“Good. Hold on to that.” Jeff turned on the wipers to clear away the condensation. The fog thinned, then billowed, with each turn of the road.
“Do you really think I can help?” Kendra asked. “I’m not like you, Jeff. This investigating stuff isn’t my thing. I don’t even like doing it.”
“You like helping people. You’ll get used to the rest. And I do think there’s a good chance that you might be the turning point. Nothing else is working for us. It might help to have a fresh set of eyes. Especially if those eyes are yours.”
“Ever since I was a little girl, even when I was blind, people were telling me I should be a detective.” She made a face. “I never thought the FBI would one day say it to me.”
He glanced at her with a smile. “I don’t know that I represent the entire FBI. I’m just one agent you happen to be sleeping with. If my colleagues seem a little skeptical, just ignore them. They don’t know you the way I do.”
“Meaning they’re not sleeping with me.”
“Meaning they haven’t seen you do the things you do. They’ve never watched you walk into a room, pick up on a thousand different details, and immediately give an entire rundown of the place. Or meet someone and hand them their entire personal history.”
“Parlor tricks.”
“They can be more than that.” His expression was intense. “And we can be more than that together. Do you realize how much good we can do? Why do you think I’ve been pushing you? You have a gift, Kendra.”
Jeff was an idealist, and he wanted to pull her along on his quest to save the world. Well, maybe she should go along even if that quest wasn’t her own. She had cared enough to want to live with him and begin to share his dreams. This was just another step. “I don’t know if you’re right or wrong, but I’ll see if—” She straightened on the seat. “There’s something going on ahead.”
The fog was pulsing with white, blue, and red strobes of light. Jeff slowed as they saw that the lights were actually flashers from half a dozen police cruisers parked in front of an old shoe factory.
They stopped and climbed out of the car. The factory’s small front courtyard was overgrown with brush and tall grass. Weeds sprouted from every crack in the sidewalk and parking lot. The brick archway of the worker entrance was lit only by the headlights and flashers of the squad cars. Beyond the entrance was a vestibule that had obviously once held the time clocks. After that was the factory’s main floor, topped by a multipaned skylight ceiling. Kendra could see the beams of high-wattage police flashlights darting against the ceiling and spearing into the foggy night sky.
Jeff handed her a dark blue FBI windbreaker that matched his own. “Here. Put this on.”
“I’m not cold.”
“I didn’t think you were. It’s so the local cops know you’re working with us. Go ahead.”
She slipped on the windbreaker, which was clearly meant for a man Jeff’s size. She rolled up the sleeves and followed him through the archway.
“Are you ready for this?” he whispered.
She wanted to tell him no, that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for what lay ahead. She nodded jerkily, then was silent as they walked past a pair of cops securing the entrance. “I … think so. I’ve been preparing myself.”
“It may not matter. Sometimes no amount of preparing helps. If it gets to be too much, just leave the same way you came in. It’ll be okay.”
“Got it. And if I—”
That smell.
A sharp, acrid odor flooded her nasal cavities and burned her eyes.
The stench of death.
She hadn’t prepared herself for that.
They entered the cavernous factory floor, which was illuminated only by the investigators’ flashlights and a stray light from squad-car headlamps against the dusty upper windows. Kendra counted almost two dozen uniformed officers, detectives, and FBI agents pacing around the scene. Some looked busy, but most just looked freaked-out.
Then she saw why.
The remnants of several belted assembly lines could still be seen on the factory’s concrete floor, some more complete than others. Every fifteen feet or so, tall metal poles towered overhead, anchoring the conveyor-belt chassis to the slab.
Each pole had a human head impaled upon it.
Every single one of the victims on Jeff’s list, Kendra realized. The men, the women, the two children …
And their eyes were glued open.
Shock. Horror. Nausea.
“Are you okay, Kendra?” Jeff asked.
“No.” How could she be okay in a world that could produce a human being who could do this? She started to shake. “Terrible. It’s terrible.”