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there.”
    He hung up and stared at Robin with a pained expression. “Sherry Jeffries, Theodore’s sister, is dead.”

 
    SIX
    Sherry Glenn Jeffries had lived in El Cajon, a suburb north of San Diego. Technically out of the jurisdiction of SDPD, Police Chief Causey had been called when the arriving officers identified the victim.
    Will arrived before Carina. The Jeffries lived in a two-story house in an upper middle class neighborhood where similar two-story homes stood close together. Judging by the size of the trees, the neighborhood was less than five years old.
    Sherry and her family had a confidential address. How had Glenn found out where she lived?
    “Detective Hooper?” A uniformed cop approached. “I’m Lieutenant Ken Black.”
    Will nodded. “Thanks for calling us so quickly.”
    They stood on the driveway. The garage doors were open and Will saw the corpse lying on the floor right by the inside door. Glenn had waited for her in the garage. For how long?
    “What happened?” Will asked Black.
    “When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up her daughter from school, the principal called the house and got no answer. Normally they wouldn’t do that, but Mrs. Jeffries had told the school that Ashley’s uncle was in town and might want to harm the girl. When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up on the house or cell phone, the principal phoned Dr. Jeffries at the hospital.”
    Sherry Jeffries’s husband was a surgeon, Will recalled.
    The lieutenant continued. “Dr. Jeffries called police to check on the house, then went to pick up his daughter. He has a solid alibi. He was in surgery when the teacher called, had been since ten this morning.”
    It was common to immediately rule out the spouse or boyfriend whenever a woman was killed.
    “Police arrived on scene and when there was no answer, they walked the perimeter of the home. Looked in through the window of the garage door and saw the body. The officers called for backup, broke in to determine whether the victim was still alive. She wasn’t. When backup arrived, they searched the house and found no one. However, the killer left a message in the kitchen.”
    Carina drove up then and joined them. Will filled her in. He wanted to see the message, but said, “Let’s check out the body first.”
    Sherry Jeffries had died quickly. Her neck had been broken and she lay crumpled on the smooth concrete floor next to her minivan. Her purse and keys lay next to her body. A dead cat lay on top of her. Will vividly remembered Sherry’s testimony about her brother killing her kitten in front of her. This psychological torment practically screamed Theodore Glenn.
    Sherry Jeffries’s wallet had either fallen out of her purse, or was dropped there. “Has the body been photographed?” Will asked.
    “Yes.”
    Will pulled on gloves and picked up the wallet. Empty. Credit cards gone, no money.
    But this wasn’t a robbery. Glenn might have needed the money, but he didn’t kill his sister for it.
    He killed her for revenge.
    “Let’s see the message.”
    They walked through the house. In the kitchen, the crime scene techs were still working, so Will and Carina stood back.
    “Shit,” Carina murmured.
    Will stared at the message meant only for one person.
    On the wall of the breakfast nook, Theodore Glenn had written in black permanent marker:
     
    William, once again I killed right under your nose. I’m surprised they let you keep your badge seven years ago, but I suppose that professional ethics mean little to cops who plant evidence and fuck witnesses.
    If you think you can save her, think again.
     
    He was talking about Robin.
    “Will, what does he mean?”
    Will didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His entire body filled with a fear he’d never known before, a foreboding that told him Glenn’s sick games had just begun. If Will hadn’t just left Robin—with a marked car outside the Sin—he would have immediately gone to her.
    “Will?” Carina asked softly.
    He