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There were newspaper photos of Arthur and Elyse, some from clippings, others pulled off the Internet and printed. Most of the photos included Jill, some included her. All of them were slashed multiple times, red paint dribbled on their faces and bodies. To add to the gruesome effect, there were holes punched in the center of their foreheads—clearly simulating bullet holes.
The macabre centerpiece to this display was a sheet of paper stuck to her pillow with a chef ’s knife taken from Morgan and Jill’s kitchen. The knife had been plunged through the pillow and buried deeply in the mattress below. The laser-printed note, set in a large font and boldface type, read: Stop digging into the past or this will be the future. One family down. One to go.
Morgan stared at the words, her hands flying to her face, a strangled cry lodging in her throat.
“That explains the carefully dissected newspapers all over the place,” Monty muttered. “And the torn Internet photo shoved under the doormat. The bastard took the time to construct a collage.”
“With his own personal touches,” Stockton agreed.
“Talk about being prepared, our perp was a regular Boy Scout.” Monty’s forehead creased as he scrutinized the scene. “He came equipped with everything, right down to his own arts-and-crafts supplies.” A quick glance at Stockton. “Humor me and let me know if something turns up when you dust for prints. I’m sure van Gogh wore gloves—but you never know. Maybe he took them off for the finer strokes.”
“What happened? What have you found?” Arthur shoved his way past his wife and daughter and into the room. Behind him, Jill hovered in the doorway, her face sheet white as she peered into the room. She looked lost and in shock. So did Elyse, who gave her daughter’s shoulders a protective squeeze before going straight to Morgan.
“Morgan?” Elyse gripped her hands. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
A mechanical nod. “I wasn’t here when it happened. I only got home a little while ago.”
“And walked in on this.” Elyse sounded ill, her gaze growing more and more grim as it swept the room.
“I asked what you found,” Arthur repeated, his hard stare flickering over Stockton and coming to rest on Monty.
It was clear which one of them he was addressing.
Stockton didn’t look offended. He looked relieved to be off the hook.
“What we found is pretty much what you’re looking at.” Monty took the congressman’s authoritative air right in stride. “The front door locks were picked. The whole place was rifled. But the heavy-duty ransacking was done to Morgan’s things—her desk, her files, and obviously her bedroom.” A quick glance at Jill. “Your room’s not bad. Messy, but not too wrecked. Once the cops are finished doing their thing, it should take no time to straighten up.”
“Thank you,” Jill replied. She was clearly fighting back tears.
Monty saw that, and his tone gentled. “Your desk and work space were barely touched. Just a few knickknacks tossed around for effect. Your biggest job will be rearranging your holiday decorations. But they’re all salvageable.”
Jill swallowed hard. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
“Maybe you should be,” Stockton interjected. “The threat being issued here doesn’t just single out Ms. Winter. It includes your whole family.”
“Let’s not overreact.” Monty sounded like he wanted to choke Stockton. “It’s property, not people.”
“That’s not the tune you were singing a half hour ago,” Stockton retorted. “You were all over this.”
“I still am. But I can afford to step on toes. You can’t. This case has already pushed hot buttons at the Manhattan D.A.’s, the Brooklyn D.A.’s, and the Seventy-fifth. The D.A.s want the case solved. The Seventy-fifth wants it to go away. I doubt the Nineteenth wants to be dragged into this mess because of an unrelated B and E.”
“If it’s an unrelated B and E.”
“Find out. Check out the evidence. If there’s a link, by all means jump in with both feet. In the meantime, tread carefully. We’ve got nothing but a vandalized house and some creative artwork. Nothing was taken. No one was hurt. The perp waited till no one was home to do his thing. Clearly, physical assault wasn’t part of his plan.”
“Not this time. But—”
“But nothing.” Monty was done letting Stockton follow through with this line of speculation. It was only intensifying the fear and tension already pervading the room. “Either this is some wack job’s idea of fun, or it’s a warped stunt meant to scare the hell out of Morgan.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Stockton wasn’t pleased about being managed in front of the congressman. “So let’s finish our search. We’ve still got that spare bedroom to go through.”
Monty knew what bedroom Stockton was referring to. It was where Morgan kept her parents’ memorabilia. And he didn’t want that stuff confiscated.
“The spare room can wait,” he declared. “This bedroom was the primary target. Besides, we already did a once-over on that room and—”
“Go ahead, Sergeant.” Lane’s agreement drowned out Monty’s preemptive strike. “It’s your case. You do the search. Monty and I will talk to the Shores—and stay out of your way.” A wry grin at Stockton. “Don’t fault him. He’s the best in the business. But taking a backseat’s not his strength. Not to worry—I’ll sit on him so you can do your job.”
“Thanks.” Stockton was pumped up again, looking smug and pleased by the vote of confidence from Monty’s son.
