Page 98 of Sharp Force

I’m baffled to learn that Zain has stayed here every summer and major holiday since Georgine bought the house five years ago.

“What happened when you heard the screaming earlier this morning?” Benton says to Robbie.

“I went into the closet.”

“Why?”

“It’s my doghouse, where Zain keeps me.”

“When you’re in your doghouse, are you plugged into a charger?” Benton is looking inside the closet for one. “Because I’m not seeing anything like that,” he adds.

“My batteries are charged on the table by the desk,” Robbie says, his green light flashing yellow.

“When the Wi-Fi was disabled, you went into autonomous mode,” Benton says. “At some point did you leave the closet and perhaps go downstairs…?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I heard Zain and a commotion.” Robbie’s speech is getting sluggish. “It’s time to change my battery.”

He sits.

“What kind of a commotion?” Benton keeps going.

“I’m very sorry, shutting down.” Robbie hangs his head, his eyes going dark.

“Dammit,” Benton says.

The robot doesn’t move, the light on his rump blinking red now. I crouch in front of him, interested in a small dark smear on one of his silvery back paws.

“If this is what I think it is…” I say to Benton. “Can we turn him on his side?”

The robot is heavy, and there are more dark stains on his paws’ gray rubbery treads. Opening my scene case, I find swabs, the bottle of distilled water. The cotton tips turn dark red again.

Taking samples from each foot, I then scan the robot with a UV light, and nothing fluoresces, none of the mysterious residue on him. I spray the bottoms of his paws with Bluestar, and they light up like St. Elmo’s fire, the presumptive blood test positive.

“It would appear Robbie was downstairs and stepped in blood,” I summarize. “He tracked it back up the steps.”

“Hopefully, whatever he did and witnessed was caught on his cameras,” Benton says.

“It might explain why the killer didn’t take the time to make sure Zain was dead.” I close the scene case, snapping down the heavy plastic latches.

“How do you figure?” Benton asks as we leave the bedroom.

“If the killer heard a robotic dog coming down the stairs or, worse, saw such a thing,” I explain, “he would have been startled if not frightened. I imagine he would have gotten out of here as fast as possible.”

“Suggesting the Slasher didn’t know a second person and a robot were in the house,” Benton concludes. “Either that or the Slasher is Zain Willard.”

CHAPTER 32

Footsteps sound as Marino and Clark Givens carry the stretcher and body bags into the bedroom. Benton and I are coming down the stairs, the hard cases of laser mapping equipment crowding the hallway.

“Thanks, Clark,” I tell the DNA scientist. “I’m so sorry about the inconvenience. Please apologize to your family. I hate to drag you out on Christmas morning.”

“Nobody wanted to be here.” Shrouded in white Tyvek, he stares through the bedroom doorway. “Most of all her.”

I can tell the fumes from the bleach bother him. He has his face shield down and is fogging up the clear plastic, his eyes irritated. I give him the highlights of what we’ve been finding, and he nods, asking questions as we rough out a plan for the laser mapping.