“Like a fake nose?”
“No, I think I would have spotted that. But we need to look at this sketch and think about what he might be doing to throw us off. The minute this hits the airwaves tomorrow, he knows a family member or coworker may recognize his face and call the police down on him.”
Bill shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t care and is prepared to leave his old life behind.”
“It’s possible. But I think he does care. I think perhaps he’s somehow taken steps to change his appearance. But he’s done it in such a way that I wouldn’t be able to immediately spot it as a disguise.”
“I see what you’re getting at.” His pencil touched the hairline he’d drawn. “Maybe a good hairpiece, or hair coloring, possibly some false front teeth?”
“Maybe.”
“You wouldn’t have observed those things?”
“Not necessarily. He gives me a lot of credit, so he would have been especially careful. I can usually detect dentures from the effect it has on speech, but I didn’t get that from him. With some practice or expert help, he could have fooled me.”
Bill’s eyes were narrowed on the sketch. “These cheekbones could have been extended and rounded off with some silicone packs placed between the upper lips and gum. It’s amazing how much something like that can change the shape of the face.”
“That’s why I need you to show me. Can you draw different versions of this sketch, based on how you think he might look in everyday life without a disguise?” She urged, “And try to think of every single trick he might have used?”
“Hmm. But only tricks that Kendra Michaels wouldn’t have detected.”
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re right. That’s a challenge. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, what should I do with this sketch?”
“Let the police department distribute it. I can’t hold that up because I have a theory that he managed to stage a switch. That’s the face I saw tonight, right down to the little mole above his left nostril. I have to stand by it. It’s as if you sucked this right out of my brain and splattered it across that page.”
“Not the most eloquent compliment I’ve ever received, but I’ll take it. I’ll drop this off with—”
RAP-RAP-RAP.
They were startled by the loud knock on the driver’s side window.
It was Griffin.
Kendra opened the window. “Any news?”
“Yeah.” He opened the driver’s door. “Come on. We’re going to Shell Beach.”
* * *
IT WAS ONLY A SHORT RIDE in Griffin’s car before Kendra had to abandon the vehicle to walk with Yates and the other police officers.
Grim faces. Tense faces.
Not a good sign, she thought as she strode after them down the concrete stairs that bridged the roadway with the small La Jolla cove known as Shell Beach.
As the name suggested, the area was well suited for collecting shells but was even better known for the sea lions that played and sunned on the rocks just offshore. Even now, Kendra could hear them braying in the darkness, voicing their displeasure at the helicopters overhead and the interlopers charging into their territory with flashlights.
Kendra and the dozen or so officers reached the beach and continued their single-file march in a wide arc that curved toward the shoreline. The area had obviously been roped off in the interest of preserving the scene, but she knew that the high tide was only hours away from erasing whatever evidence was left. You could never stop nature from taking back whatever it chose.
There was little question where they were headed since a half dozen flashlights were already trained on the spot up ahead.
The spot where Officer Gil Jillette lay dead.
He had been found facedown in one of the beach’s famous tide pools, wedged into an intricate rock formation. He was now on the beach, and as Kendra stepped closer she could see that he was dressed in his uniform and that the JILLETTE name tag was in its rightful place above his right breast pocket.
And a stocking had been pulled taut over his face, flattening his features and giving him the appearance of a department-store mannequin.
Just like all the others, two years before.
She forced herself to look at the dead officer’s face. Even through the stocking, she could see that his eyes were open, staring up toward the stars.
Damn. He’d done nothing to deserve this. He should be home with his wife, little girl, and that funny-looking Chihuahua/Jack Russell Terrier mix.
The memory of that family photo she had seen on the dash of his squad car was streaming back to her. She felt a wrenching sadness at what lay before that family.