“Good.” Bolton turned his attention back to the victims in the bed. “At least we know who the victims are here.”

Mercy glanced at Sharla again. Even under all the blood, Mercy could tell she was one of the adults in the family picture out front. The man was too. Scanning the room, Mercy noticed an open dresser drawer. The room was extremely neat, and the open drawer felt out of place. Glancing inside, she saw an open jewelry box that appeared to have been rifled through. She doubted Sharla left her jewelry so scattered. “I suspect he was looking for some valuables. Does anything else appear to have been gone through? What about wallets?”

Bolton checked the adjoining bathroom as Truman opened the master closet with a gloved hand. “His wallet is still in the pocket of the jeans on a hook,” said Truman. Bolton joined him, slipped the wallet out, and opened it. “A couple of twenties,” commented Truman. “If he was looking for fast cash, he didn’t look very hard.”

Mercy went out to the living room, where she’d noticed a purse and a bowl of keys on a small table by the door. Why didn’t he grab the purse? Looking inside, she saw cash in Sharla’s wallet too. Easy money.

Truman and Bolton joined her. “Money isn’t his motivation,” she said. “Maybe Sharla did leave her jewelry a mess.”

“Most crimes come down to money or sex.” Truman pointed out a fact Mercy knew all too well.

Sharla was fully clothed in pajamas.

“Not money or sex,” Mercy murmured. “What does that leave?”

“Revenge . . . anger . . . or just fucked up in the head,” said Truman.

“There’s always a reason,” agreed Bolton.

“What did Ray and Sharla do for work?” asked Mercy.

“I don’t know yet,” admitted Bolton.

“And why didn’t the dogs wake everyone up?” Truman asked. “They threw a fit when we got here. I can’t see someone getting in the house without them sounding the alarm, even if they are kenneled outside. I would’ve expected Ray Jorgensen would get out of bed to investigate.”

“Good point,” said Bolton.

“I hope the neighbor can help us out.” Mercy glanced at the time. It was past three in the morning.

There’d be no more rest for her tonight.

Truman stood on the front porch of the Jorgensen home, listening to the rain fall on the porch roof and breathing the clean air. He’d needed to step away from the scene.

Those boys.

All too easily he could picture the pair as they played in the yard and fought with their lightsabers. He’d done the same with his sister.

Headlights appeared down the long drive, and he assumed the deputy was returning with the neighbor. The vehicle drew closer, and he spotted the light bar on the roof. After it parked, a woman in a hooded thick coat and boots got out along with the deputy.

Truman turned around and spoke through the open front door. “The deputy is back with the neighbor.”

Mercy and Bolton immediately stepped out. “Let’s talk to her out here,” suggested Mercy, pointing at the bench and chairs on the wide covered porch.

Truman agreed.

The woman followed the deputy up the steps, pushing back her hood as she stepped into the dry area. Truman estimated her to be in her fifties. Her face was lightly lined, and she was tall like Mercy. She moved with athleticism and energy, but sorrow shone in her eyes. She’d been crying.

Mercy introduced herself and Truman.

“I’m Janet Norris.”

A flicker of confusion flashed on Mercy’s face, and Truman knew she was trying to place the name. Even though Mercy had been away for fifteen years, she frequently encountered people from her past. Truman didn’t recognize Janet or her name. The deputy who had driven her conferred quietly with Bolton for a few seconds, then stepped inside and grabbed another deputy. The two of them jogged down the stairs and got in their vehicles to leave.

“I don’t need every one of them here to maintain the scene and wait for the evidence team,” Bolton explained. He turned to Janet. “Let’s have a seat out here.”

Relief crossed her face, and she sat on the bench. Mercy sat beside her as Bolton took one of the chairs, and Truman stood, leaning against the porch railing.

“I know you’ve already talked to Detective Bolton about what happened,” started Mercy. “Can you tell me from the beginning?” she asked with an encouraging smile.

Janet’s hands twisted the hem of her coat as she focused on Mercy. “The dogs woke me. They were braying and howling like crazy. I’ve never heard them do that. I waited awhile, expecting them to stop, but they didn’t, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

More coat twisting.

