“Nothing. I asked her again to verify, and she said she saw them not breathing, saw all the blood, left the house and called the police.” The detective scowled at the staged scene. “This is beyond a killing. Looks like the killer tortured them.”
“The father and wife, yes. The son maybe.”
“Excuse me, Detective Bowman,” a tech said as he scooted by.
Bowman ignored the tech as she moved out of his way. Her voice rose. “Maybe? He’s missinghis feet.”
“He might have been a bad boy.” That made sense, considering what the killer had done to the daughter. “Look at the girl. She had to be disciplined to be quiet. He only took her tongue, the cut to the throat deep and quick.”
“Okay. But I’m reserving judgement on the boy.”
“I bet he tried to run, so he lost his feet. There was a blow to the back of his head that knocked him out while he bled to death.”
“Oh, I hadn’t seen that.”
Jane nodded. “The boy ran and lost his feet. His sister wouldn’t stop crying or shouting and lost her tongue.”
Bowman cringed. “And the mother?”
“A message to the husband. Talk or I’ll eviscerate her.”
“Which he did anyway.”
Jane frowned in thought. “The stab to the wife’s heart would kill her quickly. But the wound to the belly made a mess and would cause real pain. Maybe the killer was making a statement to the father. Give me what I want or the whole family gets it. So he tortured the wife before killing her with a stab to the heart.”
“He killed everyone anyway.”
“Because he likes it.” Jane shook her head, feeling it in her gut. “This guy isn’t going to stop until we stop him.”
“Just one guy, hmm? Not a team?”
“No. This reads as one perpetrator. The mess is too specific. The killing too organized.”
“I agree.” Bowman paused. “Organized?”
“Yeah. He wanted information. We need to see what’s missing.”
“I wonder if he got what he was looking for.” Bowman took a step back. “I’ll be right back. I need to talk to one of my guys again.”
She left, and Jane moved back to the kitchen island.
The maid’s cubed remains had been left on a silver tray, the rest of her a mess next to the pantry. The presumed knife used to cut her lay next to her on the counter. Cleaned and dried and propped next to the bowl of wilting vegetables that had yet to be chopped.
Jane noticed the pantry door ajar. “He saw her hiding, grabbed her, took his time. The family went too quickly.”
Yes, that felt right. She moved through, careful of the evidence markers and tape left by forensics, who continued to process the scene, though only a few techs remained behind.
“We’re taking them now, Agent Cannon,” the lead informed her.
Jane stepped out of the way and watched as the bodies were bagged up and moved.
It took another hour before everyone cleared out except for Jane, Detective Bowman, and two officers.
Jane couldn’t stop staring at a painting in the Strand family’s study. She couldn’t say why it bothered her. A watercolor of a sailboat on the coast of a picturesque villa, matted and framed and looking like it must have cost more than she made in half a year.
“What are you looking at?” Detective Bowman asked.
“What do you see when you look at this?”
