much about it, there was a strange car parked in front of the garage. And Regina's car was gone.
The automatic security light at the back of the house showed, also, that someone had taken Darius's truck and trailer. I hoped it was one of his children. We didn't have an automatic security light at the front of the house because it had shone in our bedroom window; we'd had it switched to manual, and we'd forgotten to leave it on when we'd left for the Lowrys' dinner. The brilliant light in the backyard gave the front some illumination, but it was faint and full of shadows.
So the front of the house and garage was relatively dark... but aside from the strange car and absence of Regina's, there was plenty visible to alarm us. I could see, and so could Martin by his grunt, that there was something lying on the stairs that mounted to the garage apartment. Most worrying of all was the irregular fan of dark spots on the white siding of the garage.
"Martin," I said sharply, as if he hadn't already noticed all these things for himself. We looked at each other as he switched off the Mercedes's engine. "Stay here," he said firmly, and opened his door. "No," I said, and opened mine. The cat was crouched in the azaleas staring at the thing on the stairs. Madeleine didn't acknowledge our presence; she remained fixed and alert in her chosen spot. Somehow that made my skin crawl, and for the first time I was convinced this might be something bad, very bad. It wasn't just very bad. It was absolutely horrible. The dark stain on the white siding was a spray of blood. As I stared at it, one drop moved. Not completely dry.
The blood had shot from the long limp thing on the stairs, a man.
A hatchet had cleaved through his forehead. It was still embedded in his head. Blood had soaked into the dark hair. I thought about Regina and the baby, and if your heart could actually move within your body mine would have fallen to the pit of my stomach. I suspected the dead man was Craig, Regina's husband. Martin was looking up the stairs to the apartment door. There was a line of black where it should have met the frame. The door was ajar. That realization was enough to propel me over to my husband. In the dim light, I could see that he looked old and ill, all the lines time had ironed into his face seeming deeper in the shadows. And since I knew him, I knew he was thinking he had to go up those stairs and find out what was in that apartment. But he was afraid of what he'd find. Regina and her baby were his family. A light rain began to pelt down.
Wordlessly, I laid my hand on Martin's shoulder and squeezed it, before edging by the dead thing sprawled on the stairs. I tried not to look down as I sidled up with my back to the railing. I didn't want to touch the blood on the wall, either. Once past the body, I went faster, but still my legs were heavy with reluctance and quivering with fear. It seemed an hour before I faced the door. There was a little sound inside the apartment.
I bit down hard on my lip. I poked the door open with one fingertip. Reaching in, I flipped up the light switch by the door. A brilliant glare illuminated the apartment. I spent a long moment scanning for Regina's body, bloodstains, signs of a struggle.
Nothing.
The little sound went on and on.
Finally I stepped in, looking repeatedly from side to side. Martin called from below, but I didn't answer. My breath was coming too unevenly. The rain began to fall more heavily and the drumming of the raindrops on the stairs made the little apartment feel more isolated.
The closet door was open. Clothes, I assumed Regina's, had been hung inside. Her suitcase was on the dining table, open. Clothes that appeared to have been tossed in rather than packed were flowing over the sides. The bathroom door was flung wide and I could see a jumble of makeup and toiletries on the counter by the sink.
The only area not visible from my position by the door was the floor on the far side of the bed. And that was where the sound was coming from. I went around the bed,