Whiplash

They didn't know which room was Jane A

Sherlock nearly froze. Her two boys. What if the killer had murdered the boys? Please no, not the children.

Savich opened each door as they came to it. The first was a small sitting room with a harp sitting next to the window. Jane A

The next was a bedroom that obviously belonged to a preadolescent boy-two posters on the wall of David Beckham, a soccer ball rolled into the corner, a pair of filthy sneakers on the floor. No occupant, thank God. She opened the closet door and nearly got buried when a pile of clothes poured out. She looked inside the clothes. There was no body. She closed her eyes and offered up a prayer.

Sherlock thought she'd lose it when they eased open the second door, another bedroom, and there was something on or in the bed, something substantial, something that didn't move. Was it was one of the boys, dead? Sherlock ran to the bed and saw to her blessed relief that it was a tangled pile of clothes. A desk filled most of the space along the wall. No soccer theme in this room but an incredible array of computer equipment, and a big stack of comic books. She opened the closet door. There was no child, only a collection of shoes and sneakers and a couple of bats and mitts.

"Jane A

"Very smart of her," Savich said. "Okay, let's get to her bedroom."

There was another door that opened into a small office with a single closet, and Savich opened it. Copy paper, envelopes, supplies. No bodies.

The room at the end of the hall had white double doors. They were closed. Savich didn't have a good feeling about this. He turned the doorknob, pushed lightly. The door went silently inward.

Sherlock called, "Jane A

There was dead silence.

"Jane A

They heard a gulping sound, then a sob. "Is that you, Agent Sherlock?"

"Yes." Sherlock ran toward her voice. The closet door slowly opened. Savich turned on the overhead light.

Jane A

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am-" She shuddered, and lowered her head to her hands and began rocking.

Savich asked, his voice calm and low, "Where are the boys?"

She started at the sound of the man's voice. Sherlock said, "It's all right, this is Agent Savich."

Jane A

"You're all right, Jane A

"It-it's hard. I've never been so scared in my life."

"I know, but it's okay now. You've got to tell us what happened."

Jane A

Sherlock gently stroked her arm, and waited. Finally, Jane A

"But no one came in. I heard the men talking, then I heard a single shot. It sounded far away, like it was down at the end of the hall in the laundry room. One of the men yelled, 'I got the bastard!' I didn't know what they were talking about. I was so afraid. I didn't know who'd fired or why-there was no one here but me.

"I heard someone open the bedroom door and I thought I'd die. Someone looked in, I could hear his breathing, but he didn't come into the bedroom. I heard him say, 'Come on, let's get out of here.' And one of them shut the bedroom door again. Then I heard shots, so many shots, then they stopped. I wanted to help you because I knew it had to be you. I had to do something! I ran to the door and opened it a crack. I saw them ru

Savich said quietly, "Who do you think they killed, Mrs. Royal?"

"Caskie," she whispered through her tears, "it must be Caskie. He must have come home. He had to be hiding from me, just like you thought he would, Agent Sherlock. I think they killed my boys' father, they killed my husband."

Savich and Sherlock found Caskie Royal's body in the huge laundry room at the end of the hall, sprawled on a pile of dirty sheets and towels, shot through the head. The large window over the dryer was open, the white curtains flowing inside, pushed by the night wind.

There was blood everywhere.

42

Friday at dawn

Bowie said, "Mrs. Royal's Smith and Wesson hasn't been fired. And none of the brass the team found were from a Smith and Wesson."

Sherlock said, "If you'd found her hiding in the closet, seen her terror firsthand, I don't think you'd have bothered checking out her S-and-W." She looked over at Erin, who stood against the side of her rented Taurus, bent forward a bit, probably feeling the burn on her back. She'd parked as close as she could get to the front of the Royal house. She looked shell-shocked. Sherlock said, "I told her not to come, but I'm not surprised she's here." Sherlock paused a moment, saw the blood in Bowie's eyes, and added, "She's amazing. She can't be feeling all that hot."

Erin wasn't feeling much of anything. It was just past dawn, so she could finally see all the people going in and out of the Royal house, beyond the glare of the huge spotlights. The coroner's van was still parked directly in front of the house, but not for much longer-two men were carrying out a large green bag that held Caskie Royal's body. He's dead, she thought-just like that-