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The short drive to the area where the Swearen/Poulson’s lived was pleasant. Hawke hadn’t told his mother or Kitree where he was going. Only, out.
As he drove up the street in front of the Poulson home, he had a feeling this wasn’t a neighborhood that looked out for one another. All the shades were drawn, the lawns vacant of toys or anything that showed a family lived in the houses all built from the same house plan. Here and there a car sat on the parking area in front of a closed garage door. There were no extra cars along the street, until he drew closer to the Poulson house.
He opted to turn the block before rather than pass by the two vehicles staking out the house. Assuming they were the FBI and the local police, he didn’t want to get into a conversation with them if they believed he was interested in the house.
This tract neighborhood had houses backing up to other houses without alleys in between. He judged which house was most likely to be backed up to the Poulson house and parked in front.
Unsure whether to use his badge or come up with a cover, he watched as the door opened. A woman in her fifties, with short blonde hair and dark roots, came out with a small, curly-haired, white dog on a leash. She turned from locking the door and spotted him. Her eyes narrowed, and she came down the sidewalk toward him like a guinea hen running off an intruder.
“You can move on. I don’t buy anything that isn’t off a store shelf. You door to door salesmen are all a bunch of con-artists.” She punched her fisted hands on her ample hips and glared at him.
“I’m not here to sell you anything, Ma’am.” To unruffle her imaginary feathers, he pulled out his badge. “I have a few questions about the neighbors who lived behind you.”
She sucked in air as her dog sniffed his boots. “Oh, it’s just terrible. Those two nice people getting killed and their daughter...I hope she’s okay. She was the only one in the family who would visit over the fence.” She motioned to the sidewalk. “I need to take Princess for a walk. I can talk to you as we walk.”
He nodded and fell into step beside her. “Has anyone else been around asking questions?”
She nodded. “The local police and an FBI man.” She wrinkled her nose. “He was kind of snooty. Asked stupid questions I couldn’t answer.”
This intrigued Hawke. “What kind of questions?”
“Did I know what Mrs. Poulson did all day? Did she spend time in the backyard?” The woman stopped. “I don’t know what she did all day. She was in the house. I know whenever I was out watering my yard or working in my flower beds, the only one outside was the girl. The father barbequed now and then and mowed the lawn, but the little girl tended the flowers.”
She nodded. “That’s usually what we talked about over the fence. I’d notice she’d have some unusual plant. She’d say it was edible or used for something.”
Hawke grinned. It appeared the curious botanist grew the plants in her books. “I see. Do you know if anyone in the neighborhood was friends with the family?”
The fluffy dog squatted on the closest area of cut grass.
They stopped.
“I wouldn’t know who went in and out the front door, but like I told the others, I never saw anyone other than family in the backyard.” The woman pulled out a small plastic bag and picked up the little logs her dog had left on the lawn.
He liked responsible dog owners.
She tied the bag of dog poo to the middle of the leash and said, “You might talk with Sarah Riddle. She lives across the street and one door down from the Poulson’s. She might have seen who went in and out.”
“Thank you.” He pivoted back the way they’d come and had a thought. Spinning back around, he asked, “Is there a gate between your backyard and the Poulson’s?”
She studied him. “If you’re a policeman, why don’t you walk in the front door?”
The truth was always the best way to go. “Because I’m the only policeman who cares about the safety of the daughter. I’m trying to figure out why the parents were killed and find the person who did it, so she can come out of hiding.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You mean whoever killed her parents wants her dead, too?”
“Yes. And if you liked her as you said, it would help her to let me use your backyard to get into the Poulson house.” He studied her. Would she do as he asked, or would she call the police to arrest him for trespassing once he entered the home?
“Come on. I wouldn’t want to be the one with the death of the whole family on my conscience.” The woman spun around and marched down the sidewalk and up to her house. “Come in.”
He followed her into the home only a few square feet larger than his mom’s home. It was just as neat and tidy, but more updated furniture. He held his hat in his good hand.
The woman unleashed her dog and straightened. She held out a hand. “Dorothy Bergman.”
He switched his hat to the other hand and shook. “Hawke.”
She raised a dark penciled eyebrow but didn’t say anything as she led him to the sliding glass door. Beyond the door was a yard full of color. She had every flower he’d ever seen in gardens overflowing the borders of the lawn and a few circles in the middle.
“You have a way with plants,” he said, stepping out onto the small cobblestone patio.
She shrugged and held her hand out. “You’ll need this.”
He glanced down at the key in her hand. “What’s this?”
“The key to the Poulson’s back door.”
“How do you have it?”
She shrugged. “Neighbors give keys to neighbors in case of a problem. Kitree must have told Mr. Poulson we talked over the fence. He came over one day and gave me the key in case something ever happened.”
Hawke studied the woman. There was more to what she was telling him. But he wouldn’t have to worry about breaking and entering with the key. After he checked out the house, he’d have a deeper conversation with Mrs. Bergman.
He put his hat on his head, took the key, and walked across the lawn. The scents of all the flowers blending in the warmth of the mid-day sun made his eyes and nose water. Holding his breath, he found the gate, unlatched it from both sides, and walked through. He strode up to the sliding door, exactly like the one in the house on the other side of the fence, and unlocked it.
