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other side of the driveway and garage, a forest of trees covered the steep hill. Matt noted that they were pine trees and guessed that this was the north side of the property. From the forest’s size and density, it was a safe bet that the trees had been planted as cover and were as old as the house.
    Why here? Why the landing?
    He turned and noticed that he’d forgotten to close the door to the study off the master suite. Sidestepping the blood, he shut the door and glanced at the fingerprint powder clinging to his glove. When he noticed another door by the top of the stairs, he opened it to reveal the rear staircase and the door to one of the three guest suites. It was dark. Spooky. He could feel his mind chewing through everything he was seeing. He could feel a certain clarity and vision that he hadn’t experienced for a single moment since he’d been shot.
    And then it happened—the sudden freeze right between his shoulder blades. This heightened sense of concentration. He could feel the ghosts in the house. They were closer now. They were watching him.
    He turned sharply, counting all the closed doors as his eyes rocked through the crime scene.
    Why had Baylor staged his killing spree on the landing?
    The answer seemed so obvious now.

CHAPTER 7
    The snow flurries had stopped with nothing more than a dusting on the frozen ground. As Matt climbed into the passenger seat, Brown switched off her cell phone and gave him a measured look.
    “You okay?” she asked.
    Matt shrugged. “I’m good.”
    “Really?” she said in a voice laced with sarcasm. “I’ve already got you figured out, Jones. When you lie, your left eye twitches.”
    “How long’s it gonna take to get the toxicology reports?”
    “A couple of weeks,” she said. “You’re thinking they were drugged.”
    “Yeah.”
    He watched her pull down the drive and give the three cops in black uniforms a nod as they waved them through with their rifles. After making a right turn onto County Line Road, she took a quick glimpse at the media’s outpost on the lawn and coasted down the hill. There was a small bridge built over the stream here. Matt read the street sign, searching for the gatehouse he had seen earlier and realizing that it was too far down the road and way too dark. The entire area would have to be explored in daylight, and to Matt, it was important enough that he hoped he could return tomorrow.
    Baylor had to have parked his car somewhere, and Matt knew with absolute certainty that it wouldn’t have been anywhere near the Strattons’ home. He would have parked his car where it wouldn’t stand out—maybe the train station—and hiked in through the woods. In a neighborhood like this one, it wouldn’t—
    His mind switched back to the tox screen. “Were any puncture marks found on the victims during the autopsies?”
    “No,” Brown said. “And the medical examiner made it a point to look for them. We already had the fingerprint match, so he read your reports and final statement and knew that Baylor had a history of using something to keep his victims docile. Something that works through the system quickly and was never picked up. He didn’t find any puncture wounds, but like he said himself, that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Baylor’s a plastic surgeon and would know where to hide them. We’re thinking he’s using Pentothal. It works quickly and they would have been helpless.”
    Matt wanted to get his hands on the murder book. And he wanted in on the FBI’s website so that he could read through the chronological record they were keeping online. His mind was back, and he wanted to burn through it while the clarity lasted.
    Brown made a left at the light. “I need to know how it went, Jones. Why do you think Baylor killed them on the landing?”
    Matt didn’t say anything. After thinking it over, he leaned against the door and gave her a look.
    “Because he needed to,” he said finally.
    “What do you mean?”
    “He