Miller doesn’t bother to knock. He puts his hand on the front doorknob, turns it, and finds that the door is not only unlocked but that it hasn’t been shut all the way. The house is dark, so he feels along the wall for a light switch. When he finds it, he flicks it on, illuminating the center hall in a warm, orange glow. He’s trained to identify things that are out of place, and in this case, there’s no shortage of evidence to gaze upon.
There’s blood on the floor. Streaks of it that appear, at first glance anyway, to extend from the kitchen all the way out into the center hall and down the basement staircase. The kitchen floor is littered with shards from shattered dinner plates and drinking glasses. The cabinet doors have been flung open. The entire space is ransacked.
Miller swallow
