Mr. Murder

again."
        Already, the storm had put down half an inch of snow. The flakes were fine and comparatively dry now, and the streets white.
        Evergreen boughs had begun to acquire Christmasy trimmings.
        Spicer drove the Explorer, and in a few minutes they reached the street where Stillwater's parents lived. He pointed out the house when they were still half a block from it.
        Across the street from the Stillwater place, two vehicles were parked at the curb. Oslett pegged the red recreational van as the surveillance post because of the mirrored side windows in its rear section.
        "What's that florist's van doing here?" Spicer wondered.
        "Delivering flowers," Oslett guessed.
        "Fat chance."
        Spicer pulled past the van and parked the Explorer in front of it.
        "Is this really smart?" Oslett wondered.
        Using the cellular phone, Spicer called the surveillance team one more time. They didn't answer.
        "We don't have a choice," Spicer said as he opened his door and got out into the snow.
        The three of them walked to the back of the red van.
        On the blacktop between that vehicle and the delivery van, a large floral arrangement lay in ruins. The ceramic container was shattered.
        The stems of the flowers and ferns were still embedded in the spongy green material that florists used to fix arrangements, so the mild wind had not blown any of them away, though they looked as if they had been stepped on more than once. The colors of some flowers were masked by snow, which meant they hadn't been disturbed in the past thirty to forty-five minutes.
        The ruined blossoms and frost-paled ferns had a curious beauty.
        Snap a photo, hang it in an art gallery, title it something like "Romance" or "Loss," and people would probably stand before it for long minutes, musing.
        As Spicer rapped on the back door of the surveillance vehicle, Clocker said, "I'll check the delivery van."
        No one answered the knock, so Spicer boldly opened the door and climbed inside.
        As he followed, Oslett heard Spicer say softly, "Oh, shit."
        The interior of the van was dark. Little light penetrated the two way mirrors that served as windows. Only the scopes and screens of the electronic equipment illuminated the space.
        Oslett took off his sunglasses, saw the dead men, and pulled the rear door shut.
        Spicer had taken off his sunglasses too. His eyes were an odd, baleful yellow. Or maybe that was just a color they reflected from the scopes and gauges.
        "Alfie must've been coming to the Stillwater place, spotted the van, recognized it for what it was," Spicer said. "Before he went over there, he stopped here, took care of business, so he wouldn't be interrupted across the street."
        The electronic gear operated off banks of solar batteries wired to flat solar cells on the roof. When surveillance was conducted at night, the batteries could be charged in the conventional fashion, if necessary, by starting the van's engine for short periods. Even on overcast days, however, the cells collected enough sunlight to keep the system operative.
        Without the engine running, the interior temperature of the van was nonetheless comfortable, if slightly cool. The vehicle was unusually well insulated, and the solar cells also operated a small heater.
        Stepping over the corpse on the floor, looking through one of the view windows, Oslett said, "If Alfie was drawn to that house, it had to be because Martin Stillwater was already there."
        "I guess."
        "Yet this team never saw him go in or out."
        "Evidently not," Spicer agreed.
        "Wouldn't they have let us know if they'd seen Stillwater, his wife, or kids?"
        "Absolutely."
        "So… is he over there now? Maybe they're all over there, the whole family and Alfie."
        Peering through the other window, Spicer added, "And maybe not.
        Somebody left there not long ago. See the tracks in the drive way?"
        A vehicle with wide tires had backed out of the garage that was attached to the white clapboard house. It had reversed to the left as it entered the street, then had shifted into forward and had driven away to the right. The snow had barely begun to fill in the multiple arcs of the tracks.
        Clocker opened the rear door, startling them. He climbed inside and pulled the door shut