Part 25 (1/2)

Darby systematically started to clear every room on the floor: the upstairs bathroom; a boy teenager's bedroom, judging by the posters of Pearl Jam and Bob Marley; and a smaller room that was used as a home office, the two opened windows blowing papers across the floor. By the time she returned to the closed door opposite the top of the steps, she had sweated through her s.h.i.+rt, and her mouth was as dry as paper.

She got down on her knees and ran the beam of light underneath the quarter-inch gap at the bottom of the door. The only thing she could see was a carpet. She got back to her feet and then she turned the doork.n.o.b slowly, checking for resistance of any kind. She encountered none. Body tense and sweat dripping down the small of her back, she gently placed her hand on the door, wondering if it had been b.o.o.by-trapped in some way. a.s.sume it is, she thought. a.s.sume the absolute worst until you can rule it out. She opened the door a crack, checking for wires or rope, and didn't see any but something was behind the door, something had happened inside this bedroom.

Slowly she released her grip on the doork.n.o.b and backed against the wall. She reached out with one hand, placed it on the door and inched it open further. She couldn't see the bedroom windows but knew they were open; wind blew past her hand and punched the door, almost forcing it shut. Now she could see part of the bedroom: a beige carpet and an opened door leading to a walk-in closet where women's clothing hung neatly above shoes displayed on racks.

She inched open the door further, then stopped to check. Now a floor-to-ceiling bookcase came into view. Tensing, she pushed open the door a few more inches and kept looking. Finally, she had the door all the way open. Nothing happened. It was time to go inside.

Darby raised her nine. Don't mash the trigger, breathe and squeeze and, looking down the target site, she swung around the doorway.

51.

In the tactical light's bright white halo Darby saw a pair of chairs at the foot of the bed. A man dressed in boxers and a dingy white T-s.h.i.+rt with coils of grey and white hairs sprouting out of the V-neck was bound to one, his head covered by a black plastic bag. The man's son, also dressed in boxers and a long-sleeve T, had been tied to a chair on the far right, and, like his father, he had a plastic bag wrapped around his head.

The mother, Clara, dressed in a dark flannel nightgown, sat between husband and son, her face the colour of an eggplant. She had been strangled to death, and this time the killer had left the rope tied around her neck. A cell phone sat on the woman's lap. The screen was glowing and a tiny green LED pulsed.

The killer had never before left behind a phone, and he had changed the chair arrangement. All three chairs had been positioned against the far wall and they faced the bedroom door faced her like a small, private jury.

Darby closed the door behind her. She crept forward, searching the neatly made bed, the carpeted floor and the tops of the bureaus and nightstands for anything odd. There was no computer or iPad in here, the sole electronic device belonging to the phone resting on the woman's lap. Did it have a camera? Was the killer listening or watching or both right now?

There was an opened door to her left, for the bathroom, and she had to clear it. She spun around the doorway, the beam of light revealing a tiled floor and marble vanity.

It was clear.

Darby searched under the bed, looking for anything unusual, found nothing. Then she moved to the chairs and placed a finger on the man's neck, her attention fixed on the phone. She didn't see any wires.

The man didn't have a pulse. Darby knew the woman was dead but she checked for a pulse anyway and then she did the same for their son. All three were dead and the killer was nowhere to be seen.

Darby's attention s.h.i.+fted back to the dead woman. She was looking at the cell, at its pulsing green light, when the bedroom lights turned on.

She started, her heart leaping in her throat, moved back to the bedroom door and opened it. The hallway lights were on, and she could see that some of the downstairs lights were on too.

The house must have lost power because of the storm, Darby thought. Now it's back on.

Darby placed a wicker hamper against the door to keep the wind from blowing it shut. She stepped into the hall, s.h.i.+vering, and unclipped her satphone.

'He's not here,' Darby said.

'The family?' Robinson asked.

'Dead. The husband and wife and their son. I haven't found the daughter. He opened almost every window inside the house, and he left a cell on the woman's lap.'

'Why?'

'To listen in and watch me? Us? Who knows? Does Brewster have a bomb squad?'

Darby heard the man's breath catch in his throat. She could also hear phones ringing in the background.

'What makes you think the phone is a bomb?' the chief asked.

'I don't know what to think. He left the phone here for a reason, but I'm afraid to touch it.' Darby rubbed the sleeve of her s.h.i.+rt against her forehead. She couldn't stop s.h.i.+vering. 'All the lights just came back on.' 'Power's going on and off all over town, on account of the storm. You find anything else beside the phone?'

'No, just the phone.' Darby was looking at it from the hall.

'So there's nothing in there.'

'At least nothing I can see. Maybe he just summoned me here to screw with my head to screw with all of us.'

'But?'

'It doesn't feel right. I can't put a finger on it.'

The dead woman's eyes stared accusingly at Darby. You did this, her gaze said. I'm dead and my husband and son are dead because of you. You did this.

'Is it safe to send my people in there?' Robinson asked her.

'I don't know. Contact Coop and Hoder,' she said as she moved down the stairs to retrieve her jacket. 'Tell them what I found and ask them what they think.'

52.

Coop and Hoder had decided to join her. Darby, watching from the dining-room window, her jacket zipped all the way up to her neck and her hands stuffed inside her jeans pockets, saw their car pull up behind the chief's truck.

The power for the house was still on, but it had flickered once or twice. The porch lights and the pair of floodlights mounted on the garage must have been turned on before her arrival, because they were turned on now.

It seemed Hoder was having trouble breathing, and his legs were shaky. Coop had gripped the man's arm tightly to keep him from falling, but Hoder was still doubled over, inhaling great gulps of air. Darby left the house to a.s.sist.

'It's the alt.i.tude,' Hoder said when she reached him. Snow whipped around their heads, obscuring his face. 'My lungs are still having a hard time adjusting, and I think my knee has finally given out.'

'Let's get you back in the car,' Darby yelled over the wind.

'No, I'll be fine, honest. Just help me inside the house.'

As Darby grabbed the man's other arm, she heard Robinson's tinny voice yelling over the satphone's small speaker. Although she had clipped the phone back on to her belt, she had kept the line open. She brought the phone up to her ear.

'They're here,' Darby told Robinson.

'A woman called 911 just a few minutes ago to report what she described as ”a thundering boom”. We've had a few more calls saying the same thing. I've got '