I made one last run at Jerome’s mother before heading back to my motel. Most of the houses on the block were in the winding down stages, lights on in upstairs bedrooms, if at all. The Jennings house was dark, and there were no cars in the driveway. I parked across the street at another dark house, blocking the mailbox. I’d be long gone before delivery of the latest cable service flyer.
At eleven-fifteen, Mr. Jennings’s sedan pulled into the driveway. He walked briskly to the front door, let himself in, and turned on the lights downstairs. The curtains in the living room facing the street were open, and I saw him move quickly through before a light went on upstairs. A few moments later, the lights went out in succession as he made his way back to the front door. He locked it and got in his
