Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“She liked the right side of the bed, probably a side sleeper. See?” Eve moved into the murder zone, gestured to the spatter pattern.

“He walks up to this side, has to—or wants to—lift her head up. The spatter shows that her head was turned a little, so her body’s on her left side, facing away from the bed—the way he left her after he cut her throat. Her blood’s on him now, but he doesn’t worry about that. Take care of that before he leaves. Walks right out again, walks right by the kid.”

Illustrating, Eve turns, heads out. “Must’ve passed inches away from her. Smart kid, scared kid. She doesn’t make a peep.”

Turning again, she studied the bedroom. “Nothing out of place. He doesn’t touch anything but her. Isn’t interested in anything but her, and the rest of the mission.”

“Is that how you see it? A mission?”

“What else?” Eve shrugged. “Leaves, work’s done here. Why doesn’t he take the back steps?”

“Ah . . .” Peabody frowned in concentration, looked at the layout. “Positioning? Master bedroom’s actually closer to the main stairs. That’s probably where his partner was stationed. Does another sweep by going around that way.”

“Adults have to come first, have to be done at the same time.” Eve nodded as they made the trip around. “He probably has a way to signal his partner that the first wave is complete and he’s on his way.”

She glanced at the blood, the occasional drops of it staining floor or carpet, stair treads. “He leaves a little trail, but no big. It’s her blood, not his. This down here, on the right, will all be the housekeeper’s. They removed the bloody gear, stuffed it in the bags before they came down again.”

“Cold,” Peabody commented. “No hand slapping, no good job. Slice five people, strip off the gear, and move on.”

“Straight up, straight in while the kid pulls it together enough to get the pocket ’link and call nine-one-one. Y off in here, in the main bedroom, one to each side of the bed. Same pattern as the housekeeper. They’ve got a rhythm down. Terminate the ta

rgets, move out and on.”

“They slept back-to-back,” Peabody pointed out. “The ass-to-ass snuggle. McNab and I do that, mostly.”

Eve was seeing them, husband and wife, mother and father, sleeping butt-to-butt on the big bed with its sea green sheets, its downy quilt. Sleeping in a tidy, relaxing room, with its windows facing the back patio. Him in black boxers, her in a white sleepshirt.

“Lift the head, expose the throat. Slice, drop, head out. No chatter. They’re out and heading for the two other bedrooms as the kid’s coming up the stairs. They’ve already designated who takes which room. Split off. One takes the boy—going in as Nixie crawls across the hall behind them.”

Eve walked out as she spoke, and into Coyle’s room. “Boy’s a sprawler, flat on the back, covers kicked off. Don’t have to touch this one to do the job. Take him out while he’s flat.”

She saw it in her head, the cold horror of it as she walked across the hall to the other bedroom. “Girl’s room, girl in bed. Too sure of yourself to think twice. Too steeped in the routine to deviate. Just cross over. Why would you notice the shoes, the extra backpack? You’re not looking at anything but the target. She’s mostly buried under the covers—stomach sleeper. Yank her up, by the hair probably. A lot of blonde hair, as advertised. Slice her throat, dump her back, walk away.”

“Not as much spatter here,” Peabody commented. “He probably took most of it on his person, and the rest went on the bed and covers.”

“Steps out into the hall, coordinating with his partner. See the blood in this spot. From their gear, dripping off the gear as they strip it off. Shove it in the bags with the knives. Go downstairs and out, clean. Walk away. Mission accomplished.”

“Except it wasn’t.”

Eve nodded. “Except it wasn’t. And if they’d taken a few more minutes, just a few, if they’d taken time to pick up a few goodies on the way out, or linger over the job, the black-and-white would have pulled up before they walked out. As it was, it was close. The kid acted fast, but they acted faster.”

“Why kill the kids?” Peabody asked. “What threat were they?”

“For all we know at this point, one or both of the kids was the main target. Saw something, heard something, knew something—was into something. We can’t assume the adults were the primary. The point is they all had to go, the entire household. That’s where we start.”

She was late for Mira, but it couldn’t be helped. Eve found her sitting in the parlor, drinking tea and working on her PPC.

“Sorry. I got hung up.”

“It’s all right.” Mira set the PPC aside. She wore a simply cut suit in a smokey color that wasn’t quite blue, wasn’t quite gray. Somehow her shoes managed to be the exact same in-between tone. There were twists of silver at her ears and a trio of hair-thin chains around her neck.

Eve wondered if she had to strategize to put herself together with such elegant perfection, or if it came naturally.

“She’s sleeping. The child,” Mira said. “Summerset has her on monitor.”

“Oh, good. Okay. Listen, I’ve got to get some real coffee or my brain’s going to melt. You good?”

“Fine, thanks.”