Corrine ends her call. “A guy will be here in the morning to install the security equipment.”

“Great,” I say, and walk past her to the counter, set the photo down, grab the coffee maker, and stash it in a bottom cupboard.

“Gee, thanks, Corrine,” my sister says.

“Sorry. Yeah, thanks. I’m grateful.” I am too. I just don’t have the energy to run my life right now. Just walking, breathing takes everything. “Oh, Laken and Cal are coming over later. Bringing dinner, so I won’t be alone.”

“That’s good.” She glances at her phone. “I’ve got to get going in a few minutes, or I’m going to hit lunchtime traffic.”

I walk her to the door and look both ways at the street as Corrine pulls away from the curb. No media. Thank God. But how long will they stay away? How long before they find me, like vultures looking for carrion? I slam the door shut and shoot the dead bolt.

CHAPTER 14

Rita

I’M NOT THE MOST PATIENT PERSON IN THE WORLD. AND POLICE WORK has gotten so paper-heavy, so weighted down with documentation, that I sometimes have a hard time just sitting at my desk when I know bad guys are running around while I’m typing at my computer. I take a sip of coffee and keep plowing ahead.

After about ten minutes, I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. The Bradley case is moving slowly. There’s lots to dig through and few clues. It’ll take a while to talk to all of the patients Dr. Bradley saw in recent months. And the lab has eliminated all of the knives removed from the Bradley residence as the murder weapon, so either the killer took it with him, or it’s hidden somewhere else on the property, so we don’t have that.

Officer Lauren Broderick knocks on my door frame, and I glance up from my notes.

“Got an initial report on Dr. Bradley’s computer.” She’s our smartest cop, really. She turned down a scholarship to MIT to attend the police academy. Lucky us. Dedicated and driven, she’s presently a detective-in-training; unfortunately, she’s slated to be someone else’s partner. But Chase has grown on me since Bob paired us up last fall. I’ll just miss Lauren’s help when she’s a full-time detective with cases of her own.

“Come on in.”

She settles on the chair across from me, flicks her long braid back over her shoulder, and reads from her laptop. “He mostly had articles copied into files. Background research, I think. Not much else on it other than pictures, e-mail, family stuff. But he’s got a file titled Book.”

“Creative,” I say. “How far did he get on the manuscript?”

Lauren shrugs. “Not too. About thirty pages.”

“You read it all?”

“Yup.” Of course, she did. “Last night.”

“And?”

“The working title is Abnormal Psychology and the Criminal Mind. He was writing about how lots of criminals have antisocial personality disorders.”

“I could’ve told him that.”