“I finally called Sharla’s cell phone,” Janet continued. “She didn’t answer. I tried Ray’s too, with no luck, and then called the landline. I didn’t call it first because I didn’t want to wake the boys,” she hurriedly explained to Mercy, including Bolton and Truman with quick glances. “I finally decided they’d gone out of town. I was surprised because usually we ask each other to keep an eye on each other’s place. I debated for a while, but the dogs didn’t let up, so I decided to do a quick check on the dogs.”

“That was kind of you,” Mercy said.

Janet shrugged. “I feed the dogs when the Jorgensens go out of town, so they’re used to me. Tonight I wondered if some animal had gotten into their kennel. They’re good dogs but getting up there in years. Both are moving slower than they used to.”

“What did you notice when you arrived?” asked Mercy.

“Well, the outside lights were on. That’s normal. When I got out of the car, the dogs renewed their braying. I assumed no one was home, so I went to the kennel first. Both dogs looked fine and were happy to see me. No coyote or cougar in there with them.”

“Were there any lights on in the house?” asked Truman.

“I could tell there was a light on in their kitchen, but I knew that didn’t mean someone was up. After I saw the dogs were okay, I decided to knock on the door. That’s when I saw it was partially open. I opened the door and called out for Sharla.” Janet moved her gaze to her hands and popped open the bottom snap of her jacket. Then snapped it closed. And repeated.

“What did you do next?” Mercy gently asked. She leaned toward the woman. “I know this is difficult,” she said in a lower voice.

Janet blew out a breath and kept fiddling with the snap. “I stepped in the house and called for Sharla and Ray.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and dug a tissue out of her coat pocket. “I could smell it. I know what fresh death smells like. I was raised on a ranch, and we butchered animals.” She looked up. “It’s an odor you never forget.

“I told Detective Bolton that I turned on some lights, and then I looked in the bedrooms. I studied each of them to make certain they were dead, but I didn’t touch them. That’s when I called 911.” Tears flowed from both eyes. “Those little boys. I’ll never forget the sight.”

The sight was burned into Truman’s retinas. I’ll never forget either.

Mercy took one of Janet’s hands and squeezed it. “Thank you. I know that was really hard.”

“You have no idea.” Janet’s voice cracked as she wiped her nose and eyes.

Mercy knows exactly what it is like.

“What did Ray do for work?” Mercy asked.

Janet’s shoulders slumped a little as she relaxed, appreciating the change of topic. “Ray worked for an investment firm in Bend. I don’t know his exact position, but he was high up the chain.”

“Which one?” Bolton asked.

Janet named a firm Truman had never heard of.

“Isn’t that the one that was caught up in a scandal last year?” Bolton asked. “Something about falsifying their clients’ reports, inflating how much the investments had returned? I thought they went under.”

“They almost did,” agreed Janet. “A lot of people were fired, and the company paid the fines. Ray was under a tremendous amount of stress, but the company survived.”

“I wouldn’t put my money with them,” Bolton stated. “Did Sharla work?”

“Sharla was a stay-at-home mom, but she was always doing those work-from-home product sales. You know . . . the kitchen gadgets, skin care, and jewelry that you sell to friends. I’ve probably attended a half dozen parties at her house, trying to be supportive of her work. She was a great salesperson. Very outgoing and kind.” Tears appeared again.

“What do you do?” asked Bolton.

“I work at the front desk of the DoubleTree in Bend.” Janet wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”

Truman caught his breath at her words. Mercy and Bolton both straightened in their seats.

Again?

SEVENTEEN

Mercy struggled to find her voice.

Is she talking about the Hartlage family? How did she find out?

“What do you mean, it’s happening again?” she managed to ask Janet.

The woman turned a tearful face toward Mercy. “My friend’s family was murdered a long time ago. He left them in their beds just like this.”

Mercy connected the dots.

Janet Norris. She was the friend of Maria Verbeek, Britta’s mother. That’s why her name is familiar.

“You’re talking about the Verbeeks,” Mercy stated evenly, trying to hide the shock that reeled through her.

Janet’s eyes widened. “Yes, how did you know?”

“I’ve read the case reports. You said that Maria told you she’d fended off an advance from Grady Baldwin.” What are the odds that Janet is connected to the Verbeeks and the Jorgensens?

It is a small community.

The woman blinked several times as her mouth opened the slightest bit. “You have a very good memory,” she said slowly. “But I never named Grady Baldwin. I only said it’d been a workman. Maria didn’t tell me who it was.”