Yet he’d never once complained or snapped at her to get over herself.

He was there for her. Even now, he wasn’t demanding to know what she’d gotten herself into, or how dare she bring the dangers of her job into their home. He was thinking. Analyzing. Strategizing.

Alex wasn’t feeling sorry for himself, or for her. He was plotting how to get the son of a bitch who’d violated their home.

“So,” Phil said at last. He was sitting on the sofa, notepad propped on his knees, gray blazer rumpled, dark-red tie askew. Of all of them, he appeared to be taking the break-in the hardest. With D.D. out, this had been his case. And not only had a second victim been murdered, but now the killer appeared to be getting closer to them, without them getting any closer to him.

“So,” D.D. repeated. She’d moved a kitchen chair into the family room, where she sat with her left arm tucked against her ribs, an ice pack on the back of her left shoulder. After the impromptu physical therapy session with Dr. Adeline Glen, it seemed the least she could do. Plus, she was trying to prove to herself, if not to her pain specialist, that she wasn’t a complete control freak. She could try other pain management techniques. Yes, she could.

“Neighbors don’t have much to offer,” Phil continued. “Basically, a person, very average-looking, entered your home.”

Across from Phil, Neil shrugged. “Nothing we didn’t already know. Killer has entered and exited two other crime scenes without arousing attention. Blending in is obviously something the perpetrator does well.”

“But maybe we learned more about technique,” Phil said. “The suspect was disguised to appear as a home security company employee. We can go back to the other two crime scenes, see if they had systems, if there were any calls that came in that night. Or ask about other common service companies. Maybe a van marked ‘pest control’ or ‘plumbing.’ You know, the kind of thing that really didn’t stand out for the neighbors at the time, but if we return with more specific questions now . . .”

“Who is this guy?” asked Alex abruptly. He stopped pacing, stood in the middle of their modest, beige-carpeted family room and stared at them.

“Joe Average,” Neil spoke up. “Or maybe Jane Average. Statistics would argue for Joe, given that most killers are male. But again, the lack of sexual assault, not to mention any kind of useful eyewitness account, means we can’t rule out Jane. So maybe, just Average Person. We are looking for an everyday average person.”