He’d stride down the sidewalk—purposeful strides. Perception was reality, right? So he’d give off the perception of someone who knew where he was going, had a reason to go there.
Big, dark coat with theatrical flaps billowing some in the cold breeze. Dark hat, brim pulled low. A scarf—yeah, she’d bet on the scarf. Dark again, wound around the neck, arranged to cover most of the lower face. Add sunshades.
A flamboyant look, which was smart. People at a quick glance would notice the outfit more than the person wearing it.
Shiny boots with some heel. To add to the look, or because he was sensitive about his height? Or, again, to give the casual observer the perception of more height.
She let it roll around in her mind as she climbed the stairs. Main entrance, quicker in and out for the rental crew, and that had been client priority.
She broke the seal, mastered open the locks, then stood just inside with the doors open. She scanned the area from what would have been Luca’s perspective.
Big, wide foyer that opened onto the living area. Two of the crew hefting one of the ten-tops. Supervisor’s going to watch them.
Don’t bump anything. Hurry it up, it’s cold. Can’t keep the damn doors open all night.
Glances back, sees the suspect sweep up the stairs, ’link to his ear.
I’m here now, okay?
Smart again, give that impression of having the right to enter with attitude, words, a little impatience. Move fast, but not suspiciously fast.
Brisk. Move briskly. Straight in, annoyed, running late, and head right up the stairs. Like you belong.
Eve closed the door.
And walked in the killer’s footsteps.
Had he known where to find the master suite, or had he walked from room to room until he found it? Either way, she thought, he’d done a little walk-around, a little hunt.
Plenty of time, plenty of places to hide if he’d heard anyone coming. Because the show didn’t start until everyone but the Strazzas had left the house.
Plenty of time, she thought again. So he had the patience to wait—close to three hours. Had to set the stage, she mused as she went into the master.
She blanked out the bloodstains, the sweeper dust, the signs of struggle, let herself see the room as the killer had.
Rich, maybe a little on the hard-edged side, but rich.
“I bet you went through the closets.” Eve moved to Daphne’s closet as she spoke. “Sure you did. And you picked out the dress you’d take with you. I’d put money on that. Plenty to choose from.”
He had set the stage, but he’d have waited. Just in case someone came in before showtime. He’d only have to keep the door open, maybe step a few feet outside the room to hear the guests over dessert, those saying their good nights.
Excitement builds.
Check your makeup, adjust the mask. Set out the tools, set the lights.
Ease behind the door as you hear them coming up. Makes you hard. Curtain’s going up.
They come in together. Take out the biggest threat. Sap the man, strike the woman. Restraints.
Haul the man to the chair you’ve chosen (bad choice on that). He’s bigger than you, so you’ve got some muscle. Tie, restrain, use the tape to secure it all.
Turn on the strobe light.
She could see it. How he’d wait for the man to come around, hold a knife to his throat and demand the woman strip. Humiliation for both. Order her to the bed, give the man a couple whacks if she hesitates. Even if she doesn’t.
Restrain her—wouldn’t want her taking a swipe at you, getting any skin. Rape her, rough her up, choke her. Go back to the man, fists and saps. Maybe a few cuts because you need those combinations.
Yes, she could see it, a couple hours of brutality, fun times, and profitable.
Had he left them hurt, even unconscious—likely unconscious to clear out the safes, disable the house droids, dismantle the security system? Or …
Before that, Strazza breaks the chair, comes at him. Killer strikes him with the vase. Possibly believes he’s dead. Then goes to clear out and disable. That would explain the time lag.
But why come back up, why not just get out?
Not finished yet? Maybe he wanted another round with Daphne, like an encore. Finds Strazza alive, struggling to his feet, ready to attack again.
Maybe he had to make sure Strazza was dead this time. That’s exciting and new. The kill. Maybe he has that last round with Daphne, leaves her dazed, naked, possibly unconscious. Removes the restraints. Packs up and strolls out.
She could see it, and if Mira and Nobel could get through to Daphne, she could confirm, fill in gaps and movements, answer the dogging questions.
Eve left the bedroom, walked through the house again trying to imagine his movements.
Unlike the killer, she locked the door when she left. Added the seal.
She wanted to go home, wanted that nap on the new, fancy bed. But drove to the hospital. She needed to try.
This time she bypassed the desk, walked straight back to Daphne’s room and the guard on the door, tapped the badge she’d hooked to her coat in case anybody along the way tried to stop her.
“The doc’s in with her, Lieutenant.”
“Anybody else go in?”