But I couldn’t quite convince myself. First my sister’s suicide attempt, then the newspapers linking my father’s forty-year-old murders to two recent murders and now this.

Oh, Shana, I couldn’t help thinking as I finally walked into the quiet sanctuary of my condo. What have you done?

Chapter 16

THE CALL CAME while they were eating breakfast. Alex answered the phone, the two of them sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, pretending it was a morning like any other morning. Of course they’d slept well the night before, confident in the safety and security of their own home. Never jumping at unexpected sounds. Not getting up even once to double-check the lock, the security system, the Glock 10 Alex had moved to the top of his nightstand.

They were professionals. They didn’t get unraveled by the thought of a killer walking through their bedroom, bearing the same gifts he’d given to each of his murder victims.

At 2:00 A.M., D.D. had said, staring up at the ceiling, “We should name him. You know, like Melvin.”

“You want to name the intruder who broke into our house?”

“Sure. He’s a pain in the ass. Or she’s a pain in the ass. See, we don’t even know that much, and saying he-slash-she-slash-it all the time annoys the shit out of me. Our intruder needs a name. Maybe, like Melvin, it will make it easier to manage him, too.”

Alex was silent for a moment. “I vote for Bob.”

“As in SquarePants? You want to name our personal murder suspect after Jack’s favorite cartoon character?”

“Yes. Bob sounds very killable. How can you not be able to destroy a guy named Bob?”

By 2:05 A.M., D.D. had considered the matter. “What about Pat? Equally killable, but, in keeping with the spirit of investigative truth, androgynous. Bob implies information we don’t yet have.”

“Pat from the SNL skits,” Alex mused. “That works for me.”

“Then Pat it is. Melvin, meet Pat. Pat, meet Melvin. Now, both of you go away.”

Alex had reached for her hand. And they’d resumed their silent vigil, lying side by side in their shadowed bedroom, staring up at the blank ceiling, fingers lightly touching.

Now it was nearly 8:00 A.M. The phone rang, Alex answered and, a moment later, handed it to her.

“We have permission to interview Shana Day,” Phil said without preamble.

“When?”

“Nine sharp.”

“Where?”

“MCI.”

“Who?”

“Her sister must be present—Shana’s terms—plus one detective.”

“Not Neil,” she said immediately.

“Please, she’d eat him alive. I’ll do it.”

“Going with the kindhearted father figure?”

“Making it up as I go along.” Phil hesitated. “It should be you,” he said shortly. “Don’t think I don’t know that.”