Mancini stayed put, wanting first to get a clearer picture of the situation. “I understand one of Miss Crestwater’s roomers phoned it in.”

“Yes, sir. An FBI agent, Lisa Draper. She’s in the kitchen. She also called an ambulance. The victim was the student, Jesse Cooper. We’re speculating the intruder thought no one was home. Maybe thought Cooper would be in class. Anyway, he’s been transported to the trauma unit at Virginia Hospital Center. He was conscious, but Agent Draper says he wasn’t able to identify his attacker.”

“You’ve secured the scene?”

“Yeah. As far as we can tell, an intruder broke a windowpane in the back door in order to reach the dead bolt. Cooper must have heard him. Draper found him unconscious at the bottom of the basement steps.”

Mancini’s eyebrows arched. “The basement?”

“Yes, sir. I figure Cooper confronted his attacker just inside the door and was shoved down the stairs. The tumble could easily have knocked him out. Draper doesn’t know if anything has been taken. Miss Crestwater will be the best person to determine that.”

“Has she been contacted?”

“I don’t know.”

“Any clue other than the broken glass?”

“No, sir.”

Mancini took a deep breath and said nothing for a few seconds. Then he looked toward the living room. Iron Butterfly’s “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” blared from the speakers. “The music’s awfully loud.”

“That’s the way Agent Draper says it was playing when she arrived. She thinks it might have been turned up by the intruder to mask any sounds of a search.”

“That doesn’t make sense. That would only have drawn the attention of anyone else in the house. Well, let’s print the back door and photograph the scene. Also, depending upon the size of the window fragments, see if forensics can lift any usable prints off the pieces. You can tell Agent Draper I’m waiting for her in the living room.”

Tepper left. Mancini walked to the stereo and turned it off. He stood by the mantel of the fireplace, feeling tired, feeling his age. His thoughts turned to Ethel. She had nearly twenty years on him, and yet would be fully energized when she learned what had happened.

“Detective Mancini?”

He looked up. An attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties crossed the room with her right hand extended. Shoulder-length blond hair framed a tanned face. She smiled warmly but not overly effusively, mindful that they were meeting at the scene of a crime.

“I’m Lisa Draper. I found Jesse Cooper.”