“I do not want you going to see her. Maybe she’s over being pissed. This could just stoke the fire and she decides to call the fucking lawyer. I can’t be sued. I can’t...” He ran his hands over his short hair. “Listen, she’s got kids of her own. She isn’t going to do something to one of mine.”

“Unfortunately,” A.L. said, “we don’t know if that’s true. Maybe she feels that you endangered her kids and now she wants to return the favor. What’s her name?”

“Gi-Gi. Gi-Gi Thompson. Her husband’s name is Barrett.”

A.L. wrote it down. “Anybody else that might have a beef with you?”

Troy pressed his lips together. Looked at the back of his house. Then shook his head. “I can’t think of anybody.”

“Get along with your neighbors?” A.L. asked.

“I had words this summer with a guy whose dog was shitting in my yard but other than that, it’s good.”

“What was his name?” A.L. asked.

“There’s no need to go talk to him. I dealt with it. It’s over.”

“It’s better if we decide who we need to talk to,” A.L. said. “What was his name?”

“I don’t even know his name. But he lives across the street, a couple doors that way. His house has the ugly blue siding.”

“Thank you. If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

“Yeah, sure.” He started to reach for the pack of cigarettes but pulled his hands back and stuffed each hand under a thigh.

He’d been fast but not fast enough. His hands were trembling.

Troy Whitman seemed about to break.

A.L. found the neighbor with the blue siding sitting in a lawn chair in his garage. Figured it was a thing in the neighborhood. He was not smoking but he did have two empty bottles of cheap beer next to his chair. He was retirement age with thinning gray hair and wore an old Rolling Stones T-shirt and blue jeans.

“Hello,” A.L. said. “I’m Detective McKittridge with the Baywood Police Department.” He held out his badge, gave the guy plenty of time to look at it. “What’s your name?”

“Why? Am I under arrest?” the man asked, his tone serious. Then he smiled. “Just screwing with you. Roger Martin.”

“Thank you, Mr. Martin. I wanted to ask you about your relationship with Troy Whitman.”

“We don’t have a relationship. He lives down the street. That’s it.”

“He said that the two of you recently had words after he complained about your dog taking a dump in his yard.”