Alexander Hill turned onto Pearl Street and came to a stop in front of house 719. He retrieved his cellphone and double-checked his notes and, satisfied he had the right place, put the cellphone back in his coat pocket and exited his car.

The suburban home of the Bright family looked like many of the other houses in that neighborhood, two stories tall and painted an unassuming color. He noted, though, that the lawn was several inches taller than the neighbors’, and there was an ignored newspaper on the side of the driveway that the elements had reduced to mulch.

Alexander approached the door and knocked. Seconds later, he heard footsteps approach, and the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman who was surely Judy Bright.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Bright. My name’s Alexander. We spoke on the phone.”