I'd been to enough murder-suicides to know that there was a good chance there might be more victims.

"You think we should go in?" Worth asked.

Rookies. "We need to do a welfare check."

I radioed Dispatch that we were making entry, looked over, and got a thumbs-up from Rocky that he and Ramirez had heard my radio traffic. My flashlight in one hand, my gun in the other, I waited until Worth was ready. When he gave me a nod, I pushed the door open the rest of the way and shouted, "Police!"

We waited a split second, then entered, the beams of our flashlights flicking over couches, tables, empty doorways, and knick-knacks centered on little crocheted doilies. The rooms were large and we cleared each, along with every closet, and came up with nothing.

So far, other than the front door being unlocked and the TV being left on, everything appeared undisturbed, and I was somewhat relieved. Now all that was left was the garage, accessed by a set of steps that led down. The door was locked from the inside, a good sign, but no guarantee that all was well.

I nodded to Officer Worth. We aimed our weapons and flashlights, unlocked and opened the door, burst through. And came face to face with Eve's grandmother, Mrs. Harrington, crying in the middle of the garage.