Page 80

That got my attention.

Not because it was particularly gruesome. Not yet.

Because there was something invasive about it. Someone knowing the boring pieces of your life. The routes you drove.

The ones you ran.

When the lights went out. Where everyone slept.

“He became obsessed with their interests,” Riot added. “Joined things they joined sometimes. Went places they went. He wanted to understand how the family worked before he started taking it apart.”

“Taking it apart,” Sunshine repeated flatly. “Lovely dinner phrase.”

Dad ignored her. “He usually killed them one at a time. Sometimes in small groups, depending on the size of the family.”

Sadie had stopped eating again.

“If there was a daughter,” Dad went on, “she was usually first.”

Sunshine set down her fork. “Buck.”

“Sometimes the mother,” Riot added.

Marion stared at her husband. “You’re both disgusting.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“The father was always last,” Dad continued.

That part had never made sense to me.

“Why?”

Dad glanced at me. “Reaction.” One word. It landed unpleasantly.

“It was all about the father. Bancroft wanted him to understand exactly what he’d lost before he died. He wanted grief. Panic. Rage. Begging. Whatever he could get.”

“And if he didn’t get enough?” Sadie asked.

Dad’s expression changed. Only slightly.

“That’s where he really enjoyed himself. He made the last death worse.”

I stared at him. “How much worse?”

“Don’t ask,” Sunshine told me.

That meant bad.

“The fathers who stayed controlled got the worst treatment,” Dad said. “Bancroft considered stoicism insulting. Said if a man could watch his whole family die and still keep himself together, he hadn’t done the job properly.”

The table had gone quiet. Even the Bishop boys were listening now.

Chief sat across from me, forearms resting on either side of his plate. He wasn’t looking at me.

I was looking at him. Of course.

His hair was still damp from the shower.