“You won’t feel better,” Lynch said. “But at least you won’t drive yourself crazy all night trying to figure it out. Trust me, I’ve been there.”
“As I said, I have trouble trusting anyone but myself.” Jessie stepped closer to Kendra. “How about where I’m from, and the places I’ve lived?”
“Linguistics.”
“You’re a linguist, too?”
“Amateur. When you’re denied the opportunity to form an impression of people by looking at them, how they speak becomes very important. After your kind rescue the other day, I told Lynch I could hear a Central Valley twang in your voice. Add in some subtle continental Europe vowel suppressions, and you have someone who spent a lot of time overseas in their younger years.”
“I didn’t have to be a military brat, though. What if one of my parents worked for an international company that moved them around a lot?”
“True, and that was certainly possible. But your fighting style made me think you had a military background, which significantly raised the chances that one of your parents had served.”
“But how did you know about Afghanistan?”
Kendra grabbed Jessie’s wrist and pushed up her sleeve. “You have a tan line here. You often wear a bracelet that’s fairly representative of Afghan tribal jewelry with beads and little bells. I’m thinking you bought that there.”
Jessie nodded. “Chicken Street in Kabul. I did two tours in Afghanistan.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Is it? I guess some people would call it that. What about my marathons?”
“I saw your motorcycle, remember? You have a Bay to Breakers water bottle tethered to your drink holder and a Honolulu Marathon license-plate frame. I also saw a Gold’s Gym bar-code tag on your key ring. It was easy to spot because I have one on mine. I guessed the Venice location because it’s close to the mailing address on your private investigator’s license. I’ve meant to go there every time I’ve attended symposiums at UCLA.” She made a face. “Somehow, I’ve always found an excuse not to go.”
“Probably the same excuses I often seem to find.” Jessie thought for a moment. “My key ring also told you about Fiji, didn’t it?”
“Hard to miss with that red-and-yellow tiki-mask pendant. It shows a lot of wear, so it’s something you’ve probably been carrying for years.”
“Wait one minute. How the hell did you recognize that mask as Fijian? You’ve only had your sight for what, ten years?”
“Nine.”
“Most people go their whole lives without being able to recognize things like that.”
“Most people have probably seen that mask dozens of times in different places. They just don’t remember. Sight is such a gift to me that I try to take nothing for granted.”
“I got that. But there’s nothing to see on me or my motorcycle that could tell you that I or someone I know has been to Bermuda.”
“You’re right, but there is something to smell. You’re wearing a perfume called Easter Lily. It’s very distinctive, but the only time I’ve smelled it on anyone is when they or a loved one brought it back from Bermuda themselves. I haven’t investigated this, but my guess is that you only buy it there.”
“Which is what my ex-boyfriend did. He bought it for me at the perfumery.”
“The fact that you’re still wearing it tells me that it wasn’t an unpleasant breakup. Otherwise, that bottle would probably be buried in a landfill by now.”
“Right again.”
“Feeling less violated now?”
“Oh, no.” She deadpanned, “More violated than ever.”
“Like I said, a normal reaction,” Lynch said.
“And that remark makes me feel even more violated. People don’t usually accuse me of being normal.”
“This really isn’t your day, is it?”
Kendra frowned. “All my parlor tricks aren’t worth a damn if they don’t help to get Waldridge back.”
“We’ll find him,” Lynch said softly. “We got closer today.”
“Not close enough.” She turned to face him. “All roads lead to Night Watch. It’s the one thing these three medical researchers had in common.”
Jessie nodded. “Agreed. I haven’t been able to find out much about the Night Watch Project. There was a fair amount written about it when you got your sight, both in scientific literature and the mainstream media. But here’s been almost nothing in the last few years.”
“We found that out,” Lynch said. “We have someone in England working on it.”
“Someone good?”
“The best.” Lynch checked his phone. “I’ll text him about what you’ve told us concerning Hayden Biers. If you can give me his cell-phone number and any other info Waldridge provided you about him, it may help.”
“It’s not much, but I’ll give you what I have.”
“Thank you. My contact information is now in your phone’s address book. Adam Lynch.”
“What do you mean?” she asked warily.
“Check your phone.”