“One of BTK’s first crimes was an attack on a family right after breakfast,” D.D. said, referring to the notorious Bind Torture Kill murderer who operated for decades in Kansas. “He talked himself through the front door, then held a gun on the kids until the parents agreed to be tied up. Once he subdued the parents, he proceeded according to plan.”

“No evidence of bondage at our scenes,” Phil pointed out.

“And BTK stalked his targets first,” Alex said firmly. “He spent months on reconnaissance before he made his move. We’re talking two crimes that occurred within thirty-six hours of each other. Where’s the time for stalking, for identifying each family member, formulating a strategy for attack, and, here’s a thought, for knowing that each household happened to have a twenty-two handgun on-site, let alone get possession of it?”

“Perpetrator got lucky?”

Alex gave her a look. “If it’s a serial case,” he continued relentlessly, “where’s the downtime? Most of these guys take a moment between victims, revel in a job well done.”

“That’s sick,” D.D. said crossly, mostly annoyed that Alex was right, which meant she was wrong. Being horny was hard enough, but being horny and stupid would be too much to bear.

“That’s the point,” Alex was saying. “One killer for two entire families in a span of less than thirty-six hours is a long shot. That kind of bloodlust, combined with such high-level control …” His voice trailed off. “I can’t picture it. It doesn’t fit.”

“But two fathers independently deciding to kill their wife and kids, using the same three methods, within a day of each other—that makes sense?”

“Coincidences happen.”

“It’s not a coincidence!”

“Then, what?”

“We need more information. I know: We’ll investigate. What a great idea!”

Alex rolled his eyes at her. D.D. moved on to her lemon cake.

“I think we should have our auras cleansed,” she announced.

“Hey,” said Phil. “I’m a family man….”

“Then you can call child services and get everything you can on Oswald Harrington and the Laraquettes. Alex, you’re with me.”

“But I showered just this morning.”

“Not that kind of cleansing. We’re going to tend to our inner beauty.”

“You mean a spa?”

“No, it’s time we call upon Denise Harrington’s favorite shaman, Andrew Lightfoot.”

Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

VICTORIA

Evan walked into my room at 4:14 a.m. and demanded to go to the park. He asked again at 4:33, 4:39, 4:43, 4:58, 5:05, and 5:12.

It’s 5:26 now, and we’re walking to the park.