“Tanya, Caitlin, Troy, if you’re hiding, it’s safe to come out now,” Eve said. “We’re the police. You’re safe with us.”

The house remained deathly quiet. The only people moving here were the two of them. But that didn’t mean they were alone.

She scanned the rest of the room. There was a bed pillow, a blanket, and a sheet on the couch, which faced a flat-screen TV that was way too big for the room. A small dog bed, with a chewed-up Nylabone in it, was against one wall. Where was the dog?

Eve turned and looked back down the hall, where trails of blood led into three different doorways. Flies were coming into the house now, buzzing loudly past her ears. She looked at Duncan and he nodded. Eve followed one of the blood trails into a bedroom while Duncan went into the bedroom across the hall.

She stood in the doorway, taking in the pink walls and the blood spatter on the shelves of dolls and stuffed animals. Eve moved into the room, eased around the blood-soaked carpet, and bumped into a standing electric fan, nearly knocking it over. She crouched down and peered under the bed. The lifeless eyes of a stuffed bear stared back at her.

Eve rose, crossed the room, and opened the sliding mirrored closet door with the toe of her foot. A young girl’s clothes hung from the rod, including a princess gown, probably from Halloween. Eve’s sister, Lisa, three years younger than her, once had a costume like that.

“Clear,” Eve shouted and went back to the hall.

Duncan emerged from what appeared to be Troy’s room. There were toy cars on the floor and Marvel superhero posters on the walls. Eve’s little brother, Kenny, five years younger than her, liked superheroes, too, when he was a kid. But only the DC ones like Superman and Batman.

“Clear,” Duncan said.

They moved in unison, following a blood trail to the next open doorway. It was the bathroom and there was blood everywhere, as if someone had heaved buckets of it into the room, especially in the bathtub. Every surface was splashed or spattered with blood, even the ceiling.

Eve’s own blood went cold, chilling her from the inside out, goose bumps rising on her flesh. The flies had found the room, too, and their buzzing seemed amplified, as if channeled through loudspeakers, but she knew it was all in her head.

There were blood-soaked dish sponges and several blood-smeared bottles of Clorox on the counter and in the sink. The smell of cleanser and motor oil was overpowering and, combined with the bloody tableau, repulsive. She fought her gag reflex, willing her muscles to relax. She would not humiliate herself, and contaminate the crime scene, by vomiting.

“My God,” Duncan said.

Somehow hearing his shaky voice was reassuring and helped her maintain control. He was as disturbed by this as she was.

They backed away from the bathroom and eyed the two remaining doors, both ajar, both at the end of blood trails on the carpet. Eve took the door on the left and Duncan took the one on the right.