The man smiled again. “I’ve been walking my dog past his house for two years, ever since we moved in here. Didn’t realize who he was until my wife took her car to his garage about two months ago. Thank God I got a quote before I had him do the work. A thousand bucks. Double, literally double, what the guy six blocks down the street charged me. I told Lois that Troy Whitman was a crook. That’s when I decided to let my dog shit in his yard. After all, he’s shitting on his customers.”

Troy hadn’t said anything about a disagreement over a quote. “Did you and Troy discuss the quote?”

“No. Maybe Lois called them up and told them we were taking it somewhere else. I don’t know and I didn’t care. I hate it when people think they can rip senior citizens off.”

A.L. did not think this man had a five-year-old hidden in his house. “Are you aware that Mr. Whitman’s daughter is missing?”

“You couldn’t be alive in Baywood and not know that. Goddamn shame. Nobody deserves for that to happen. I may not like his business practices but I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

“Where were you, Mr. Martin, on Wednesday morning?”

The man gave A.L. a look that told A.L. that he was now the equivalent of dog shit. “Lois and I volunteer at the homeless shelter on Portuana Street every Wednesday. We were there by 8:00 and didn’t leave for several hours.”

“Okay. Thank you,” A.L. said. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“I got a lot of time,” Roger Martin said. “I sit here a good portion of the day. And sometimes, at night, when my back is bothering me, I come out here, too.” He paused. “You know, I can see the Whitmans’ driveway from right here.”

A.L. moved to a spot behind Roger Martin’s chair. He did have a good view of the house and the start of the driveway. Couldn’t see as far back as the garage, however. There was a reason the man was making a point of the view. “Ever see anything interesting?” A.L. asked.

The man shrugged. “Lots of coming and going from the Whitman house. Real late at night sometimes. Maybe he’s fixing cars 24/7. I just don’t know. Guess I don’t have anything more to say about that.”

Roger Martin really didn’t seem to care for Troy Whitman.

“Goodbye, sir,” A.L. said.

“Back at ya. Hope you find that little girl. I really do.”

Rena focused on the kids who had been signed in between 7:10 and 7:25. There were five. She cross-referenced the kids with the parent list and called the first number.

“Hello,” a woman said.

“Is this Angie Tate?”

“Yes.”