Twenty minutes later, an officer emerged from the house with a man and woman following him. The couple appeared to be in their early thirties, and even from a distance it was clear they were unhappy. The man shook hands with the officer while his wife clung to her husband’s arm. They stood out on their porch until he drove away. The woman waved good-bye.

Jenn’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Rilling. The house was owned by William and Katherine McKeogh. She showed it to Hendricks.

“What do you think?”

Hendricks waited until the couple went back inside, turned the car around, and parked across the street from the house.

“Only one way to find out,” he said, getting out.

An elderly woman sitting on her porch put down her book and waved to Jenn. She waved back politely. Friendly neighborhood. Guards down. Welcoming. She followed Hendricks across the street and up the front steps of 1754 Orange Lane. Hendricks rang the doorbell and stepped back from the door. He shook out his neck like he was limbering up for a fight. As the woman opened the door, Hendricks put on a warm, friendly smile that Jenn had never seen.

“Can I help you?” Katherine McKeogh had a kind face and large brown eyes. Her hair was pulled back with an emerald bow.

Hendricks retrieved a business card from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to her.

“Sorry to bother you at home, ma’am. My name is Dan Hendricks. This is my partner, Jenn Charles. We were hoping to ask you and your husband a few questions.”

“Are you detectives?” she asked, looking at his card.

“No, ma’am. ACG is a private firm. We’ve been contracted to consult with the local police department and evaluate their procedures.”

“Oh,” she said, handing the card back. “But an officer was just here.”

“We’re not police, ma’am. We’re doing follow-ups. It’s part of a countywide initiative to improve services. We were in the area and thought we’d stop in and see if we could take a report while it was fresh in your minds.”

“He was very nice. I don’t want to get him in any trouble.”

Hendricks smiled sweetly. Jenn was starting to see why he’d had one of the highest case-closure rates in the LAPD. His transformation bordered on disturbing.

“I understand completely,” Hendricks said. “This isn’t really about him, or any particular officer for that matter. We’re just looking for ways the county can improve and enhance their interactions with the community.”

“Kate? Who is it?” A man’s voice from inside the house.

“Some detectives with questions,” the woman called back into the house.

“We’re not detectives, ma’am.”

A moment later, a tall, thin man in chinos and a polo shirt came to the door.

“What’s going on?”