Kendra stepped closer and examined the blue time stamp imprinted on the photo’s lower right corner. “I don’t know what he is. But we’re meant to believe this picture was taken at the exact same moment as the other one—5:46 P.M. yesterday.”
“What?” Reade checked her PowerPoint notes. “This came from a man named Eric Hebborn. No other information.”
“Show me some more.”
Reade flashed more photos on the screen in front of her until Kendra spotted the man again, this time wearing dirty coveralls at what appeared to be an automotive garage. “Don’t tell me—5:46 P.M. yesterday.”
Reade checked the photo’s digital time stamp. “Bingo.”
“He’s screwing with us. Screwing with me. He posed for these with his own camera and set the camera clock time himself. He knew I’d be looking at these. Who sent this one in?”
“Someone named Tony Tetro.”
Kendra pulled out her phone and furiously thumb-typed her way through the Google search screen. “And the other photos came from Eric Hebborn and Tom Keating?”
“Yes.”
After a moment, Kendra raised her phone and showed Reade the search-screen results page. “Look. Those are the names of three of art history’s most notorious forgers.”
“More forgers … So this is all bullshit.”
“Except these photos really are of him.”
Reade leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “Kinda ballsy, a serial killer sending us photos of himself.”
“Except none of these are all that clear and don’t approach the level of detail in that police sketch. If the news outlets start running these instead, we’ll only be taking a step backward.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants.”
“What he really wants is to show that he’s not afraid of us, that everything that we’re doing doesn’t matter to him.”
She could feel a chill as she stared at his face on the screen. It was as if she could taste the mockery he was displaying toward her.
“Kendra? Is something wrong?”
She moved her shoulders in an effort to shrug off the uneasiness that was close to fear. She told Reade, “No, it’s okay. Go ahead and show me the rest. Right now I just want to be done with him and get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER
7
HOURS LATER, KENDRA WAS STILL staring at the three photos on her dining-room table. She had requested the printouts from Reade, but they hadn’t told her anything more than she’d known back at the FBI conference room.
The Bureau, no doubt, was racing to track down the IP addresses from which they had come and had perhaps even identified one or more of the locations in the photos.
Just as Myatt knew they would.
Her cell phone rang. Lynch.
Warmth and eagerness flowed through her. She was tired of staring at these photos of that monster who was sure that he could block her at every pass. She wanted contact with Lynch, who was every bit as dangerous as Myatt, but not to her.
At least, not in the same way.
She answered the call. “Why do you keep phoning me? I told you to tend to your business, and I’d tend to mine. I think you must be bored with all those Washington types. Not that I blame—”
“I’m outside your condo, Kendra,” Lynch broke in impatiently. His voice was tense. “One of your neighbors was careless enough to hold open the building’s front door for me, but your FBI bodyguard won’t let me within ten feet of your condo without an okay from you.”
“That’s because he’s good at his job. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him.”
“I don’t have time to convince him that I’m harmless, so I’m left with the option of either taking him out or having you call him off. I don’t give a damn which one. Choose.”
There was no question he meant it.
“Don’t touch him.” Kendra walked to her door and opened it wide. She nodded to Agent Nelson. “Thanks for being so efficient. My friend tends to be a little rude.”
He smiled. “My job. You’re sure he’s no threat?”
“It depends on who you ask. But not to me.” She stepped aside for Lynch to enter. “I’ll call if he proves a problem.”
“Do that,” Lynch said as he walked into the condo and slammed the door behind him. “I’m feeling edgy, and I’d welcome a confrontation.”
“Not with Agent Nelson. Olivia would never forgive you.”
“What?” Then he dismissed the subject as unimportant. “I heard about your photo lineup today.”
“Unproductive as it was. When did you get back in town?”