FORTY-THREE

FORTY-THREE

TOMMY MALONE DRIVES BY the Bowers home for the second time. It's past ten in the morning. Nobody should be home. David and Marcie at work, Lincoln and Grace at school.

The snow is a problem. The temperatures have eased slightly around here, starting the thawing process, but there are still plenty of patches of crispy snow on the ground. He'll have to be careful about footprints.

He parks two blocks away and walks. Checks his phone first, the app for his "eye." First time he broke into the Bowers home, before they started setting their intruder alarm, he installed the small device in their mudroom high above the washer and dryer. To the homeowner, a tiny thing hardly noticeable alongside the carbon monoxide detector, barely worth a second glance. But for the intruder, miles away with a remote laptop, there's a nice view of the alarm pad every time someone punches in the code. It's worked for Tommy every time, just as it worked for him when he got inside Hemingway's Pub through the rear door.

He walks slowly, casually, his breath still showing in the air before him — it hasn't warmed up that much — and he thinks about how far he's come. From snatching their dog, Lulu, to tossing their coffeepot in the clothes dryer to dropping a dead rat in the boy's Halloween bag to seeing David washing money through that restaurant.

And now this. This will decide it once and for all.

He walks up the driveway, adjusting the neon-orange vest that village workers wear — sanitation, electrical, whatever. The vest and denim jeans and tool belt make everybody think "municipal employee." Without missing a beat, he lifts the latch on the gate and enters the backyard. There are patches of snow on the ground but a clear, if wet, path to the back door.

He gets through the lock easily enough and hears the intruder alarm. He has the code memorized by now; no need to check the app. He punches in the numbers, and the alarm goes silent. He tosses a few dog biscuits to the floor to satiate the yapping dog, Lulu, who remembers him and isn't a fan. More where that came from. This shouldn't take too long.

He pulls the can of spray paint off his tool belt. Red spray paint is a nice touch.

It only takes him thirty seconds to finish the message on the bright white wall.

Lulu is just finishing up the doggie treats when Tommy returns to the alarm pad. He sets the alarm once more, giving him forty-five seconds to close the door behind him before the alarm will turn to a loud shrill.

But he doesn't close the back door behind him. He leaves it wide open.

It won't take long now before he knows for sure.