“Too blurry for the computer,” Barresi replies. “If we had a suspect we could make it work.”

“Any other witnesses besides Polly’s two friends?” I ask.

“There was a renter on the property in a garage apartment. He had a friend visiting. The two were watching TV with the door open when the unsub came up the driveway and approached the back door.”

Will sits forward, his question echoing my own silent one. “They weren’t suspicious?”

“Apparently the guy just waltzed up as if he owned the place. The back door was unlocked. Maybe it’s a friend of the family, he thinks.”

“Still, that’s damned bold when you know you’ve been spotted,” Will replies.

“There were witnesses on the street, too,” Barresi adds. “A warm Friday night. People in the park. Lots of foot traffic.”

It’s easy enough to picture what the sergeant’s describing, the kind of person who doesn’t care about witnesses or time of day or repercussions or risk—who, once triggered, would take Polly no matter what.

That kind of reckless confidence is partly why some perpetrators are able to pull off abductions in plain sight, even in broad daylight. In 1991, in the small mountain town of Meyers, California, near Lake Tahoe, a car approached eleven-year-old Jaycee Dugard as she walked to her bus stop. Several of her classmates watched as Jaycee was attacked by a stun gun and pulled into the car. Her stepfather witnessed the kidnapping, too, and set out in pursuit on his mountain bike, but he couldn’t keep up. The car had sped away. A massive search effort had launched immediately, but Jaycee had vanished.

Two years and three months later, she’s still gone, but very much on my mind in Barresi’s office, even as he changes gears and begins to talk about Polly’s family.

Eve recently split from her second husband, who fathered Polly’s half sister, Annie, just six. Was it possible that there were tensions between the two, or that Marc Klaas wasn’t happy with the custody arrangements? Barresi was grasping at straws.

“The suspect didn’t knock or hesitate,” he’s saying. “That could mean he knew the victim, had access to and knowledge of the house.”

I know the odds as well as he does, that less than five percent of the time is the perpetrator a stranger. But I already have a feeling this case is going to buck the odds, maybe lots of them. “Time will tell,” I offer. “Anything else you can share?”

“You can go on over to the scene if that would help. We’ve cleared the perimeter. You can’t screw anything up.”

“Thanks,” Will says. “How are the other girls doing? Polly’s friends?”