Eve had the house to herself. The CSU investigators had removed the cones, tape, and other evidence markers, as well as a few small sections of carpet, drywall, and bathroom tile for testing, but otherwise the crime scene hadn’t significantly changed since her last visit. The overpowering smell of cleansers and motor oil had either dissipated or she’d become nose-blind to it. All she could hear was the thunderous whoosh of the dry, hot Santa Anas blowing past and the whistling that the winds created in the chimney.

She stood in the kitchen, cleared her head, and tried to imagine how the murders occurred, letting the events play out as if they were happening right in front of her . . .

Tanya rushed past Eve into the kitchen for a quick bite before showering and changing to meet her Realtor. She was in her tank top and leggings, her cheeks still rosy from the exertions of her Pilates class. Her purse was over her shoulder and she was reaching for the box of granola bars on the counter when she sensed a movement behind her. The dog?

No, it wasn’t.

As Tanya turned, Coyle burst into the room and slashed her across the throat with a huge combat knife, blood spraying out of her like a broken sprinkler head. She dropped to the floor, clutching her throat. Her purse slid off her shoulder and spilled open as she fell.

Coyle reached down, grabbed her by an arm, and dragged her out of the kitchen, leaving a smeared swath of blood behind on the yellowed linoleum.

Eve stood there for a moment, surveying the blood spatter, freshly dripping down the cabinets in her imagination, and wondered again why Coyle slashed Tanya’s throat rather than sexually assaulting her, the way he had with Vickie Denhoff.

She followed the trail of blood down the hall and peeked into the bathroom as she passed, seeing the dog’s corpse in the bathtub, the white-tiled shower walls only spotted with blood. The real butchery hadn’t begun yet.

When Eve got to the master bedroom, Coyle was straddling Tanya on the bed, stabbing her in a wild rage, ripping her and the mattress to shreds and splattering himself, the headboard, the walls and floor with her blood. Each stab into her body, each arc of his arm, lifting the knife up and down, sent drops of blood flying.

Eve turned and went back down the hall, fast-forwarding by hours, and getting to the front door just as Caitlin and Troy came in from school. They were shrugging off their backpacks when Coyle, drenched in blood and now wearing dish gloves, charged at them with the bloody knife he’d been using to dismember Tanya in the bathtub.