Ralph Kendall bellowed. When homicide detective Frank Harriman arrived, Kendall had been watching the Cartoon Network—a Bugs Bunny episode. Kendall had opened the door with a smile. The minute Frank explained why he was there, though, Kendall had grown serious, and turned the set off. The man was broad-shouldered and tall, only an inch or so shorter than Frank’s own six-four. He was wearing a white T-shirt and shorts that barely met over his middle. His face and arms were sunburned, and his blond hair was thinning. His eyes were blue and—before Frank had told him of his neighbor’s death—full of laughter. “Jordy!” he called again. “You get down here right now, you hear me?” An upstairs bedroom door opened—no more than a crack. “Coming!” a young man called down in an exasperated voice, then shut the door again. “Teenagers,” his father said on a sigh.
