“Maybe I can point you there.” Agent Reade called from the other side of the room. “Come look at this.”
Reade was immediately surrounded by Kendra, Lynch, Griffin, and several other agents. She pointed to the screen of her laptop. “San Quentin sent over the fingerprints they had on file from that visitor who was posing as a crime writer. I ran them, and we got a match.”
Kendra inhaled sharply. Hope was again beginning to stir.
Lynch bent down and squinted at the readout. “And who is it?”
“His name is Norman Wallach.”
Kendra froze. “And where does he live?”
“Right here in San Diego. I haven’t had a chance to do a full search on him yet, but his record is fairly clean. He had a DWI about a year ago, and he was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct earlier this month. It looks like he’s lived at several different addresses in the past few years.”
Kendra studied the record. “I want to talk to him. I have to talk to him.”
Reade looked at Griffin. “I don’t mean any disrespect, sir. But I thought since I ran this down, I should be the one to—”
“I know. I know,” Kendra said. “I understand. And I’m not trying to run roughshod over you, Reade.” She moistened her lips. “But I have to be the one. You see … I know who this man is.”
Mission Heights
San Diego
2:15 P.M.
LYNCH PULLED UP TO THE CURB in front of the dilapidated Mission Heights apartment building. He nodded toward the chipped stucco and dozens of missing vertical blinds. “It looks condemned.”
Kendra sadly nodded. “He used to live in such a beautiful house.”
Lynch gazed at her. “You talk as if you’ve been there.”
“I have.”
He was silent a moment. “You notice how tactful I’m being not to bombard you with questions? I figure you’ll tell me eventually.”
“I appreciate the restraint. Being tactful must be extremely painful for you.”
“Exceptionally.” He smiled faintly. “But you’re worth it.”
They climbed out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the front entrance. Although it had obviously once been a security door, it now opened freely without being buzzed by a tenant. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and made their way to an apartment at the end of the hall.
Kendra knocked on the door, and after thirty seconds with no answer, she tried again. Finally, she heard footsteps. The door opened a crack, just enough to see that it was indeed the man from the interview footage.”
“Norman Wallach?”
“Yeah.” He looked as if he’d been sleeping. He was a slender man, midforties, with longish gray hair.
“I’m Kendra Michaels and this is Adam Lynch. We’re working with the FBI on an investigation. May we come in?”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Kendra Michaels. You know … actually meant to write you a note or something. I just … couldn’t.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He opened the door wide for them to enter.
Kendra and Lynch stepped inside the virtually empty studio apartment. The furnishings consisted of a single lawn chair, a sleeping bag, and a small television set.
Wallach ran his hand through his hair. “So what can I do for you?”
She said gently, “I believe you might guess. Mr. Wallach … why were you visiting Eric Colby in prison?”
After a long moment, he finally spoke. “I guess I’ve been waiting for somebody to call me on that.” He looked away from her as he dropped down in the lawn chair. “It should have happened before.”
“A man murders your little boy, and four years later you pretend to be someone else in order to visit him?”
Eyes glued open staring …
Wallach still didn’t look at her. “Yeah. Pretty messed up, huh?”
“Pretty messed up.”
“Nothing’s been the same since he took Stevie from us. Nothing.”
“I know it’s been hard.”
“No. Life is hard. This is something else entirely. This is hell. That … creature, he took all the love from our lives, he robbed us of whatever happiness we could have had.”
“Where’s your wife?”
He finally looked back to her. “We didn’t make it very long, not after … She had such a good heart.”
Kendra nodded. “I met Sheila right after I joined the case. She was a strong woman.”
“Stronger than me. She ended up leaving town and living with her sister in Mississippi for a while. She couldn’t stand it here anymore. Now I think she’s just moving around a lot. It’s hard for her to settle anywhere.” His tears welled over. “You know, before they found what was left of Stevie, the cops actually thought I might have had something to do with it. I was going out of my mind with worry, and I had to deal with that shit.”