fashion forward and more utilitarian: black Timberland boots, jeans, a dark green parka with ample pockets. He continued his didactic, “Houses for home invasions are typically chosen to provide the greatest and easiest return on investment.” He waved a hand, gesturing to the street.
Harper turned and stared past the crowd. It took her a moment, then she nodded. “Middle of the street, hemmed in by neighbors within shouting distance, harder to escape from as opposed to a house closer to an intersection.”
“Exactly.” The Wright residence was also a modest townhouse as opposed to one of the larger homes, so theoretically less valuables waited inside. And, given the number of elderly neighbors, why choose a younger, healthy, able-bodied couple’s house to rob, especially when it was obvious at least one adult was at home? “Even the violent, thrill-seeking home invaders, where monetary profit’s secondary, they still look for victims easily subdued and terrified. They aren’t interested in a fight; they want domination and subjugation.”
Ian Wright did not fit that profile. This was a man who’d fought back, desperate to save his daughter. Luka had no idea why Ian had been targeted, but part of him already respected and admired the man. He felt a pang deep inside; his own parents had died trying to save his little sister. Too bad they’d died for nothing.
As they crossed the threshold into the Wright home, a weight settled on his shoulders, accepting the burden that came with every case. Ian Wright, the facts of his life and the answers to his death, was now Luka’s responsibility.
“Tell me about the victim,” he asked Harper as he snapped on his gloves.
Without consulting her notes, she began the rundown. “Dr. Ian Wright, age forty-one—”
“Medical doctor?” he interrupted. The duty sergeant hadn’t clarified when he’d told Luka what little they knew about the victim and how he’d been killed. Instead, he’d spent most of their conversation defending the actions of the patrol officers who’d responded to the 911 call and who’d sent their two chief witnesses, the wife and daughter, to Good Samaritan before any detectives had arrived.
“No, that’s his wife. Works the ER at Good Sam. Husband is—was—a Ph.D,” Harper answered. “Professor of cyber security over at Cambria College.”
From the doorway Luka could see the dining room to his left and beyond it a glimpse of CSU techs working in the kitchen. Opposite the dining room was the staircase climbing to the second floor. Luka turned to survey the front room. The living room—or parlor, his grandmother would have called it with its large bay window and ornate fireplace. Except that, unlike the parlor at Gran’s, which was strictly off limits for children, saved for “company” only, this room actually appeared to be lived in. It wasn’t messy, but toys and children’s books gleefully mixed with tapestry pillows and silk throws. While the living room appeared undisturbed, both the dining room and steps had signs of a struggle that had progressed from one area to the next.
“Wright was a member of CERT—the national cyber emergency response team—and consulted for the government,” Harper continued her recitation.
“For who?”
“Who? You mean which government Wright worked for? Us. Our government.”
“Which government agency?” Luka finally stepped forward, still assessing the story the rooms told. From the photos arranged on the mantle and along the end tables, the Wrights had been a happy family, loving couple. He liked the way both husband and wife lit up around their daughter. And how they were touching and turned toward each other in every photo, no matter how candid. Couldn’t fake that kind of emotion.
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed that she’d already disappointed him. “All of them. Far as I can tell from the CERT website. HHS, CIA, NSA, Homeland, DOD, DOJ.”
“So smart, talented, and trusted with classified material.”
“Possible motive, then.”
He shrugged, not wanting to snap her enthusiasm, but also wanting her to proceed with caution. “Too early to tell. Right now, our focus is on collecting as many facts as possible—even if they are contradictory.”
She frowned at that. “But if they contradict each other, how do you know what the truth is?”
“Exactly.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and crouched down. A bouquet of roses sprawled against the hardwood, petals radiating out as if they’d been thrown to the ground.
Harper rushed to explain, “Wife got them at work from the husband, brought them home with her. Card says there’s a surprise waiting for her at home.”
Luka grunted as he straightened. In his mind’s eye,