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wasn’t complaining. Having both the detectives and the FBI in the same room would make things easier, since she had questions for all of them.
    “Can I get either of you anything to drink?” the detective asked.
    They both declined.
    He moved piles of papers dotted with sticky notes out of the way. Tall stacks of files remained. Faith couldn’t take her eyes off the folder with McMann scribbled on the bottom left-hand corner. He gestured for them both to take a seat.
    Faith pointed at the folder. “Can I take a look?”
    He clicked his tongue. “Sorry. Open investigation. I can’t let you review the file, but I’ll do my best to answer all your questions.”
    “I would like to know if anyone in your department talked to my neighbors.”
    “Yes. We went door-to-door and collected brief statements.”
    “How about the pedophile living on Oakwood right around the corner from my house?”
    He made a note. “I’m sure someone has looked into it, but I’ll get back to you on that.” O’Sullivan set his pen down. “Maybe it would be helpful if we wait until Detective Yuhasz is ready to go so that we can catch you up on the investigation process and everything we’ve done so far.”
    Her eyelid twitched. “Did you search Mr. Hawkins’s house?”
    “Mr. Hawkins?”
    “The neighbor to my right. He’s a baker.”
    “For the duration of your stay in the hospital, your house was a crime scene. I can personally assure you that an intensive and thorough investigation was done. Every available resource has been mobilized. For the first ten days an officer was stationed at your home in case of the return of your children or a demand for ransom was made. All bases were covered. Nonpolice personnel such as scout groups and fire rescue units gathered to help with ground searches.”
    “It’s true,” Mom chimed in. “There were at a least a dozen officers working double shifts during the first ninety-six hours.”
    Faith felt jittery and anxious as if she’d had too much coffee. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. Just because she’d been out of commission didn’t give them all an excuse to twiddle their thumbs. “Was someone able to check inside Mr. Hawkins’s house?” she asked again.
    O’Sullivan shook his head. “We would need a warrant to do so.”
    “OK,” she said, scooting her chair closer to his desk. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Let’s get one.”
    “Searches cannot be performed based on mere suspicion.”
    Mom gave Faith’s arm a gentle squeeze.
    O’Sullivan looked over his shoulder, obviously relieved when Yuhasz signaled that he was ready for them. “Looks like Detective Yuhasz is ready to go.”
    They followed Detective O’Sullivan into the office. Faith had met Detective Yuhasz in the hospital and then again at home, but she’d been flying high on painkillers and her memories of the attack had been blurry and jumbled. She wouldn’t have recognized the man in front of her if she’d passed him on the street. The smell of his cologne was overbearing. He had a wide grin. Her mom gave him a hug, everyone acting as if they were old friends.
    Short-cropped hair left Detective Yuhasz with sharp, angular spikes that Faith imagined would be painful to touch. Like petting a porcupine. He was a few inches shorter than Dad, who stood well over six feet. For his age, which she guessed to be close to sixty, Yuhasz appeared to be in decent shape. His muscles strained against the cotton sleeves of his button-up shirt.
    They all took a seat.
    Just as O’Sullivan pulled up a chair, Agent Burnett, a tall woman with dark hair tied back in a knot, joined them. Introductions were made while another chair was brought into the room.
    “I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” Detective Yuhasz said to Faith. “Your parents told me in the hospital that you were a fighter, and it’s clear they were right.” He retrieved a recorder from his top drawer. “Your sister said your memories of