touch it, please,” the detective instructed.
As he removed the top, Kate let out a gasp, stepping back in revulsion, her hand over her mouth. Three small black birds in a row—pierced by a metal skewer, all with their throats slit.
“What kind of sick bastard is doing this?” Simon roared, pushing the box toward Detective Anderson.
“These birds were most likely purchased from a pet store, just as the mice were,” Anderson said. “They’re parakeets, but they’ve been spray-painted black.”
Kate felt the blood pulsing in her neck and shrank back. Her whole body shook as terror turned to rage, exploding inside her. She looked at Anderson. “Why didn’t you warn us? To deliberately shock us? To see what our reactions would be?” Something else suddenly dawned on her. “Do you think we’re hiding something from you?”
There was no regret in Anderson’s eyes, only suspicion. “It’s procedure,” he said evenly. “Do you have any idea who might be doing this?”
“Of course not.”
He replaced the box lid, took a plastic sleeve from his folder, and handed it to Kate. “This was on top of the birds.” Inside the plastic was a sheet of plain white paper, with the same typeface as the other note.
Sing a song of sixpence
a pocket full of rye
3 little blackbirds
simply had to die
When the box is opened
The birds no longer sing
Wasn't that a pretty gift
For someone to bring?
“These morbid nursery rhymes,” Kate whispered. She handed it to Simon, the words reverberating in her mind in a singsong. She doubled over, a wave of dizziness making her lean on the desk in front of her.
Detective Anderson took the note back and put it in his bag. “The killer obviously wants to taunt you. Based on my experience, I would say this is most likely someone you know, though maybe not someone you know well. Someone on the periphery of your life.”
“Why do you think that?” Kate asked.
“We know it wasn’t a robbery. No valuables were taken. Your father verified that the only thing missing was the bracelet your mother always wore. If someone had broken in to rob the house, they would have taken much more.”
Kate considered this. “So you think someone deliberately targeted her to …”
Before he could answer, Simon interrupted. “Where are you with the investigation? Are you closing in on any suspects?”
“We’re looking at everyone right now.”
Simon sighed loudly. “I’d appreciate a little more detail. For instance, a short list of suspects. People’s alibis. That sort of thing.” He, Kate, and Harrison, as well as their household employees, had provided detailed alibis to the police in the days immediately following the murder.
“Mr. English. We’re not in the habit of sharing the details of our investigation, because it can compromise our work. I assure you, we’re being very thorough.”
A silence hung in the room until Detective Anderson finally broke it. “Again, if there’s anything else you can tell me, now’s the time.”
Kate turned to Simon for some kind of assurance, but his face, white and stricken, told her he was as filled with panic as she was.
“Were you able to trace the text my wife received?” he asked.
Anderson shook his head. “No, we need to do it in real time. But if they send another one, we’ll be able to. I’ve also contacted the FBI behavioral unit. I’m going to fill out the paperwork to see if they can take a look at some of this. It could be a long wait, but we’ll see.”
Together, they walked to the front door. Detective Anderson pursed his lips again, shaking his head. “I know you’re frightened. We’re doing everything possible to protect you and your family, but please, be on guard too. Are you sure you can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that’s happened recently? Any hang-up calls? Any strangers who’ve approached you for directions or asked you for something seemingly insignificant? Anything odd at the hospital, Dr. English, or your firm, Mr. English?”
Kate thought about it for a minute but came up blank. She shook her head.
“I can’t think of anything either,” Simon said.
“Well, please get in touch if you do. Anything. I’d rather have extraneous information than miss something crucial.”
“Of course,” Kate and Simon said in unison. Suddenly drained, she leaned against him.
Before Anderson left, Blaire walked into the hallway with a crying Annabelle. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Annabelle wants her mom.”
As Kate reached out to take her daughter, Anderson extended his hand to Blaire. “I’m Detective Anderson. And you are?”
“This is one of my oldest friends, Blaire Barrington,” Kate said. “She came in from New York for the funeral.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions for me?” Anderson asked Blaire.
“Certainly.”
Simon piped in. “You can use my office.”
Blaire followed Anderson back to Simon’s office.
Kate looked at Simon. “I’m really scared,” she whispered. “Who could be doing this?”
Before he could answer, his phone rang. He held up a finger and looked at the screen. “Sorry, gotta take this.”
Kate felt her back go up at his offhanded dismissal. She watched angrily as he walked back down the hall. Taking a deep breath, she took Annabelle back to the kitchen, where Hilda was putting together a snack for her.
“Would you mind taking Annabelle into the playroom?”
“I want you, Mommy.”
“I’ll come in soon, sweetie. I just need to talk to Aunt Blaire for a minute. How about a chocolate bar? Special treat for being a good girl.” Kate winced as the words left her mouth, but sometimes bribery was the only way.
Annabelle was still pouting, but she nodded and took Hilda’s hand.
Ten minutes later Blaire was back.
“What did Anderson want to know?” Kate asked.
“He was just verifying my whereabouts the night Lily was killed. I gave him the number of my doorman and the names of my neighbors. He also asked if you and Simon seemed happy.”
Kate raised her eyebrows. She wondered briefly if Blaire had mentioned her feelings about Simon to Anderson.
“I told him we hadn’t been in touch for a while, so I didn’t know. I’m sure he’s just looking at every angle. But what happened before? You looked like you’d just seen a ghost when I came into the hall,” Blaire said gently.
Kate dropped into a chair, worn out by the stress. “I guess Selby left a while ago?”
“Yeah. She didn’t want to be late for her massage. Is everything okay?” The concern was evident in Blaire’s voice.
Kate took a minute to think. Could she tell Blaire what was going on? There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated. When they were young, Kate had no secrets from her. Before Blaire, Kate’s confidante had been her diary. Bad moods and problems were frowned upon in her home, when she was growing up. Or at least they were kept hidden. Whenever Kate was upset, Lily had always comforted her—at least