Simon Says Die

lieutenant said and hurried out the front door.
    â€œAgent Buchanan.” Hamilton held out his hand. “No offense, but I’d hoped it would be a bit longer before we saw each other again.”
    Pierce shook Hamilton’s hand. “Got any leads on that murder off East River Street this morning?”
    â€œNo, but it’s early yet. We’re still looking for witnesses and canvassing the area. We did talk to a few people who saw someone in the crowd that matched the description Mrs. McKinley gave, but no luck getting a lead on where that guy went, or even if he’s the shooter in the park.”
    â€œWhat about Mr. Newsome, the yardman? Did your men conduct that wellness check?”
    â€œNot yet, but we will. It might be a day or two. We’ve had a few other higher priorities, as you know.” He cocked his head. “I don’t recall inviting the FBI to help me with any of my current investigations, but you sure are popping up a lot. Are you sure your involvement isn’t official?”
    â€œI’m on my own time, a friend of the family.”
    â€œI see.” He didn’t sound convinced.
    â€œHave your techs found anything upstairs?” Pierce asked, not wanting him to pursue that line of questions. Casey and Tessa were both looking into the case now after Pierce had called them this morning to tell them his worries about the murdered bicyclist. But without an official invitation to join the investigation, they could both get in trouble if Hamilton found out.
    â€œHard to say. Lots of prints, but we don’t know yet if they belong to Mrs. McKinley or the burglar. No signs of forced entry. Is she certain she always locks up and sets the alarm when she leaves?”
    â€œShe says she does, but I’ve sent a request to her alarm company for a report on when the alarm was set or disarmed. Should be ready later today,” Pierce said.
    â€œYou’ll share the report with me, of course?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd you’ll let me know if Mrs. McKinley realizes anything else is missing—besides some old family photographs. It seems odd someone would break in for pictures, in an attic no less, without taking something else of value.” He glanced around the room, his gaze settling on the desk visible in the home office that adjoined the family room. “Like the laptop sitting on that desk, for instance.”
    Pierce conceded the point. “If the shooter is Mrs. McKinley’s husband, the break-in makes sense. He doesn’t want anyone to have any pictures of him so he can continue in whatever new identity he’s assumed.”
    â€œI suppose that makes sense, if you buy the whole undead scenario, which I don’t. Not without some kind of hard evidence.”
    â€œLieutenant?” One of the police officers leaned inside the front door. “There’s something out back you need to see.”
    â€œW HY WOULD SOMEBODY trash everything in the backyard?” Hamilton asked.
    Pierce wondered the same thing. Ruined shovels, hammers, rakes . . . they all littered the backyard with their handles sawed in half. Nothing else was disturbed, not that there was much else in her yard to destroy even if someone wanted to.
    For a home with a price tag well over a million dollars, there was virtually no landscaping. The only structure was a small shed that had presumably housed the tools. In contrast, the front of the house was thick with ornamental trees and shrubs, and carefully manicured brick paths going up to the front door and out to each side yard. Pierce figured the lack of landscaping in the back must be because of the renovations Madison had mentioned earlier. Although it wasn’t clear what types of renovations were being done. The house itself was untouched.
    â€œCould be a teenage prank, unrelated to the burglary,” one of the policemen said.
    â€œDoubtful,” Lieutenant Hamilton said.
    â€œI wouldn’t count on it,” Pierce said at the same time. He exchanged a rueful glance with Hamilton. Apparently neither of them were strong believers in coincidences.
    Officer Crowley, the police officer who had Madison in the back of his patrol car, stepped around the corner of the house and approached the small group. He had a pained expression on his face. “Agent Buchanan?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œMrs. McKinley is demanding, quite forcefully, to be let out of the car so she