Garcia hovered over her, saying nothing.

“I lost it.” She bunched the scarf in her hand and hurled it down.

“What did you see?”

The murderer’s emotions were rising inside Bernadette, and this time no passion tempered the anger. It took every ounce of self-control for her to swallow back the rage and answer Garcia civilly. “He’s got another victim. I saw him running her down.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was tied up and sitting in a tub. He cut her loose, and she bolted. He caught up with her and shoved her down the stairs.”

“Christ.”

“As if that wasn’t enough, he’s beating her. This skinny, naked chick. He’s punching the crap out of her.” Holding out her hand, she saw that she was trembling—either from the shock of what she’d witnessed or the extreme effort it was taking to rein in her emotions.

“Is she dead?”

“I don’t know. If she isn’t now, she soon will be. We have to find her.”

“Is this happening right now, or did it happen earlier?”

“I think it’s now.” She checked her watch. “I get the sense this is real time.”

“What did she look like? Can you give any kind of description?”

He knew her sight was usually too foggy for details. “She was white. Skinny as a bird. Long brown hair. The prof didn’t give me a description of this Regina Ordstruman, but it’s gotta be her.”

“So Wakefielder wasn’t lying.”

She picked up the evidence bag and dropped the scarf back inside it. She extended her hand to him. “We gotta move on this thing.”

______

BY THE TIME they got back to her loft, the killer’s anger had dissipated, but Bernadette remained dizzy. She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. “Let’s go over to the house!” she yelled through the open door.

“Which one? Was he chasing her around a houseboat or a mansion?”

She thought about it and ruled out the houseboat; it didn’t have a second floor. Also, Matthew’s girlfriend would have seen it if her boy was holding another woman. “Let’s go to the doctor’s place,” Bernadette said, blotting her face with a towel. “We can look for blood.”

Garcia came up behind her and stood in the bathroom doorway. “Blood? The beating was that bad?”

“That bad.” She wobbled past him and headed to the kitchen.

“You look like hell,” he said, following her.

She took her jean jacket off the back of a chair and slipped it on. “Let’s get going.”

He put on his trench. “Should we call for backup?”

She checked her Glock. “When we’re sure we have the right house.”

“Is he alone?”

She pulled on her gloves. “I didn’t see anyone except the victim.”

“Is he armed?”

She started for the door. “Didn’t see a gun. He had a knife.”

Garcia was right behind her. “He was getting ready to cut her?”

“Yeah,” she said, and pulled the door open.

THEY TOOK Garcia’s car. She knew the Grand Am was up for the race; Garcia had won the loaded heap at a police auction. It was tempting to give him grief about not taking a company car, but by the glow of the dashboard she could see his face was tense. He was in no mood for giving or receiving any crap as he piloted the Pontiac through downtown.

“What if he won’t let us in?” she asked. “We really don’t have enough to—”

“He’ll let us in.” With a squeal, he steered around a slow-moving sedan.

“What leverage have we got?”

He turned onto Interstate 94 heading west. “The sister. What was her name again?”

“Ruth.”

“I’ll tell him we’re opening an investigation into her death. If what you said is true, that isn’t a line of bullshit. You can chime in with tidbits you picked up at the nursing home. Make it sound like we know what we’re talking about.”

She eyed the speedometer and was impressed. The sled had wings. “He could refer us to his lawyers and slam the door in our faces.”

“Or he’ll be so upset at the mere mention of the dead sister, he’ll soil his trousers and let us inside.” He slowed behind a taxi and swerved around it.

“You’re being optimistic,” she said.

“If by some miracle we get through the front door, where was most of the action taking place?”

“It started in an upstairs bathroom and ended on the first floor, at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn’t tell if they were Luke VonHader’s stairs, though. There was a landing at the killer’s house. I don’t remember if there was one at the doc’s. The wood was the same. Dark banisters and floor.” She balled her fists in her lap and glanced out the passenger’s window. “I wish my sight could be more precise.”

“Me, too,” he said shortly.

The drove in silence after that, until he muscled the Grand Am onto the exit ramp. “Reach under your seat,” he told her.

She bent over and retrieved a flashlight. “What do we need this for?”

“We’ll scope out the place before we knock,” he said, turning left and heading south toward Summit Avenue. “We might see something that would justify busting down the door.”

She clicked the flashlight on and off and dropped it into her jacket pocket. “Like a body in the foyer?”

“A body in the foyer would do it.”

Chapter 37

AS THEY ENTERED the doctor’s property through the back gate, they saw that the windows at the rear of the house were dark. Crouching down and hugging the side of the building, the two agents circled the stone mansion once and returned to the backyard. The entire place appeared devoid of light and movement.

Pulling the flashlight out of her jacket pocket, she went over to the garage—an old carriage house—and shined the beam through one of the windows. The light bounced off a sea of silver surfaces. Lexus. Volvo. Jag. “That’s interesting,” she muttered.

“What?” whispered Garcia, standing behind her and sharing her view through the window.

“The sedan and the wagon belong to Luke.”

“So he’s home.”

Training the beam on the sports car, she said, “But that silver bullet is Little Brother’s ride.”

“They’re both here.”

She clicked off the light and looked over her shoulder at Garcia. “Which means if there’s a body in the foyer, they’re both culpable.”

While the carriage house had no outside lighting, the neighbors on both sides had bright lights mounted on their garages, making it easy to read the concern on Garcia’s face. “Time to call for backup,” he said, slipping his hand inside his trench coat.

“Not yet. Let’s keep looking around.”

He paused. “Fine.”

Reaching inside her jacket, she unsnapped her holster and took out her Glock. “You stay here in case they try to slip out the back.”

Nodding in agreement, he took out his weapon.

She left Garcia in the backyard and went around to the side of the house. Bernadette ran her eyes up and down the sidewalk and street that ran past the front of the house. There were a few parked vehicles on both sides of the street, but no traffic from cars or pedestrians. It was a quiet residential neighborhood that wouldn’t see any action until dawn. That was good. She had a feeling this saga wasn’t going to have a tidy ending.

She entered the front yard and squatted behind one of the marble lions. Looking up, she noticed a light in a second-story window over the porch. Had they missed it? Didn’t matter. Someone was up and about. Bernadette wanted to confront whoever it was before Garcia called the cavalry. As she was contemplating her next move, her cell vibrated. She fished it out. “What?” she whispered.

Garcia said, “I see a light upstairs.”

“Me, too.”

“Now what?”

A light downstairs flicked on.

After a long silence on his end, Garcia said, “Someone’s in the kitchen. I can see their silhouette through the curtains. I think it’s a guy. Big guy.”