Chapter 44

Ralph Slocombe lived in a rundown, single-story ranch built sometime in the 1970s, judging by the sandy yellow tone of the brick. An aging Chevy pickup sat beside an equally well-worn minivan in the driveway, in front of an open garage door. The interior of the space was littered with all the detritus of yard care, covered in a coating of dirt and dust that indicated it hadn't been used in a good long while. The patchy front lawn was more weeds than grass, and the mailbox listed to one side. The whole place looked tired, as did the woman who came out of the house as Ethan stepped out of his cruiser.

She paused the digging in her purse - probably searching for car keys - and stopped by the door of the minivan. "Can I help you, officer?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Chief Greer. Does Ralph Slocombe live here?"

Her hands clutched at the purse. "That's my husband. Is something wrong?"

"I just need to ask him a few questions. Is he home?"