D.D.’s squad was assembled in their family room. Crime scene techs had arrived, inspecting their front door, dusting for prints, bagging the various tokens of the killer’s affection. Uniformed officers had canvassed the area. Other detectives had interviewed the neighbors, establishing that a nondescript person in a nondescript white van bearing the name of a major home security firm had appeared in their driveway in response to their home alarm. Or maybe it had been there right before the activation of the alarm? But one way or another, Alex and D.D.’s home security system had activated, and an employee from their security company had been right there to handle it. Male, female, young, old, black or white, no one was sure. But a company employee. Definitely a company employee had been immediately on scene. Good thing, too, right?

Alex paced.

He’d been the one to find the note. Came home from work, pulled in the drive with Jack strapped into his car seat. He’d opened his car door and registered the screech of the alarm right about the same moment his cell phone had buzzed with their real security firm calling to check in with them.

Not having seen anything amiss from the outside, Alex entered their home. They’d had false alarms before. These things happened. And given the undisturbed front door, intact windows, quiet downstairs . . .

He’d just relaxed, he’d told D.D. tersely. Jack in his left arm, security company on the phone tucked against his right ear as he’d popped upstairs for one last, quick inspection . . .

The security company had contacted the Boston PD, while Alex had headed straight back out of the house with three-year-old Jack in his arms and driven him to his parents.

They would keep him for the night.

While the crime scene technicians processed Alex and D.D.’s home.

And Alex paced.

His hands were clasped behind him. He wore his academy clothes, khaki pants, a navy-blue shirt embroidered with the Massachusetts State Police logo on his chest. The hard line of his shoulders spoke of tension. Otherwise his set face remained expressionless, nearly impossible to read. If D.D. was an expert on externalizing her rage, then Alex was a master of internalizing his, maintaining a tightly reined control.

For the first time, it occurred to her how rough the past six weeks must have been for him. She was the one who gnashed her teeth and growled about feeling powerless. Yet, how much say had Alex had in the matter? One morning, his wife went to work. And she hadn’t been able to dress herself, watch their child or do anything useful since.

He’d had to watch her suffer. He’d had to assist her with tasks that often increased her pain. And he’d had to shoulder the full load of parenting as well as household chores for the foreseeable future.