‘OK,’ Garcia said. ‘So what have we got?’

‘Right here,’ Woods said, and he turned and faced house number 8420, a two-storey, redbrick home with a hipped roof, a neatly cropped front lawn and paths edged with orderly flowerbeds. Two cars were parked on the driveway – a white GMC Yukon and a metallic-blue Tesla S.

‘The information came from a kid,’ Woods said, nodding his head in the direction of the house. ‘His name is Marlon Sloan. Thirteen years old. Seems quite intelligent, but he’s as shy as shy can be.’ He reached for his notepad. ‘Would you like me to just relate to you what the kid told me, or talk to him yourself?’

Hunter sensed some hesitation in Officer Woods’ tone. ‘Why? Are you unsure of what he told you?’

As Woods tilted his head slightly to one side, his eyebrows lifted like two hairy caterpillars trying to kiss.

‘Like I said,’ he began. ‘The kid is terribly shy. As he was telling me his story, he barely maintained eye contact. He also seemed a little nervous, almost scared. That could be just the way the kid is, or something else. I’m not sure. But I know you detectives like to read people while you talk to them, that’s why I asked.’

Garcia nodded at Officer Woods before facing Hunter. ‘Well, since we’re here, we might as well talk to the kid.’

A few seconds after Officer Woods rang the doorbell, the door was opened by a five-foot-six woman in her early forties, who was more charming than attractive. She wore a black dress with spaghetti straps, black stockings and low-heel work shoes. Her naturally wavy auburn hair fell down to the top of her shoulders, framing a small, round face.

‘Hello again, Ms. Sloan,’ Woods said.

The woman’s gaze stayed on the officer for just a fraction before moving questioningly to the other two people standing at the door.

As Hunter and Garcia finished introducing themselves, a pale and skinny kid with short blond hair and thin wireframe glasses appeared at the door a few feet behind Ms. Sloan. He was about an inch taller than his mother. He wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt with a sugar skull on it. Underneath the skull, in white letters, was a band name – Aesthetic Perfection.

Hunter tilted his head to one side to catch the kid’s attention.

‘Hi there,’ he said, with a subtle hand-wave. ‘I’m Detective Robert Hunter of the LAPD, and this is my partner, Detective Carlos Garcia. You must be Marlon, right?’

The kid nodded in silence. Eye contact was established for no more than a second before he looked away.

Woods looked at Hunter and Garcia with a gaze that said: ‘I told you the kid was shy.’

‘Hi, Marlon,’ Woods said, looking over Ms. Sloan’s shoulder. ‘These are the detectives I said might have a few more questions for you. Do you mind telling them again what you told me earlier?’

‘I’m sorry,’ the boy’s mother cut in, sounding a little annoyed, ‘but this seems like a waste of time, ours and yours. He won’t tell them anything that he hasn’t already told you.’ She checked her watch. ‘And we’ve got a therapist’s appointment in less than an hour.’ She turned and faced her son. ‘We need to get going.’

Hunter was observing the boy, and as his mother mentioned the word ‘therapist’ Marlon looked away to his left, pressed his lips against each other and tucked his hands deep into his jean pockets. A negative reaction that indicated he wasn’t so keen on his therapist sessions.

‘We’ll take as little of your time as we possibly can, Ms. Sloan,’ Hunter said calmly, trying to reassure her and the boy. ‘But this really is important.’

Before Ms. Sloan could voice a reply, Hunter addressed the boy directly.

‘Marlon, we would really appreciate your help. If you could give us just a few minutes of your time, please.’

Marlon finally stepped forward, joining his mother at the door.

‘Do you mind if I see your credentials?’ he asked. This time, eye contact was held for a while longer than before.

The question caught everyone by surprise, even the boy’s mother, who looked at him as if he was being rude.

‘Of course,’ Hunter said, reaching for his LAPD identity and handing it to Marlon. Garcia did the same.

The boy studied them carefully and for a long moment, as if he were an expert in telling a forgery from the real thing.

‘Homicide,’ he said, returning the IDs to both detectives.

‘Excuse me?’ Ms. Sloan said, surprised, first looking at her son, then at Hunter and Garcia. She had failed to notice that detail when she first looked at the detectives’ identification. ‘Homicide?’

‘That’s correct, ma’am,’ Hunter said, handing her his credentials one more time. ‘Unfortunately, what started as an abduction from the house just down the road to yours has now sadly escalated to a homicide. The woman’s body was found yesterday morning. That’s why we’re revisiting every house.’

‘Oh my God!’ Ms. Sloan said, returning the credentials to Hunter, her annoyed demeanor completely dissipating. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I had no idea.’ She placed her arm around her son’s shoulder in a protective, tight hug.

‘At this time, any information, no matter how trivial it might seem to others, could be very important to us,’ Hunter reinforced.

‘Of course, of course,’ Ms. Sloan replied apologetically, before taking a step to her left. ‘Please, why don’t you come in?’

Thirty-Seven

Hunter, Garcia and Officer Woods followed Ms. Sloan and Marlon through a small anteroom, past a turned staircase and into the living room. Antique furniture decorated the large and very pleasant space. The walls, covered by widely striped wallpaper of deep-green and olive hues, were adorned with several oil paintings, all of them originals. A large, green and white shaggy rug centered the room, together with an impressive set of Victorian carved mahogany sofas and armchairs. Hanging from the center of the ceiling, a very elegant crystal chandelier bathed the room in calming light.

Ms. Sloan guided the group to the seating area. She and her son took one of the sofas. Hunter and Garcia took the other. Officer Woods took one of the framed armchairs. As they sat down, Ms. Sloan placed her arm around her son’s shoulder once again.

Hunter had kept his attention on Marlon. Officer Woods was right, the kid was terribly shy. He felt uncomfortable and awkward around people, especially strangers, and coping came in the form of minimum interaction, a shielded, timid posture, and little or no eye contact. As a result of how he felt, Marlon had built a defensive wall around him, probably subconsciously. In today’s world, not that rare a behavior. His mother’s hug seemed to embarrass him.

Hunter didn’t want to take much of their time, but he also wanted to try to make Marlon feel as at ease as he possibly could.

‘That’s a great band, by the way,’ he said as he and Garcia took their seats, indicating the boy’s shirt.

Marlon’s eyes slowly moved from the floor back to Hunter. Doubt and surprise were written all over the boy’s face. This time, he didn’t break eye contact.

‘You know Aesthetic Perfection?’ His tone, unlike his expression, carried a lot more doubt than surprise.

Hunter nodded. ‘I’ve seen them live a couple of times.’

Marlon adjusted his glasses on his nose and regarded the detective for an instant.

Hunter could tell that he was being studied.

‘Really?’ Marlon finally said. The doubt in his tone had turned into scepticism. ‘Do you have a favorite song?’