Decker studied the pieces in the case on the right wall. There were two multicolored porcelain fighting dogs, a set of cloisonné parrots, a set of aqua vases decorated with fire-breathing dragons, and a simple green bowl with a cracked glaze that probably cost a month’s salary.

He stared at the pieces, eyeing them longer than he should have. The dogs were standing in a perfect line, the bright-colored glazes running into one another. The bowl was obviously the centerpiece of the cabinet. It took up a shelf by itself. The parrots looked very old; the blue enamel was dulled and drab. The vases were shaped like a thermometer bulb, dragons snarling as they encircled the bases and curled up the stems.

Interesting pieces, yet, again, something about them was off kilter. The house was taking on the appearance of an Escher drawing—lots of steps leading nowhere. He exhaled forcibly, then shrugged it off and moved on. He walked through an arched doorway and stepped into the living room.

It was more a museum than a room in a house—cavernous, with a vaulted ceiling and a white marble floor covered at strategic spots with lush, floral area rugs. Artwork adorned apricot-colored walls that were topped with carved crown molding. The furniture was grand—giant sectional sofas holding tapestry pillows and throw covers. Lots of tables but no lamps on them. Decker looked up. Small, recessed lights were set into ceiling molding.

He began to jot down some notes.

Lots and lots of porcelain—vases and figurines sitting on tables, resting on the mantel and in a six-foot-long mirrored display cabinet. An expensive collection, yet the pieces didn’t appear to be affixed to the surfaces. He wondered if the Yaloms had earthquake insurance.

He went on.

There was a semicircular outpouching off the living room. Decker stepped inside, turning on the light switch with a latex glove. A high-gloss wood-paneled space filled with books. The library. Neat…clean…nothing seemed out of order.

He reversed directions to examine the other side of the first floor. The dining room was designed on the same large scale as the living room. One entire wall was taken up by a breakfront that sparkled with china and crystal. Another wall was the backdrop for an antique clock.

Yalom seemed well-heeled. Once, Decker would have assumed the man rich. But the last decade’s pernicious policy of spend-now, pay-later made it hard to tell. Decker wondered how many of the items had been bought and paid for. He walked through the butler’s pantry and into the kitchen.

It was bigger than Marge’s apartment—a sterile expanse with white lacquer cabinets and dark granite counters. A booth was tucked into the corner. He ran a gloved finger over the surfaces. They seemed clean, at least devoid of blood.

Women are murdered in the bedroom, men in the kitchen.