Not one word of warning. Not a single expression of encouragement.

Which was how D.D. knew it was going to be awful before she ever entered the room.

• • •

THE BACK BEDROOM WAS VERY TINY, probably originally intended to be a rear study in the quaint Colonial-style house. Most likely the room had been converted when Janet Sgarzi’s health had deteriorated to the point she could no longer climb the stairs.

A single hospital-style bed with metal railings dominated most of the space, pushed up against the far wall and blocking what was probably a rear exit. Next to the bed was an old oak nightstand, topped with a pitcher of water, numerous orange pill bottles and, of course, a champagne bottle and a single red rose.

D.D. stared at the two items for a moment, because knowing what she was about to see didn’t make it any easier.

“No fur-lined handcuffs,” she murmured.

“No,” Alex said from beside her, where he currently blocked her view of the bed. The two of them were tucked tightly together, crammed into the remaining space in the room. For her to step forward, he would have to fall back, and vice versa. “There are some differences this time around,” he continued. “With both the victim and the MO. Though the differences in the MO may have to do with differences in the victim.”

“Start from the beginning?”

“The victim is sixty-eight-year-old Janet Sgarzi, lived alone, also in the end stages of cancer. The living-alone part is consistent with our victim profile. Her age and health, however, make her distinct. We’ve gone from a predator who targets relatively young single women, to the murder of an ailing elderly mother.”

“Daylight attack,” D.D. supplied. “Higher risk for our predator.”

“Yes. Pat is getting bolder. Then again, this particular victim had a reputation for caution and probably wouldn’t have answered her door after dark. Also, while she lived alone, sounds like Charlie often stayed over, given the state of Janet’s health. Meaning a nighttime attack might have actually proved riskier in this particular case.”

“The Rose Killer watched her first. Must have to account for all those variables.”

“Which we figured,” Alex said. “Pat does his or her homework, plans ahead. That’s why we can’t get a bead on him/her, even after four break-ins.”

“Four?”

“Three murders, plus our own home. Which was also midday.”

D.D. straightened. “Pat was practicing! I bet you anything the son of a bitch was practicing. Toying with us, yes, but also practicing! Pat had already selected the next victim, Janet Sgarzi, who would have to be approached during the day. So Pat worked on technique while scoping out and entering our house. Dammit!”

Alex placed a hand on her right shoulder. Not to soothe but to still her.

“D.D.,” he said, and there was a wealth of gravitas in that word.

Immediately, she fell silent.