It had even looked, briefly, like the clouds were going to break up and give way to blue sky. But it wasn't long before the sunlight was swallowed up and the sky was once again a low ceiling of grimy steel. The street was thick with reporters from all the local television stations and some from Sacramento and San Francisco, even a couple of networks – CNN and MSNBC. Although it was the reason they had all come to the neighborhood, there was very little activity at the Garry house. A police officer had arrived earlier that morning with a man and woman – presumably relatives, because they looked grief-stricken, but they wouldn't speak to any of the reporters – and had taken them through the house. Then they'd gone, leaving the house dark and empty once again. But the Pritchard house had captured their interest. They all knew it was the home of Robby Pritchard, who had discovered the carnage down the street, and who had been the killer's best friend. But there was more. There was all the angry shouting that had been taking place there, and that gaping hole in the side of the Pritchard house that had seemed to be as much a mystery to Mr.
