Part 69 (1/2)

been given. He'd pored over the forensic reports, then had gone back

again and again to comb through Darren's room.

More than two weeks after the murder, and Lou had absolutely nothing.

For amateurs, they certainly covered their tracks, he thought. And they

had been amateurs, he was certain. Professionals didn't end up

smothering a child that might have been worth a million in ransom,

nor would they made such a poor attempt to give the illusion of a

break-in.

They had been in the house. They had walked right through the front

door. That was something else Lou was sure of. That didn't mean their

names were on the list Page had managed to compile. Half of Southern

California could have walked into the house that nightand been given a

drink or a joint or whatever party drugs had been available.

There hadn't been any fingerprints in the boy's room, not even on the

hypodermic needle. There were only fingerprints of the McAvoys and

their nanny. It seemed that Beverly McAvoy was an excellent

housekeeper. The first floor had shown the disorder expected in the

aftermath of a party, but the second floor, the family floor, had been

clean and ordered. Marge would have approved, he thought as he imagined

the rooms. No fingerprints, no dust, no signs of struggle.

But there had been a struggle, a life-and-death struggle. Sometime

during it a hand had clamped over Darren McAvoy's mouth and, perhaps

inadvertently, his nose.

That struggle had occurred sometime between the time Emma had heard her

brother cry-if indeed she had-and when Beverly McAvoy had gone up to

check on her son.