Free The Naked Eye by Iris Johansen

to Kendra. “Look familiar to you?”
    “These are the official police crime photos for the Redondo Beach murder scene. I’ve already seen those.”
    “Probably not all of them. Redondo Beach PD sent over everything the photographer had. This is exactly the way the bodies looked when the building manager found them. No military hand signals, nothing like that.”
    “How are you so sure?”
    “I talked to the building manager myself less than an hour ago. I e-mailed a couple of these to him. And there was a whole crowd of people there. You know what it’s like at those scenes. I seriously doubt they were repositioned.”
    Kendra took the tablet and swiped the photos. “I’m telling you, yesterday I saw half a dozen photos that—” Kendra stiffened, her eyes glued to the screen. “No way.”
    “What is it?”
    She swiped through a few more of the crime-scene pictures. “I don’t believe it.”
    “What?”
    “The pictures I looked at yesterday … They weren’t of this room.”
    “I’m not sure I understand.”
    “Neither do I.” She showed him one of the photos with a long shot of the apartment interior. “The room’s layout and furnishings are identical in these and the pictures I saw yesterday, so it may be the same building. But the pattern of the crown molding is different here. And I believe the lamp shade is a slightly different shape. This is a cone, and the one I saw yesterday was more tubular.”
    He studied the photo. “Are you certain? You didn’t notice the difference when you looked at those photos yesterday?”
    “The differences may not have been visible in the official police crime photos I saw. There are a lot more shots here. And even if they were visible, it’s been a few weeks. They’re not details that would have necessarily stuck with me at the time.”
    He nodded. “Okay, so we’re back to the original question. What does it mean?”
    Kendra paced across the room. “There are only a couple possibilities. Either someone went through the trouble of staging those pictures to bring to the reporter…”
    “… Or the reporter staged them to present to you,” Lynch finished.
    “But why? In either of those scenarios, why would someone go to the time and trouble? Unless…” Her gaze flew to meet Lynch’s. “You don’t think…”
    He took the tablet from her hands and quickly navigated to The Kinsley Chronicle.
    “Shit,” he said. He turned the tablet around to show her the news site’s page one headline: “Deluded FBI Consultant Believes Executed Inmate Still Alive.”
    Kendra felt her face flush with rage. “She screwed me. Unbelievable.”
    “It’s extremely easy for me to believe,” Lynch said. “But I’ve always been a hell of a lot more cynical than you.” He turned the tablet back around and skimmed the article.
    “How bad is it?”
    “Really bad.” He read in silence for a few more moments. “She’s painting you as a nutjob. There’s a healthy sprinkling of nasty quotes from police sources, both named and unnamed. Probably every cop you’ve made look bad over the years. The ‘deluded’ quote comes from one of them. And you’re quoted all the way through, but in such a way to make you appear as hysterical as possible. Why in hell did you give her an interview?”
    “I didn’t.” Kendra snatched the tablet from him and quickly read the story. It was packed with snarky, half-truths and outright lies. “That reporter, Sheila Hunter, played me. Under any other circumstances, I never would have talked to her. She found just the way in.”
    Lynch nodded. “She presented herself as an ally in a situation where allies have been scarce for you. And what’s more, she came to you seeming to have evidence that you’ve been sorely lacking.” He shrugged. “As much as I join you in despising her right now, I have to admire her strategic abilities.”
    “Spoken like the master of manipulation you are. They don’t call you ‘the Puppetmaster’ for