Halfway to the front Liquida found what he was looking for, a partially open window, a slider someone had left ajar just a crack, probably for fresh air. Through the dark glass, he could see the glow of green light from the digital clock over the stove-3:18 A.M. The window looked out on the side yard from a small dining nook just off the kitchen.

With the window open Liquida knew it was unlikely that there would be any electronic contacts to trigger an alarm. Nonetheless, he scanned with his eyes along the inside frame behind the glass. He could see no metal contacts and no security catch that might prevent the window from opening all the way.

Using the needle-sharp point of his knife, Liquida gently punched a hole in the screen. Then he maneuvered the long stiletto until it released the metal clip inside. With gloved hands he removed the screen and set it on the ground, propping it against the side of the house. He used two fingers to gently slide the window open, and then with the feline agility of a cat, Liquida slipped inside.

He reached out and grabbed the window screen and gently dragged the bottom of the aluminum frame through the sandy, dry loam of the planter bed outside. This would prevent anyone from gaining an impression of the soles of his shoes.

Inside, the house was still and entirely dark except for the glow from the kitchen clock and a narrow shaft of light streaming in from down the hall. By now they were both asleep, in separate bedrooms upstairs.

Liquida moved swiftly and without a sound through the kitchen and down the hall until he came to the front entryway. The light was streaming in through the living room window from a streetlamp out in front. Quickly he stepped through the shaft of light, turned, and climbed the stairs two at a time.

When he reached the top, Liquida saw a closed door immediately to his left, just a few feet down the hall. To the right were an open door and another door farther down that was closed. The open door in the middle had to be a bathroom between the two bedrooms. He crept slowly toward the open door until he saw the porcelain pedestal of the sink, then slipped past the opening to the closed door at the end of the hall. This was her room, where Liquida had watched the light go out from the yard down below.

He quickly glanced over his shoulder toward the other bedroom down the hall. Satisfied that no one stirred, he transferred the knife and carefully gripped the doorknob with his gloved right hand. With the care one might use to unthread the fuse from a bomb, Liquida turned the knob until he felt the gentle click of the lock as it slipped from the brass striker in the door frame. He held his breath and gently eased the door open just enough to quickly slither inside.

Holding the door behind him, his gaze fixed to the front, Liquida scanned the darkness like a bat searching for its quarry. He held the inside knob turned tight so that the bolt was retracted all the way into the door. Then with his hip he silently pressed it closed.

In the dim light of the room he began to make out the soft muslin landscape of the thick comforter. He couldn’t see her, but she was in there somewhere. He hoped that the padded hills and valleys would somehow define her body so he could find the right spot.

Slowly he rotated the wrist of his right hand behind him until he was certain that the door was latched closed once more.

Then Liquida turned his full attention to the front. He glanced quickly around the room, sizing up the terrain around the bed to make sure there was nothing in the way, shoes to be kicked or clothes he might trip over. Once he was certain he had a clear path, Liquida took the knife in his right hand and moved slowly around the foot of the bed.

His eyes were fixed on the girl’s subterranean form, buried somewhere under the rolling hillocks of the covers. He could see the steady rise and fall of her breath as he approached from the right side. Her head was partially buried under the pillow, shutting out whatever light and noise might interrupt her deep sleep.

Liquida assessed the situation. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. If he tried to pull the bedcovers off her to get a clear strike, she might scream before he could silence her. He gauged the thickness of the bedspread against the length of the blade in his hand, and wondered if the comforter was filled with goose down or something harder. Hopefully it wasn’t Kevlar.

He crept forward, searching with his eyes for the area just above the small of her back. As he drew closer he could make out the definition more clearly.

Liquida was two feet from the edge of the bed. His foot found a weak spot and the floor squeaked as he lifted off it. A second later the body on the bed began to move. He froze in place and stared at the moving mound. He was prepared to pounce if he had to, but he knew if he did they wouldn’t be alone in the room for long. He watched as she shifted under the covers and prayed that she would not roll over and open her eyes. Instead she stretched out, took a deep breath, and settled back in. Liquida was thankful, because in the process she flattened enough of the hills to show him his target. If only she would stay still.

He looked at the floor and quietly took two more steps. It put him at the edge of the bed. He looked down. He couldn’t see her head. But he knew where it was, under the pillow.

He leaned over the bed, held his breath, and in a single fluid motion Liquida grabbed the pillow with his left hand and forced it down against the side of her face as he plunged the needle-sharp point of the knife through the covers and into her back. A few flakes of down floated like snow around his gloved hand as he pressed the knife home.

Liquida was lucky and he knew it. The blade slid cleanly between her ribs. Her body jolted with the shock. She tried to scream, but her face was buried deep in the mattress and sealed by the pillow. Liquida pressed down hard, with all of his weight. He had the knife in her but it was like riding a tiger. She was stronger than she looked. Before he realized it, she was struggling into position to do a push-up. If she got her face out of the mattress and let out a scream, they would hear it a block away.

Coming up onto the bed, Liquida forced his knee into her lower back and collapsed her arms. She struggled to escape the searing pain as he moved the blade around in the wound. Her legs thrashed at the covers and her fingers clawed the sheets, but Liquida wouldn’t let up. He searched for the sweet spot before she could throw him off. He angled the knife handle down and jammed the blade upward under the ribs as hard as he could. Jenny arched her back in a rigid bow. He felt the penetration as the tip of the blade sliced through the sac and pierced her heart.

Liquida sat on her like a jockey, his knee still planted in her back. He could feel the life force beneath him dissolve as her body settled back into the mattress.

He took a second to catch his breath, and then he lifted the pillow from her face. Her left eye was wide open, but it was too dark to see if the pupil was dilated. He swept the long blond hair away from the side of her neck and felt for the jugular. There was no pulse. Leaving the knife where it was, Liquida hoisted himself off her and back onto his feet, at the side of the bed. Then he reached over and pulled the knife out as a crimson stain seeped slowly, in a broadening circle, through the thick white muslin.

Liquida had followed the two women all night, but from a safe distance. He parked up on a hill near a hotel and watched them through his field glasses down below as they had dinner in the restaurant’s outdoor plaza. He also saw Madriani’s detective. How could he miss him? The biggest thing moving in Old Town that night. Liquida had seen him before, months earlier, in Costa Rica. He wasn’t someone you were likely to forget. A man the size of a mountain, with a shiny, bald black head that looked as if he spit-shined it at night. He stood there on the wooden boardwalk in front of the shops, smoking his cigar as he watched the two girls from a block away.