LITMIR.BIZ

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entirely directed toward whatever she saw outside.

      Riley imagined taking the ice pick in hand. Then she walked on across the hardwood floor, her shoeless feet stirring not so much as a whispering shuffle, until she stood right behind where Robin Scoville had been standing.

      And then …

      One swift, sharp, flawlessly aimed move was all it took.

      The long point of the ice pick plunged effortlessly through the boneless passage through her ear into her brain, and the killer pulled the pick just as effortlessly out again, then watched his victim collapse to the floor.

      And finally …

      Riley felt sure that he was satisfied with his deed.

      He was proud of himself for overcoming his uncertainties and going through with it.

      But did he pause for a moment to admire his own handiwork?

      Or had he slipped away immediately?

      Riley’s sense of the killer’s mind dimmed now as she stood looking again at the taped outline on the floor.

      There was a lot—too much—that she still didn’t know.

      But she felt sure of one thing.

      She said aloud to her colleagues, who were now gathered around her …

      “He’s one cold son of a bitch.”

      Bill said, “Tell us more.”

      Riley thought for a moment, then said, “I can’t be sure of anything yet. But I think it’s personal for him—and yet it’s not personal at the same time. I don’t think he hated this woman. He may not have even known her name. But he had reasons for wanting her dead—important reasons, almost like killing her was some kind of …”

      Riley paused, trying to think of the right word.

      Then Jenn suggested, “Duty?”

      Riley looked at her younger colleague and nodded.

      “Yeah, that’s exactly the feeling I get. A sense of obligation, almost.”

      Riley noticed now that Chief Brennan was staring at her with his mouth hanging open. She’d long since gotten used to people’s surprise when they watched her going through this strange process of hers. And she knew she’d just looked pretty strange, walking trancelike through the house in her socks, pantomiming the moves of the killer.

      Agent Sturman, by contrast, didn’t look surprised at all. Of course, as a seasoned FBI agent, Sturman had surely at least heard of Riley’s unique propensities, which were well-known throughout the Bureau.

      Sure enough, Sturman nudged Brennan with his elbow and said, “I’ll explain it later.”

      Bill had gone to the landing in back of the house. He now came back with Riley’s shoes and handed them to her. As Riley sat down on a footstool and put them back on, doubts started to creep into her mind.

      Did I get everything wrong?

      She often felt swept with such uncertainties after these exercises.

      After all, she wasn’t a mind reader, and there wasn’t anything magic or paranormal about the process she used. It was pure intuition, nothing more or less. She’d been wrong sometimes in the past, and she might be wrong now.

      She got up from the footstool and wondered …

      Did I miss something?

      She looked toward the window and imagined the young woman standing there staring outside, oblivious to the danger that was creeping up behind her.

      What was she looking at?

      Riley had no idea.

      But she knew she’d better find out.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Riley stood looking out the window, trying to imagine what the street had looked like in the early morning hours, at the exact moment when someone had driven an ice pick into Robin Scoville’s skull.

      What was out there? she wondered.

      What did Robin see just then?

      The question nagged harder at Riley by the moment.

      She said to Chief Brennan, “I didn’t notice that this house has any security cameras. Does it?”

      “No,” Brennan said. “The owner didn’t bother to install them in a small rental like this. Too bad, because maybe we’d have a video recording of what happened. Or better yet, cameras might have deterred the killer.”

      Followed by her colleagues, Riley walked out through the front door. She stood on the sidewalk looking up and down the street. Again she noticed that Robin’s house was the smallest house in an upscale neighborhood.

      She said to Brennan, “I assume you’ve interviewed all the neighbors.”

      “As many of them as we could,” Brennan said. “Nobody was awake when it happened, so nobody noticed anything unusual.”

      She could see cameras on some of the front porches. In several yards, signs warned that these houses were protected by one or another security company.

      “I see that some neighbors have security cameras for their own houses,” Riley commented.

      “Most of them do, I’m sure,” Brennan said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t look like any of them are going to do us any good.”

      Riley could see what Brennan meant. None of the cameras appeared to be directed toward Robin’s house, so they couldn’t have picked up anything concerning the break-in or the murder. And yet a Nest camera fastened to a porch post of the nearest house caught her interest.

      Riley pointed to the house and said, “Have you talked to the people who live there?”

      Brennan shook his head. “No, a retired couple named Copeland live there, but they haven’t been at home for a week or so. The neighbors say they’re vacationing in Europe. They’re supposed to come back in a couple of weeks. So they definitely couldn’t have seen what happened. And their camera isn’t aimed at Robin’s house either.”

      Not at the house, Riley thought. But definitely at the street in front of the house.

      And what had happened on the street was exactly what Riley was curious about right now. Because the couple was gone for an extended time, maybe they’d left the surveillance system programmed to keep a continuous record of all that happened in their absence.

      Riley said, “I want to see what, if anything, that camera picked up.”

      Agent Sturman replied, “We’ll have to track down the Copelands and get their permission. To see the recording we’ll need their password. Or we’ll have to get a warrant and go after it through the company.”

      “Do it,” Riley said. “Whatever we need. As quickly as you can.”

      Sturman nodded and stepped aside, taking out his cell phone to make a call.

      Meanwhile, before Riley could decide what she and her colleagues should do next, Jenn spoke to Chief Brennan.

      “You said Robin was divorced. What can you tell us about her ex?”

      Brennan said, “His name’s Duane Scoville, and he plays in a local rock band called the Epithets.” The chief laughed a little and added, “I’ve heard them play. They’re not bad, but it seems to me they’d better keep their day jobs.”

      Jenn asked, “Where does Duane live?”

      Brennan pointed. “Just over on the east side of town.”

      Jenn said, “I take it you’ve interviewed him.”

      “Yeah, we don’t think he’s a viable suspect,” Brennan said.

      “Why not?” Jenn asked.

      “Duane says he and the Epithets were playing a gig over in Crestone, Rhode Island, the night

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