The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,49

floorboard, she closed her eyes, huddled motionless, and prayed silently. Our Father, our Father, ourFather ourFather ourFather ourFather . . .

Never on her back, never facing the door. Turned toward the wall, she was less vulnerable, but that position displayed an impudence that offended her mother. Rosario found it both upsetting and provocative. She was confident in her power and enjoyed inflicting terror, but she saw that something had changed the first time Amaia dared to lie there turned to the wall.

Amaia heard her come into the room and approach the bed, and felt that malevolent, calculating gaze on her back. She pretended to sleep, but her eyes were so tightly shut that any fool could see she was acting.

The girl heard the watery smack of saliva, the bony click of teeth. She sensed the tensed muscles of that neck and leering face, and she was out of her mind with terror.

Amaia felt hot breath in her ear and on her cheek; she sensed the approach of those feverish lips. Rosario opened her mouth—close, closer—and exhaled so profoundly that her breath stirred the girl’s soft locks. Her lips clamped shut upon them. She snorted and trembled in frustration as if tempted to say something. She straightened up abruptly, the girl’s hair slipping wetly from her mouth. The malevolence fed on the child’s terror as it whispered, “Sleep tight, little vixen. Ama isn’t going to eat you up tonight.” She backed slowly toward the bedroom door and stood observing the child for a long, long time. Amaia prayed, her eyes now wide open in the darkness.

Our Father, our Father, our Father . . .

18

ARCHWAY

New Orleans, Louisiana

Nightfall, Saturday, August 27, 2005

Amaia opened her eyes. Had she been asleep?

“Salazar,” Johnson murmured. “Dupree is calling.”

Dupree’s voice was deafening inside their vehicle. She was feeling dizzy. She focused, trying to follow him.

“An entire family was found dead in their house in Miami. Emerson and Tucker are on the scene now. We’ve conferenced them in. Agent Tucker, go ahead, we’re listening.”

Tucker’s voice was almost unrecognizable over the static. Amaia fought to clear her head. She had difficulty understanding Tucker’s accent through the poor connection.

Tucker was ticking off points that matched the profile. “The family’s name is Samuels, and I swear it’s like being right back in Texas. There’s practically no deviation from any of the previous murders. Father, mother, three children, two boys and a girl, and a grandmother. Same cord marks on the wrists, twenty-two-caliber shots to the head from the father’s gun, bodies laid out south-to-north. All the ages match as well.”

“We got it wrong,” Johnson said unhappily. “It wasn’t New Orleans. He went to Florida.”

“We got nothing wrong,” Dupree replied. “We have half our team there.”

Only half, Johnson thought, resigned to half a failure.

Dupree made the executive decisions. “Agents Emerson and Tucker will stay with the investigation, take charge of the bodies and the crime scene. They’ll attend the autopsies. We stay here. His pace is accelerating. He killed the Allens only four days ago. No one knows what’s motivating him, but he’s going full speed ahead. I’m sure he’s coming here. He doesn’t want to waste an opportunity.”

Amaia spoke. “Agent Tucker, this is Salazar. Are you at the murder scene right now?”

Tucker’s answer rattled on the line like the voice of a robot. “Yeah. We’re with the medical examiner.”

“Check to see if there’s a violin anywhere near the bodies. It’s bound to be located somewhere close to their heads.”

Two seconds later, Tucker confirmed it. “There’s a violin here all right, on the floor, kind of between the mother’s head and the older son’s. How the hell did you know?”

Dupree spoke. “Salazar, explain.”

Amaia closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. She motioned to Johnson to reply.

And because Johnson was a good man, he forgot his resentment for Salazar and ran interference. “Agent Dupree, we’ve just arrived. Detective Bull’s parking the vehicle in the hotel courtyard. We’ll see you in a moment. Agent Tucker, it’s important to look for the bow. If this is the Composer’s work, there won’t be one.”

Dupree listened as they briefed him on their conversation with Joseph, all the while studying photos of the crime scenes. He concurred with Amaia that the photo from the Masons’ living room showed part of the chin rest of an instrument that was almost certainly a violin.

Johnson glanced at Amaia. “Assistant Inspector Salazar says a state trooper told her they inventory the contents of a house and hold them in a