Quietly, he slid the door open and stepped inside. The stench of garbage replaced the sickening sweet scent of the neighbor’s garden. It was dark, with all the curtains and shades pulled. That would keep the people sitting in front of the house from seeing him looking around.
His initial thought, scanning the dining room and kitchen, was how would he notice anything out of place in this mess. Whoever had ransacked the place hadn’t cared about others knowing. The items in the kitchen cupboards had been shoved onto the floor. Drawers hung open and empty. Some even added to the debris on the floor.
One look under the sink revealed the person had even unscrewed the pipes and looked in those. What would fit in a drain pipe? An SD card, flash drive, microchip. What had Mrs. Poulson been involved in?
Even the contents of the refrigerator were on the floor. No one had cleaned it up. It and the garbage dumped beside the waste basket accounted for the disgusting smell.
The glass and fancy dishes that had once been housed in the china hutch were in pieces on the floor in front of it. This hadn’t just been someone looking for something, it had been someone angry that they were coming up emptyhanded.
He moved into the living room. Same rage and items flung everywhere. A photo of the family hung sideways on the wall. Hawke straightened it and pulled out his phone. He took a photo of the family portrait. He’d print it out for Kitree. He didn’t know what would happen to all the items in the house once the police released the property.
Walking down the hallway, he stepped around notebooks with papers exploding out of them. He crouched and picked up a paper. It appeared to be class syllabuses. Mr. Poulson must have kept them at home rather than at the college. Or was working on them here.
In the office, books had been pulled off the shelves, rifled through and thrown in a corner. The wires for a computer sat on the desk. No computer in sight. It would have been the obvious piece to have the information. He wondered if they’d determined it didn’t have the information and came back, or if they’d continued searching anyway?
The drawers to the wooden desk had been pulled out and smashed. Were they looking for a secret compartment? He felt along the underside of the desk edges. Nothing.
He was still unclear what he or the intruders were looking for. All the photo frames were smashed. He picked up a small photo of the family. It looked like from a trip to get a Christmas tree. He put that in his breast pocket.
This room like the others had been thoroughly tossed.
The master bedroom and bath had also been trashed. The mattress seams slit. Whoever did this had to have been in here for hours. Had they come in as soon as the family left for the camping trip? And when they couldn’t find what they were looking for went after the woman?
He stepped into Kitree’s room. He nearly doubled over as if punched in the gut. Her belongings had been just as violated as the rest of the house. The stuffing of her mattress and animals had exploded over her belongings. The cover was ripped and mounds of cotton fluff strewn about the room. He wondered if he dared take any of her belongings. Mrs. Bergman would know he had contact with the girl if he walked back to her house with something. Best to leave it be for now. He saw a pile of books on the floor by a small bookcase.
Kneeling in front of the pile, he picked them up one by one. The hardcover books had the pages ripped out of them. One book caught his eye. It was the exact same wild flower book as Kitree had on the trip. Had she inadvertently been given two of the same book?
He didn’t see anything that would help him learn more about what he was looking for. He, the FBI, and the suspects were following an elusive trail. The mouse trail.
His next step would be to talk to people at the college.
Hawke left the house, locked it, and hurried across the lawn and into the backyard of Mrs. Bergman.
She met him at her sliding door. “Did you learn anything?”
Her curiosity set his senses on alert. “No. Whoever killed the Poulson’s must have ransacked the house.”
It was telling that the woman didn’t seem surprised.
“I took the liberty of asking Mrs. Riddle over for coffee.” Mrs. Bergman studied him. “You can ask her anything you want while I get the coffee.”
Mrs. Bergman ducked into the small kitchen. A woman in her sixties sat at the dining room table, her gaze assessing him.
He took off his hat.
“Dorothy said you were interested in the Poulsons.” This woman was tall, thin, and sat in the chair as if she had a broomstick for a backbone. Her hair was gray with strands of brunette swirling in the curls.
“What can you tell me about them?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.
“Not much. They stayed to themselves. I don’t think the woman cooked. Different restaurants that delivered food would arrive during the week days. The man and the girl would haul bags of groceries into the house on Saturdays.”
“Did you ever see the mother go anywhere?” he asked.
“Only as a family. She never left the house during the day alone.”
Mrs. Bergman carried in three mugs of coffee. “I’ll get sugar and cream.” She hurried back into the kitchen and returned, taking a seat to Hawke’s right.
When she put a spoon into the sugar, Hawke studied her hand. She wasn’t as old as her hair and puffy, sagging body indicated. He was sure the other woman was in her sixties, but he had a feeling Mrs. Bergman was closer to forty than fifty.
“Why were you two watching the Poulsons? Who had the wife pissed off and what did she do for the government that the family was watched over?” He sipped his coffee and watched the two exchange a look.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Bergman said, raising her cup to her lips.
Hawke grinned. “Fine. No sense you getting in trouble for telling me secrets.” He wiped the grin off his face and stared at both of them. “I intend to find the son-of-a-bitch who killed Kitree’s parents and make sure no one ever comes after her again. You can tell that to whoever you work for.”
He drained the cup, placed his hat back on his head, and walked out of the house. He’d bet Jack and Horse that the two women were U.S. Marshals sent to keep an eye on the family. They screwed up. He wondered what they were going to do about it.