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that his gun was pointed at a
forty-five degree angle toward the floor. He fired again and there
was silence. It took only a split second for him to realize that
the voice had screamed “Mommy.” He rushed over and looked down at
the small body lying on the floor. He knelt beside the little girl,
and placed his latex covered fingers on her throat, trying to feel
for a pulse. He knew that the caliber gun used prevented any hope
of life. She was dead. He quickly stood and walked over to the
other body. The first feature he could see in the moonlight was her
distended, pregnant belly. Again, he knelt and felt for a pulse.
There was none.
    He stood slowly, trying to comprehend the
gravity of the moment. His intelligence information had been
flawed. He had been assured there would be no visitors. He had
incorrectly assumed his two intended victims were alone. How could
he have made such a careless blunder? How completely and utterly
unprofessional! He had killed a pregnant woman and a small child!
He ran to the kitchen cupboards looking for a particular object.
The cupboards were empty except for alcohol. The Olivaros clearly
never stocked up on other essentials. He knew that not finding what
he needed was a blessing in disguise, since it would have called
for him removing his gloves and contaminating the scene.
    He checked on the little girl one last time,
moved her next to her mother, and then slipped out the back door
where he disappeared down the beach toward a small boat. He started
the four-stroke engine, which made it easy for a silent escape. He
eased the boat out into the open water and disappeared into the
night, discarding his outer layer of clothing into a garbage bag
that he would burn on the water while planning his revenge against
the people who provided the misinformation.

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Steven stepped out of the shower as the phone
rang. It was a few minutes after nine o’clock and he’d been
unsuccessfully attempting to reach Amanda to tell her he had
overslept. Steven had called the phone company earlier to see if
there had been a service interruption, since no one was answering
the house line or their cell phones. After receiving confirmation
all was in order, he contacted the Westhampton Police Department,
apologized for being neurotic, but stressed that his wife was nine
months pregnant and asked if a patrol car could pass by the house.
Steven had not expected a call back from Detective Michael Johnston
of the Suffolk County Police Department.
    Detective Johnston stood in the living room
of the Olivaro house. He hated this part of his job. Homicides
rarely happened in the Hamptons. A case-hardened veteran with
twenty years’ homicide experience in New York City, he thought he’d
seen the worst. Today, as he stared at a very pregnant woman and
her toddler, lying side by side in a pool of blood, he realized he
had not.
    Detective Johnston was the second officer
inside. A local patrolman responding to Steven’s call simply opened
the side door and, when he saw a body, called headquarters. He was
ordered to wait outside until a detective arrived. They had quickly
ascertained the identities of the victims and began contacting
relatives. He dialed Steven’s number on his cell phone. His latex
fingers tapped nervously on the black marble table as he waited for
Steven Capresi to answer.
    Steven answered in a sarcastic tone, certain
the caller was either Amanda or Tony.
    “Hey, what’s the matter with you lazy bums, I
have to call the police to….”
    “Steven Capresi?” the unfamiliar voice
interrupted.
    “Yes.” Steven said tentatively, his stomach
tightening.
    “This is Detective Michael Johnston of the
Suffolk County Police Department.” “What’s wrong?” Steven asked
anxiously, beginning to feel his blood pumping hard in his
temples.
    Detective Johnston hesitated one second too
long and Steven’s worst fears rolled into a surge of raw emotions
directed at the detective.
    “What the