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neighbors see anything?” Alves asked.
    “Most of them weren’t home. Maybe we’ll go back later.”
    “Sure,” Alves said. “But, Sarge, can we get a little sleep tonight? Marcy and the kids haven’t seen me since yesterday morning and I’m running on fumes.”
    Mooney watched the last sliver of the orange sun duck behind the skyline. “You know what’s bothering me more than anything? I still can’t figure out how the bastard got in the house if she didn’t let him in. And I don’t think she let him in. Look at the struggle that took place in the bedroom. I’d have to say she didn’t see him till he was in her room.” Mooney looked down at his watch like he was surprised to find it there on his wrist. “Oh shit, we gotta go.”
    “Where?” Alves asked.
    “The media room. Press conference with the commissioner and the DA. They’re hoping to go live on the five o’clock news.”
    “Do we have to say anything?”
    “No. Just stand behind the brass and look good,” Mooney said. They started walking toward the bank of elevators. “When we’re done, we’ll go talk with the rest of the neighbors. Then you can go home to your family and get some sleep.”
    “Thank God.”
    “Thank me, not God,” Mooney said. “Make sure you get a good rest. In the morning we’re going to start looking into every corner of McCarthy’s life. I want to know where she did her grocery shopping, where she bought her clothes, where she took her dry cleaning, where she got her keys made, what movie theaters she went to, her favorite restaurants, everything. We’ll cross-check it with everything we know about Hayes. These two women came in contact with this sick fuck someplace and we need to find that place.”

 
    CHAPTER 8
    A ndi Norton fished the car keys out of her bag before starting down the stairwell of the courthouse. A habit she’d learned in a self-defense course in college. The parking lot was poorly lit—a couple of the streetlights had been out for months—but the courthouse was close to the police station. Pick up Rachel at Mom’s, toss something in the microwave for a quick dinner, read Rachel a story and send her off to bed, then get to work on the trial. As Connie had suggested, she was going to spend her night writing out her direct exam questions for her witnesses and practicing her opening. Connie had done a nice job keeping her nerves under control earlier, but the truth was that this “simple” trial was getting her stressed out.
    She’d parked her silver Camry, a hand-me-down from her parents, in the far corner of the lot. Instinctively, she scanned the area for anyone suspicious before closing the courthouse door behind her. From halfway across the lot she could see the car’s dull finish, dirty with street salt. She had some of her mom’s leftover lasagna in the fridge. That wouldn’t take long to heat up. Rachel could have her bath before dinner to save time.
    Footsteps behind her, soft at first, then ringing as they drew closer. Someone else was in the lot. Maybe one of the cops heading out on a detail or one of the ADAs working late. She turned, ready to smile, but saw a dark figure in a hooded sweatshirt. She tried to pick up her pace, but the footsteps quickened. Why hadn’t she changed into her sneakers? The high heels were useless. Looking over her right shoulder she saw the man in the gray hood closing the gap between them.
    Panic rose in her chest and she tried to run. Why hadn’t she parked the car closer to the stairs? She clenched the key chain in her right hand, all her keys sticking out between her knuckles like spikes. They weren’t brass knuckles, but they would have to do.
    She was no more than ten feet from her car but the man’s heavy breathing was loud. The battery on her automatic door lock and panic button was dead. She would have to use her key to unlock the door, the same key that was her only weapon. She felt a hand on her left shoulder, and then a tug on the