The Oath by John Lescroart

for herself and her children, why would she shoot her dog? Certainly not to spare it the pain of going on. Much more typical would have been a note leaving the pet in the care of a relative or close friend.
    “Sir?” Faro asked. “Did you say something?”
    “Just talking to myself, Len. How about her own wound?”
    “Back of the ear, right side, which fits again. But no exit wound, so I can’t hypothesize about the trajectory. Strout ought to get all that.”
    “I’m sure he will,” Abe said. “But let me ask you this, Len. You’re going with Jack on murder/suicide, I take it?”
    But the analyst shook his head. “We’re not done here by a long shot, sir. I don’t see anything that rules it out, let’s put it like that. It looks like she fired the gun. No sign of any struggle anywhere.” He raised his shoulders, let them down. “But I don’t know. You got a better idea, I’ll look anyplace you want.”
    “I don’t know if it’s a better idea,” Glitsky said, “but I’d ask Strout to double-check for the trajectory and find out if she was right-handed.” With his own right hand, Glitsky pointed to a spot at the back of his right ear. “It seems a little awkward, don’t you think?”
     
     
     
    Harlen Fisk had been dispatched out from downtown and had joined his partner here at the house, where Glitsky had assigned to them the task of interviewing Anita Tong. Now the lieutenant joined the three of them, who had gathered around the table in the breakfast nook.
    The maid was still visibly shaken. When Glitsky had first come outside after discovering the bodies, she’d all but collapsed onto the stoop upon hearing the news, which had seemed incomprehensible to her. For the first several minutes, she kept returning to the same questions, then arguing with the answers.
    What did he mean, dead ? Glitsky must have been wrong. He didn’t mean that they were all dead, did he? They couldn’t all be dead, that wouldn’t be possible. Not Ian, at seventeen the eldest child. He was too big, too strong and competent, almost a man now. Certainly, he would have heard someone coming into his room and woken up, wouldn’t he? Was Glitsky sure he saw both of the girls, Chloe and Siggy? Maybe he hadn’t. He might want to go back up and check again. Someone could still be alive.
    Anita Tong was a petite and well-spoken woman. She’d been part of the Markhams’ household for seven and a half years. They were her only employers. She lived a couple of miles south in the Sunset District, and worked in the house five days a week—Mondays and Tuesdays off—from 8:00 A.M. until 6:00 P.M.
    Now, pulling up a chair, Glitsky straddled it backward. He picked up on Ms. Tong’s story as she was telling the inspectors that she’d offered to stay on for the night—he assumed she meant last night—and thank God she hadn’t. “But Carla—Mrs. Markham—said she and the kids could handle things, I should go. They didn’t expect many more people.”
    “How many were there when you left?” Bracco asked.
    Ms. Tong considered a moment. “Her coffee group, mostly. Which is six other women. They meet every Friday morning. I think when they heard about Mr. Markham…anyway, they brought some casseroles and things like that, so I thought she might have wanted me to stay and heat them up and serve them. But no.”
    Fisk was nodding as though this was all somehow relevant. Bracco was taking notes on a yellow legal pad. At least, Glitsky noted with some surprise and relief, his new guys had put a tape recorder on the table. But he could see how they hadn’t gotten very far if all of Tong’s answers had gone this way. He decided to speak up, keep things on point, maybe give a little instruction while he was at it. “So, Ms. Tong,” he said gently, “what time did you wind up leaving?”
    “ Mrs . Tong,” she corrected him. “A little before seven.”
    “And there were only Mrs. Markham and her six friends in the house