It looked quiet, settled, and comfortable. Until you saw the small red eyes of the police seal, the harsh yellow strip of it marring the front doors.

“If it were money,” he added, “one would think it would take a fat vat of it to push anyone to do what was done here. The erasing, as you put it, of an entire family.”

He walked with her to the main entrance. “Put my ear to the ground, as requested. There's no buzz about a contract on these people.”

Eve shook her head. “No. They weren't connected. But it's good to cross that off the list, at least the probability of it. They didn't have ties to any level of the underworld. Or government agencies. I played around with the idea that one of them had a double life going, thinking of what Reva dealt with a couple months ago.” Reva Ewing, one of Roarke's employees, had had the misfortune of being married to a double agent who'd framed her for a double murder. “Just doesn't slide. No excessive travel; not much travel at all without the kids. Nothing that sends up a flag on their 'links or comps. These people lived on schedules. Work, home, family, friends. They didn't have time to mess around. Plus…”

She stopped, shook her head. “No. I'll let you make your own impressions.”

“All right. By the way, I've arranged to have my ride picked up. That way I can have my lovely wife drive me home.”

“We're ten minutes from our own gate.”

“Every minute with you, Darling Eve, is a minute to treasure.”

She slid a glance toward him as she uncoded the seal. “You really do want sex.”

“I'm still breathing, so that would be yes.”

He stepped inside with her, scanning when she called for lights. “Homey,” he decided. “Tastefully so. Thoughtfully. Nice colors, nice space. Urban family style.”

“They came in this door.”

He nodded. “It's a damn good system. Took some skill to bypass without tripping the backups and auto alarms.”

“Is it one of yours?”

“It is, yes. How long did it take them to get in?”

“Minutes. Feeney figures about four.”

“They knew the system, possibly the codes, but certainly the system. And what they were about,” he added, studying the alarm panel. “It's a tricky one, and would take good, cool hands, and just the right equipment. You see, the backups are designed to engage almost instantly if there's any sort of tampering. They had to know they were there, and deal with them simultaneously, even before they read or input the codes.”

“Pros then.”

“Well, it certainly wasn't their first day on the job. Likely they had an identical system to work with. That would take time, money, planning.” He stepped back from the panel, trying to ignore the outrage he felt that one of his designs had failed to serve. “But you never supposed this was random.”

“No. What I put together from the scene and the witness report is that one went upstairs-or at least stayed back-while the other went through here.”

She led the way, moving directly to the kitchen. “It was dark-some glow from security and streetlights through the windows-but they had night vision. Had to. Plus the witness described blank, shiny eyes.”

“Which could be a child's imagination. Monster eyes. But,” he said with another nod, “more likely night vision. Where was she?”

“Over there, lying on the bench.” Eve gestured. “If he'd looked, taken enough time to do a sweep through the kitchen, he'd have seen her. The way she tells it, he just walked straight to the domestic's door.”

“So he knew where he was going. Knew the layout, or had been here at some time.”

“Checking on household repairs, deliveries, but that doesn't feel like it. How do you get the layout of the whole house if you, what, install a new AutoChef or fix a toilet? How do you know the layout of the domestic's quarters?”

“Someone involved with the domestic?”

“She wasn't seeing anyone, hadn't been for several months. A few friends outside the family, but they pan out. So far.”

“You don't think she was the primary target.”

“Can't rule it out, but no. He moved straight in,” she repeated, and did so. “Sealed all the way. Had to be. Sweepers didn't find a fricking skin cell that wasn't accounted for. Witness said he didn't make any noise, so I'm thinking stealth shoes. Went directly to the bed, gave the head a quick yank up by the hair, sliced down, right-handed.”

Roarke watched her mime the moves, quick and sure, cop's eyes flat.

“Combat knife from Morris's report-lab should be able to reconstruct. Then he lets her drop, turns, walks out. Witness is there, just outside the doorway, down on the floor, back to the wall. If he looks, he sees. But he doesn't.”

“Confident or careless?” Roarke asked.

“I'd go with the first. Added to it, he's not looking because he doesn't expect to see anything.” She paused a moment. “Why doesn't he expect to see anything?”

“Why would he?”

“People don't always stay tucked in through the night. They get up to whiz, or because they're worried about their work and can't sleep. Or because they want a damn Orange Fizzy. How come you're this thorough, this much a pro, but you don't sweep an area when you enter?”

Frowning, Roarke considered, studied the layout again. Yes, he thought as he pictured himself moving through the house in the dark. He would have. Yes, and he had on those occasions when he'd lifted locks and helped himself to what was behind them.

“Good question, now that you pose it. He-they-expect everything, everyone in their proper place because that's how it works in their world?”

“It's a theory. Goes out,” she continued, “goes back to the main stairs and up. Why? Why, when there are back stairs right over there.”

She gestured to a door. “That's how the witness got up to the second floor. Back stairs. Peabody 's take was that the front steps were closer to the adults' room, and it's not implausible. But you know what, it's a waste of time, steps, and effort.”

“And they wasted nothing. They didn't know there was a second set of steps.”

“Yeah. But how did they miss that detail when they knew everything else?”

Roarke walked over to the door, ran a hand over the jamb, examined the steps. “Well, they're not original.”

“How do you know?”

“The house is late nineteenth century, with considerable rehab work. But these are newer. This rail here, it's manmade material. Twenty-first century material.” He crouched down. “So are the treads. And the workmanship's a bit shoddy. I wouldn't be surprised if this was a home job-something they added themselves without all the permits and what have you. Without filing the work, so it wouldn't show on any record, any blueprint your killers might have studied.”

“How smart are you? You're right. They're not on the on-file blueprints. I checked. Still, that doesn't mean one or both of the killers wasn't in the house, wasn't even a friend or neighbor. This is the domestic's room, and her stairs.”

“That would, however, go further to eliminating the housekeeper as primary target. And it would be less likely the killers were close acquaintances of hers, or privy to her quarters.”

“She was excess. It was the family that mattered.”

“Not one of them,” he put in, “but all.”

“If it wasn't all, why kill all?”

She took him back through, following the assumed path of the known killer. “Blood trail from domestic's, through here, up the right side of the steps. More concentrated blood pattern here, see?”

“And none coming back down the stairs. Removing protective gear here, before going down.”

“Another point for the civilian.”

“I think you should have another term for me. Civilian's so ordinary, and just a bit snarky when you say it. Something like 'non police specialist on all things'.”

“Yeah, sure, my personal NPS. Focus in, ace. They'd done the adults before the witness got up to this level. She saw them walking away from this room, then split off. One in each of the other bedrooms. Two more rooms up here-one a home office, the other a playroom deal. Kids' bathroom, end of hall. But they went straight for the bedrooms. You couldn't be a hundred percent from a blueprint which room was which up here.”