“But how does he get in?”

“Picks the lock?” D.D. turned around, inspected the front door’s locking mechanism. As befitting a single woman living in a city, Regina had taken home security seriously. D.D. noted a steel bolt lock in relatively new condition. Christine Ryan, the first victim, had been equally diligent.

Alex waited quietly as she arrived at the answer he already knew.

“Could be done,” D.D. murmured. “But not easily.”

“Probably not.”

“But if she let him in . . . one plate, one cup in the kitchen sink. It wasn’t social. Say, inviting a special friend over for a nightcap. Any evidence recovered from the family room or kitchen? Footprint, hair and fiber?”

“No footprints. Still processing hair and fiber.”

She nodded, looking down at the paw print on the floor, as Alex leaned once more toward the stairs.

She was stalling. Her feet remaining in place versus taking that overdue step forward, up the stairs, into the master bedroom, arriving at the heart of the matter. Was she dreading the scene she would find in the bedroom so much? Or was it worse than that? Was she dreading the stairs?

Alex finally did the honors. He climbed the first few risers. D.D. had no choice but to follow.

With his high-intensity beam, Alex illuminated more blood evidence along the way. Paw prints, some full, some partial, as the small dog had gone up and down the stairs. Then, at the top of the stairs, a significantly larger streak, as if someone had found a large pool of blood and tried to mop it up.

“We’ll have to conduct some experiments to see if we can reproduce the pattern,” Alex was saying, “but I believe this smear pattern is from the dog as well. She was agitated, spending time next to the body, then running back and forth in the hallway. Here, at the top of the stairs, I think she lay down for a while. Maybe waiting for help to arrive.”

D.D. was having a hard time breathing again. The climb up the stairs, she told herself. But she had a death grip on the right handrail and her chest felt unnaturally tight. As if a giant had reached inside her body and was now squeezing her lungs with his meaty fist.

She bent over slightly. Found herself panting.

Then, as white dots began appearing in front of her eyes . . .

Rockabye, baby, on the treetop . . .

“Hold my hand. Steady. Now breathe. Inhale through your mouth, one, two, three, four, five. Exhale through your nose. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.

“Easy, sweetheart. Easy.”