Jack shrugged, giving the door a defeated look. As they turned to head back to their car, the door to the neighboring townhouse opened up. A thirty-something woman came out with a computer bag over one shoulder, her free arm used to hold the hand of the little girl that followed her out of the door. The girl looked to be no older than five and carried a small lunchbox in her right hand.

Excuse me, maam? Rachel said.

The woman looked over to them and a look of interest instantly came across her face. She looked to the parking lot, then to Quinns front door, and finally back to Rachel. Hi, she said. Can I help you?

Hopefully. Would you happen to know your neighbor, Mr. Quinn?

The woman rolled her eyes, still gripping her daughters hand. Not like a friend, no. But I know him enough to not be surprised that there are very official-looking people on his doorstep on a weekday, looking for him. What are you, FBI or something?

Yes, or something, Rachel said, showing her badge.

And why are you not surprised to see us here, exactly? Jack asked.

Well, he tends to come in very late and isnt very quiet about it. There have been two times in the last month or so when hes come home drunk out of his mind and screaming at his door because he cant get the key in. And a few months back I came out to leave for work and he was passed out in his car with puke all down the side of the drivers side door.

How long have you lived next door to him? Rachel asked.

Not too long. He just moved in about eight months ago.

And did you ever speak to him before you had these complaints about him?

Just once or twice. He seemed like a nice enough man at first. And you know, he might be. He just seems to have a really bad drinking problem.

Did he ever say anything to you about what he used to do for a living? Maybe some trouble hed been in?

Not really. One of the times I came out to shush him for screaming at his door, he said something about how if he just had an operating table, hed be able to figure it out. I figured it was just some drunken rambling, you know?

Rachel was about to ask a question when the little girl started pulling at her mothers arm. Cmon, lets go!

One second, the mother said. And then, to Rachel and Jack, Sorry. She loves her pre-school teacher. And actually, Im running a little late if I want to get to work on time. So I sort of need to go.

One more question, if you dont mind, Rachel said. When you confronted him about his late-night noise, was he ever hostile towards you?