered the country just eleven days ago. London to Vancouver, then into LAX.”
“Then to Big Bear,” Kendra said. “But why there?”
“Maybe he thought it would be a place he wouldn’t be found,” Lynch said.