Jason turned to check the sliding door and stepped on broken glass. The window opposite the table was shattered. He drew his gun and stepped over to the window. He didn't see anyone, nor did he see any blood. In the wall, across from the window, was a bullet hole.

“Stan Turnbull! Police!”

Jason pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam Garner.

“Garner.”

“Sam, Jason here. I'm at Stan Turnbull's, and I've found a window in the back shot out. Can you send me back-up?”

“I'll send a black and white. Get out front where they can see you. I'm on my way.”

“Alright, I'm moving out…oh, shit!”

“What!?”

Jason had caught sight of something in the pool. He quickly realized what it was.

“I think I found Stan Turnbull.”

“Is he alright?”

“I wouldn't say so, no”

****

Jason waited in front while they pulled Stan Turnbull's body out of the pool. He'd swelled up like a balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and Jason hadn't had lunch yet. Jason already knew it was murder—the handcuffs told him that—but like the sister, Jason couldn't tell why Stan Turnbull had been targeted. He was also going on the theory that Michael Barton was responsible for both deaths, but he didn't have a solid connection there, either.

Sam came through the gate and joined him.

“Nothing. No fingerprints, no blood. The slug is a .44 and it didn't come from the victim’s gun. We found his gun in the nightstand, a .38”

“Same story as the sister's place, nothing to directly connect my guy.”

Sam nodded.

“I still agree with you, though. He seems the most likely suspect, just because of the trail of sightings and the fact that he is still missing.”

Jason didn't like always being one step behind.

“Any other family show up on record?”

“No.”

“His phone was on the table; find anything in it?”

Sam pulled out an evidence bag with the phone in it.

“I'm taking it downtown now to have the numbers checked. Until then, I guess we wait.”

Jason didn't like it.

”Wait for what? Another body?”

Sam gave him a wry smile.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a new lead.”

****

Michael sat in his car just down the street from the Duncan home. It was a comfortable looking two-story with dormers over the upstairs windows and ivy growing on one side. The lawn was cut, but not manicured, and the driveway had bikes, skateboards, and a football lying on it.

The front door was in the middle of the house, cranberry in color, and was flanked by two picture windows, one on each side of the entranceway. The exterior was bricked all the way around, and it gave the home a solid appearance.

This was the third day that Michael had been watching their morning routine, and so far, they had not varied from it. Around 7:15, the boys would come out the door and load up in their mom's van. He had followed them one day, so he knew she was driving them to school. From there, Katie would go on to her job at the local Sears store.

At around 8:30, Wade Duncan would come out and get in his car, usually talking on the phone, and head for Golden Century Realty. Michael had remained for at least an hour after their departure each day to make sure that they did not return. He knew that would give him the window of time he needed.

Michael looked at his watch. 7:14. The front door opened and the boys appeared, followed by their mother. Within a few minutes, they were gone. Wade was late leaving today. He was not gone until 8:45, which cut into Michael's safe window.

After Wade Duncan drove away, Michael got out and walked quickly to the front door. Using a pick on the lock, he was inside in seconds. Closing the door behind him, he stopped to record a mental map of the interior.

The stairs were to the right, and beyond them, the living room. The furniture was all browns and tans, the coffee table glass. A large flat-screen was mounted on one wall. The living room appeared to run the length of the house from the picture window in front to a door leading out to the backyard.

Directly ahead was a hallway. To his left was the dining room with a large wooden table and eight chairs. Running the length of the wall was a mirror that reflected the seating arrangement. Michael moved down the hall. There was a bathroom on the right with a closet opposite it on the left side.

The hall opened up into the kitchen, which was bright and airy. White walls, white floors, and white appliances. It was a stark contrast to the subdued shades of the front rooms. The only color was the red check curtains, place mats, and potholders. There was another door that opened into the backyard.

Michael retraced his steps and went upstairs. At the top, he turned left into the master bedroom. The subdued colors picked back up here with greens and golds. A large bed was flanked by a chest of drawers on one side and a make-up desk on the other. A bench ran along the bottom of the bottom of the bed, facing the large mirrored closets.

With each step, he was memorizing, making his map. He needed to remember the entire layout so he would be able to move around silently and even, if necessary, in the dark.

He walked back to the top of the stairs and to the bedroom there. As he stood looking into the room, he heard a noise at the front door. He swung around the bedroom door, hiding behind it and closing it to just a crack. He could see someone coming in. It was an older woman that Michael didn't recognize. She was holding a phone to her ear.

“Hi, Katie, it's mom. I know you can't answer at work, but I came by the house to get my suitcase and found the door unlocked.”

She started up the stairs towards Michael.

“You guys need to be more careful about locking up. Anyway, call me when you get off and, of course, I'll lock the door when I leave. Bye.”

Michael squeezed the door shut a little more until he could barely see. Reaching behind him, he drew a knife out of his back pocket. The woman reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the master bedroom. Michael could hear her rummaging in a closet and after several minutes, she reappeared carrying a small suitcase. As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused.

Michael's grip tightened on the knife. Setting the suitcase down, she returned to the bedroom.

Michael considered bolting from the house, but before he could act, the woman returned to the top of the stairs, this time with what looked to Michael like a make-up case. She picked up the suitcase and headed down the stairs.

Michael relaxed his grip on the knife and within a few minutes, he heard the front door close.

He stood up and put the knife away. Looking around, he realized that this was one of the boy’s room. There were two pennants on the wall, one for the NFL Rams and another for the NHL Blues. On the back of the door was a poster of a Rams player. It had a signature with the number 13 on it. A Star Wars poster was over the small desk at one end of the room. A dresser and bed filled the other end.

Michael walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture. It was a team picture of a boys’ soccer team. Smiling from the back row was his son. Next to the picture was a trophy. He set the picture down and lifted the trophy. Michael read the inscription.

Jack Duncan

Champions

Under 8 Boys Soccer

He was in Jack’s room.

Rubbing his hand over the inscription of Jack's name, he wished he could erase it, rewrite it as ‘Kristian’.

He replaced the trophy and went over to the bed, sitting on the edge. He let his hand rest on the pillow where his son's head had been. He bunched up some of the blanket and held it to his nose. He inhaled the smell of his son sleeping.