when they were out of town to fool potential thieves into thinking someone was home. She started to look ahead to the next house when something that she did consider unusual caught her eye.
The first floor facing the ocean was enclosed entirely in glass. Some of it was comprised of floor to ceiling panes. Other sections were populated by multiple, smaller windows. One of those windows, in the farthest corner of the deck, mostly hidden behind a lounge chair, appeared to be open.
She walked over to get a better look. Sure enough, it was open, if only slightly. She also noticed what looked like fresh footprints on the damp wood deck flooring just outside the window. She pulled out her flashlight and shined it on the panel of window glass, where she was greeted by several handprints.
She took a step back and got out her radio. Considering recent events, it seemed wiser to call it in and be accused of overreacting rather than assume it was the work of a forgetful resident and end up missing the chance to apprehend a potential killer.
She lifted the radio to her mouth and was about to start talking when she heard it. The sound was hard to identify definitively. It was somewhere between a screech and…a laugh? She couldn’t decide whether she was hearing someone cackling in pleasure or shrieking in pain. Either way, somebody was in a home that was supposed to be unoccupied.
“This is Officer Shaw on Strand Patrol. I’m hearing potential sounds of distress coming from the residence of Irina Cunningham, between Second and Third streets. My call sheet indicates she is out of town, but there’s an open window on the first floor and a light on the third floor. I’m going in. Send backup.”
She turned down her radio so as not to alert the potential intruder and scrambled through the window. Once inside, she unholstered her gun and headed for the stairs that led to the third floor, following the sound of those nearly inhuman squeals. She was halfway between the first and second floors when she lost her footing and landed hard, with a thud that echoed through the house.
*
Pierce stopped laughing.
He needed to catch his breath. But seconds later, he felt the start of another giggle fit coming on at the notion of being the first defendant ever to use the “I’m a fashion genius” defense against a double murder charge. That’s when he heard the loud thumping noise, like someone had dropped a big bag of fertilizer down the stairs.
He fell silent and waited for any other sound. The ones that followed—two consecutive creaking noises—got him moving. After years of living in this house, he knew that two stairs going from the first to the second floor were notorious for their loud groans. He and Irina had learned to step on the outer edges of those stairs to avoid them. But a stranger to the home would have no idea. And that was clearly what he was dealing with.
He turned off the closet light, hurried across the master bedroom, and flicked off the switch for that light too. Then he peeked out in the hall and, seeing no one, prepared to dash into the guest bedroom across the way. But just before he did, an idea sprang into his head. He turned the bedroom light back on and left the door half open, then moved across the hall to the guest room.
About ten seconds later he heard another familiar groan, which indicated that his unwelcome visitor had reached the top of the third floor stairs, where he was. He was positive the person wasn’t Irina, who, after years of living here, managed to avoid every creaky spot instinctively.
He heard the soft footsteps of someone who was clearly trying to tiptoe on the carpeted floor. The sound he expected—the squeak as the master bedroom door was pushed open— should be coming soon. Then he’d have to make his choice. Would he hurry along the hall to the stairs and try to escape the house before others, likely an army of police, arrived? Or would he go the other way, toward the intruder?
Just then, the master bedroom door’s hinges howled in protest as the door was opened. Pierce opened his own door. Without even thinking about it, he made his choice.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jessie and Ryan were already in his car and halfway to the Cunningham residence when the call came in.