“We’ll figure it all out, Lucy. Now, here’s a cavalcade of cars coming, Savich’s Porsche leading them in. Can you deal with this now?”

She raised her face. “Of course.”

Detective Horne was new to the job, but he knew what to do. He was pleased Special Agent Savich didn’t grind him under—indeed, deferred to him. He introduced himself to Lucy Carlyle and Cooper McKnight. He asked a female officer to stay with Lucy while the rest of them trooped up to the attic. When Lucy shook her head and got to her feet, Detective Horne pointed a cop finger at her. “Stay.”

Ten minutes later, Coop walked back into the library to see Lucy standing by a big burgundy leather easy chair, her hands clenched at her sides, the female officer in the kitchen, making coffee. She still had his shearling coat wrapped around her. He walked to her, took her hands. “We’ve seen everything. It will be all right, Lucy. We’ll figure all this out.”

“What’s to figure?”

“Sorry, dumb question. Do you want me to call your aunt and uncle? Anyone else?”

She thought of Uncle Alan, Aunt Jennifer, Court, and Miranda. She thought of her closest friends, all of them hanging back for the past week because she’d asked them to. No, she couldn’t call them; they’d been overburdened already, what with seeing her through her father’s funeral. She shook her head. “No, I’ll call my uncle in the morning. You want some coffee, Coop?” Uncle Alan, did you know what happened?

He shook his head. “Lucy? Ah, crap, come here,” and again he pulled her and his shearling coat against him.

He saw tears snake down her cheeks. She wasn’t making a sound. He flicked them away with his fingers. “I’m very sorry, Lucy. Listen, did you find or remove any ID from the body to prove it was your grandfather?”

“No.”

He said against her hair, “Savich has asked the autopsy be performed at Quantico. Detective Horne called his lieutenant, and she agreed but said they’d be sending along one of their medical examiners. The attic is a crime scene, of course, and the forensic team will be up there a good couple of days. There was dried blood on his shirt, over his chest, so we’re probably talking a gun or a knife. That’s all I can tell you right now. We won’t know any more until the autopsy.”

“It was a knife. Maybe it’s still in one of those steamer trunks I didn’t open.”

How could she be so sure it was a knife? Coop would get to that in a minute. She was speaking calmly, logically, and that was a relief.

“You know, Coop, there’s no reason to expend all this manpower. It’s my grandfather. I know his wife murdered him. It’s over, case solved and closed.”

He said, “I know, but there’s a protocol that has to be followed, you know that. And you’ll explain everything to us in a little while. It would be good to find the knife. I saw those suitcases full of men’s clothing. We might find ID there.”

Lucy felt herself finally getting back in control. “Coop, I want to go back outside now.”

They walked side by side out of the house to stand on the top porch steps, watching two techs bring out a green body bag for her grandfather’s remains. She said, “I can give them a swab from my cheek to check DNA, if they need it.”

“They will,” Coop said.

It was a dark night, only a sliver of moon and a long blaze of stars shining through the low-lying clouds. They heard techs talking by the van, heard voices from inside the house.

Lucy said, “Maybe it was too painful for Dad to think about touching his father’s body again, stealing away with it. I can understand that, sure I can. Can you imagine, Coop, trying desperately to continue your routine, treating your little daughter—namely, me—calmly and naturally? And his own mother, being civil to her, not wanting to kill her for what she’d done. It always seemed to me he loved her, treated her courteously. But how could he? Did he ever find out why she killed him?”

He hugged her and his shearling coat, and realized he was getting a bit cold himself.

Savich came up, lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’re coming home with me, Lucy.”

She turned to smile at her boss. “No, I want to stay here. I’ll be fine; don’t worry about me. I’ll admit I was pretty freaked out—”

Detective Horne said from behind her, “I know, I know, you’re FBI, you’re tough, and you’re nearly back to chewing nails again, right?”

Lucy was wrung out, but she managed a small smile. “Thank you for letting me stay in the loop, Detective.”