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my help on this investigation or not?”
    He cursed under his breath. “Fine. I’ll call San Diego PD and have them open up the house for you. But if you get a lead on anything, I want to hear about it right away.”
    “Of course.”
    “Don’t ‘of course’ me. I’ve been down this road with you before. Remember that we’re working together on this case. This isn’t the Kendra Michaels Show.”
    Kendra smothered her irritation. Just as she thought. Griffin wasn’t nearly as concerned with helping her as he was with making sure that she kept them in the loop. “You have to admit, Griffin, it’s a damned good show.”
    He muttered something that was probably obscene. “It’s just as well that Adam Lynch has left you on your own. His damn arrogance has been rubbing off on you. The last thing we need is another Lynch around here.” He hung up on her.
    *   *   *
     
    A POLICE CRUISER WAS PARKED in front of Corrine Harvey’s house when Kendra arrived. The yellow police tape had already been pulled and rolled up on the walkway, and light poured from every window.
    A young uniformed officer stepped outside before she reached the door. “May I help you?”
    “I’m Kendra Michaels. I believe you’re expecting me?”
    “Yes, ma’am. You’re why I’m here.” He shook her hand. “I’ve been told to extend every courtesy to you.”
    “I appreciate that, Officer…” She read the nameplate above his right breast pocket. “Jillette.”
    He raised a small plastic basket. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take any photography or recording devices before I can let you come inside.”
    Her brows rose. “Seriously?”
    He shrugged. “Departmental procedure.”
    “Since when?”
    “There have been photos of closed crime scenes that have found their way onto the Web and the TV news lately. If there are any shots you need, let me know, and I’ll have a police photographer come here and take them for you. The department will have to sign off on any photos you request.”
    “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Kendra put her cell phone into the basket.
    The officer stepped aside for her to enter the house.
    Kendra was first struck by the unique and adventurous artwork that adorned each wall in the foyer and living room. Not a surprise, she thought, since Corrine Harvey managed an art gallery.
    But the abstract paintings pulsed with rage and brutality, streaked with blood reds and bold, violent slices. If indeed the woman died a horrible death here, the surroundings couldn’t have been more appropriate.
    “Kinda scary, if you ask me,” the officer said.
    She wasn’t asking, but she had to agree. She glanced around the living-room area, paying particular attention to recently shampooed carpets.
    There, near the sofa, were two large indentations that didn’t appear to be footprints.
    Knee prints, perhaps?
    Yes, that was it. Someone had been standing near the couch and was brought down to his knees. Almost assuredly a man, judging from the size.
    “I think Gary Decker was strangled here,” she said aloud.
    The officer studied the carpet impressions. “Are you sure?”
    “No, not absolutely. Too many people have walked across the carpets for me to be positive. But the footprints leading to this spot are the only set that don’t match any of the prints leaving the room. I’ll bet Gary Decker wore a size eleven-and-a-half, maybe a twelve.”
    She caught a faint whiff of pomegranate on the couch. Slightly tart. Perfume?
    Not perfume, she realized. Body lotion. Jafra Royal Pomegranate. Corrine Harvey’s lotion of choice?
    She cast one more glance around the living room. Not much more to be gleaned here.
    She turned toward the kitchen, where, as in the case-file photos, she saw a lawn mower and pressure washer. She stepped toward them.
    “Weird place to keep these, huh?” Officer Jillette said.
    “She didn’t normally store them there.” Kendra opened the kitchen door and glanced into the garage.