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barked, its teeth bared. It was smaller than a German Shepherd but had the same profile and markings. It was probably a Belgian Shepherd – not the ideal dog to have for security. In truth, small, yappy dogs were a bigger pain in the ass to intruders as they were more easily threatened, and tended to make more noise, thus warning the householder.
    Lock continued down the slope. When he got within ten feet of the fence the Belgian Shepherd, which had been backing up, suddenly lunged towards the fence, putting its paws up against the chain-link, throwing its head back and alternating a throaty growl with an I-mean-business bark. A woman in her early sixties, wearing slacks and a University of Southern California Trojans T-shirt appeared at the side of the house. She had gardening gloves on.
    Lock put his hands up by way of apology. ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am.’
    She called the dog back to her side. ‘I wish you people would just finish up what you’re doing.’
    Of course. She’d assumed he was with the LAPD. Presumably they had already been down here to take a look, keen to give the appearance of thoroughness.
    ‘Just one question,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll get out of your hair.’
    ‘I already told you I didn’t see anything.’
    ‘Does the dog stay out in the yard all the time?’
    The woman looked to the skies like it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. ‘No point having a guard dog if you don’t let him guard.’
    ‘Doesn’t the barking bother the neighbors?’
    The question earned Lock another withering look. ‘He’s trained not to bark at every little thing. He only goes off if there’s someone where they ought not to be. Like you right now.’
    He made his apologies and retreated. Like every other single security measure, guard dogs could be subverted, but the dog’s presence on that side of the house would make their job a little more straightforward.
    He reached the top of the slope, finished his external inspection, then walked into the house. There was one major detail he still had to plan for. Assuming the worst-case scenario of a homicidal stalker inside the house, they would need a plan B, and plan B came in the shape of a panic room.
    He moved through Raven’s home searching out the most appropriate room. Ideally, he would have had something specially designed and installed but there wasn’t time for that. He would have to pick a space and work around what he had.
    He climbed the dark oak staircase, noting the absence of pictures on the walls. That fitted with the rest of the place. Everything was neat to the point of sterility. The faint whiff of bleach hung in every room.
    On the upstairs level there was a master bathroom and three large bedrooms off a long rectangular hallway. One bedroom was set up as a home office-cum-junk room. It was on the left-hand side of the house adjacent to the master bathroom. He ruled it out. One of the most important attributes of a panic room in a small domestic setting was how quickly you could gather everyone and get to it. If an intruder was halfway up the stairs before you knew they were inside the house, the last thing you wanted to have to do was make a mad dash across a hallway.
    He checked the room and the bathroom, then walked into one of the other bedrooms. This, he guessed, was Kevin’s, although the decor was more appropriate to a child than a teenager. Superman dominated the walls, from an elaborate mural emblazoned by the bed to the posters tacked up everywhere else. Even the bed sheets and pillow cases had a Superman theme. There was one window, which overlooked the rear yard. One window was good. Just off to the left there was a small en-suite bathroom. No evidence of Superman here, although on opening the bathroom cabinet Lock was confronted with an array of prescription medicines. Clearly Kevin had some fairly heavy-duty secondary health issues. He could understand why Raven was insisting on staying put.
    Standing in the middle