More Twisted

baby formula from. The limo had picked them up at LaGuardia and then taken them to the town house, around midnight.
    “The car dropped us off. We went inside and went to bed right away—it was late, we were exhausted. Then early this morning I heard something. It woke me up. A shuffle, I don’t know. Or a scraping sound. I remember I was so tired I didn’t move. I just lay there with my eyes open.”
    That probably saved her life, Rhyme reflected. If she’d rolled over or gotten out of bed, the killer would have shot her first.
    Then she saw something on the balcony, the form of a man.
    “At first I thought it was a window washer. I mean, I knew it couldn’t be but I was groggy and he looked like he was holding a squeegee. But it wasn’t that at all.”
    The .32.
    She heard glass breaking and pops, then her husband grunting.
    “I screamed and rolled out of bed. I called nine-one-one. I didn’t even realize I’d been shot until later and I saw I was bleeding.”
    Sachs drew her out and got some more information. The killer was a white man with dark curly hair, wearing some kind of dark clothes. He had broad shoulders.
    Steroids . . .
    The light, Kitty said, was too dim to see his face.
    Recalling the HD images of the town house, Rhyme asked, “Did you happen to go out on the balcony when you got home? Was there anything unusual there? Any furniture moved?”
    “No, we just went right to bed.”
    Sachs asked, “How could the killer have found out you’d be there last night?”
    “It was in the papers. We were here for several fundraisers and to meet with the heads of other philanthropic foundations. The Times had an article on it, I think.”
    Sellitto asked, “You have any thoughts about why he might’ve been killed?”
    Her hands were knotted together. Rhyme wondered if she was going to break down. She took a breath and said, “I know he had enemies. When he was in Africa or the Far East he had a security detail. But here . . . I don’t know. It was all so new to me . . . . You might want to talk to his brother. I spoke to him this morning. He’s flying back from Kenya with his wife now. They’ll be here tonight. Or if you want to talk to somebody now, you could call Bob Kelsey. He was Ron’s right-hand man in the foundation. He’s pretty upset but he’d want to help.”
    And with that her voice stopped working. She choked and began to sob.
    Sachs looked at Rhyme, who nodded.
    She said, “That’s all, Kitty. We don’t want to keep you any longer.”
    Finally she controlled herself.
    Thom walked into the room and gave her a Kleenex. She thanked him and wiped her face.
    “Now,” Lon Sellitto said, “we’re going to have someone keep an eye on you.”
    Kitty shook her head and gave a faint laugh. “I know I’m a little shaky. But I’ll be okay. I just . . . It’s all so overwhelming. I’ll stay with Ron’s brother when they get back. And I have family in the area too. Oh, and Ron’s son and his wife are flying back from China.” A deep breath. “That was the hardest call. His son.”
    “Well, Mrs. Larkin, I’m talking about a bodyguard.”
    “A . . . guard? Why?”
    Sachs said, “You’re a material witness. He tried to kill you too. There’s a chance he might try again.”
    “But I didn’t see anything, really.”
    Rhyme pointed out, “He doesn’t know that.”
    The policewoman said, “And there’s more to being a material witness than identifying the perp. You could testify as to the time the incident occurred, the sound of the shots, where he was standing, how he stood, how he held the gun. All those things can help convict him.”
    “Well, we have security people in the company.”
    Sellitto said, “Probably better to stick with a police officer, you know.”
    “I guess . . . Sure. I just can’t imagine anybody’d go to the trouble to hurt me. “
    Rhyme noticed Lon Sellitto trying to put a good front on. “Hey,” the rumpled detective said, “the odds’re a thousandto one against it. But, you know, why not be on the safe side?”

    A burly man stood at the window of the little-used kitchen in his house in New Jersey. His back was to the view—not a bad one: skyline of Manhattan—and he was watching a small, flat-screen TV in the living room.
    “I’m watching it right now, Captain.”
    It had been some years since Carter had been a soldier—he was now a “security consultant,” which was as good a job description as any—but