Whiplash

"They don't know. We didn't find any blood, other than in the laundry room. We also found a jumble of footprints below the big window in the laundry room, looked like a dozen people rather than just two, but maybe the CSI people will figure it out. The laundry room where we found Mr. Royal's body is at the opposite end of the corridor from Mrs. Royal's bedroom. It was a huge mess. Our thinking is he was hiding in there and when the men reached the top of the stairs, they turned left instead of right, found him, and shot him dead."

"So if the gunmen had turned right instead, they would have found Mrs. Royal in the master bedroom. Is that luck, or what?"

"She said the men did come to the bedroom door, but didn't come in."

"Did Mr. Royal have a gun?"

"Not that we could find."

"That doesn't make sense, Bowie. Why wouldn't he have a weapon? Surely he was afraid they'd come after him, whoever they are."

"Mrs. Royal had his gun, the S-and-W."

"But still-"

"Agreed," Savich said from behind Bowie. "Maybe he thought he was safe enough in the house, just get his passport and some cash-which we found on him-and he'd be on his way to South America. Maybe he didn't want to face his wife. Or maybe he pla

Erin said, "On the other hand, maybe Mr. Royal had another gun and the killers took it with them after they killed him."

Sherlock shook her head. "There were no other casings in the laundry room except the one nine-millimeter we found from the kill shot, so Mr. Royal didn't shoot back. The laundry room door was locked, so while they were kicking it in, he'd have been firing if he'd had a gun. We think he must have been trying to get out the window, but when they crashed through the door, he turned back to them, and was shot in the forehead."

Bowie said, "Royal had to be very afraid making even this quick foray into his own house, yet he had no weapon at all to defend himself."

Sherlock frowned. "Now, why didn't Mr. Royal tell his wife he was coming back?"

"He couldn't face her, that's why," Erin said. "He was ru

Savich said, "And his kids-did he know they weren't there? I'll tell you, the last place I'd go was where my kids were."

"Where are the two boys?"

Sherlock said, "Jane A

"Maybe a little bit," Erin said absently, barely registering that her back was throbbing again. She said, "Seems to me Jane A

"Not necessarily," Bowie said. "He obviously didn't plan on staying long."

"What really bothers me is that the men who killed Caskie didn't seem to care about her," Sherlock said. "Wouldn't the killers be afraid her husband had confided too much to her, the reasons they were after him? She was an unknown, wasn't she? A loose thread? So why didn't they kill her too? One murder, two murders, who cares?" She shrugged. "I guess it's possible, but my gut is singing another song."

Savich hugged her to his side. "Maybe mine is, too. Or maybe your different song is from exhaustion and being too jazzed on caffeine."

Erin said, "But what would her husband have confided? That he'd murdered Blauvelt? If he did, then why kill him? He was going down."

"The someone who killed him was afraid Caskie would talk, that's why," Sherlock said.

Savich turned to scan the Royal house, the early morning light bathing it in a soft pink glow. If it weren't for all the cops standing around, it would look idyllic.

After agreeing to some sleep before meeting at the police station, Bowie held open the passenger side door and waited silently for Erin to slide in. She didn't want to, but finally, she did. She buckled her seat belt and looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead.

"After all that's happened, you should be over your snit by now, Bowie."

"Oh, no," he said as he drove the Taurus away from the Royal house. He gave her a quick look, his face hard. "I really can't believe you, Erin. You break the law, betray all of us who trusted you, and to top it off, you put my daughter in danger."

She didn't look at him. "I've already apologized ad nauseam. What else do you want from me? And I didn't put Georgie in danger."

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. In that moment, she realized what was really wrong-he was scared.

She laid her hand over his. "Thank you for staying at my apartment. I feel completely safe now because of you."

He still didn't look at her. "I don't want my daughter in any danger."

She gri

The breath whooshed out of him, even as he was shaking his head. "Yeah, sure, isn't that the truth. Another dead body right under my nose. Yeah, there's no doubt, I'm the greatest."

"Stop beating yourself up, it really pisses me off. I'm sorry, Bowie. Please, believe me. Just please don't be angry with me any longer. I can't stand it. And really, having you sleeping at my apartment, it means a lot to me."

He was stone silent for two blocks, then he said in an emotionless voice, "My wife, Bethany, drove into a bridge abutment. They told me she died instantly. She was drunk. Another driver saw the whole thing. He said her car was weaving in and out of her lane, and she just kept accelerating as she neared the bridge. He said she was doing at least seventy when she drove into the abutment. She was an alcoholic. This happened right after Georgie's third birthday."

Erin remembered her brief marriage, remembered how she'd felt lower than a slug since she'd been lied to, her heart stomped. But this? She couldn't begin to imagine such a thing. "I'm very sorry."

"It happened four years ago. All of it's faded now, for which I'm profoundly grateful. Georgie missed her mother for a little while, but then her na

Erin said, "No time soon."