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They reached Hornfeldt’s home at eight o’clock exactly. Turk was alert as they approached the house but not particularly antsy or excitable. That didn’t necessarily mean Hornfeldt wasn’t the killer, especially since Turk hadn’t picked up a scent at the crime scene, but it wasn’t a great sign of guilt, either.
They knocked on the door and received no response, which wasn’t surprising. Hornfeldt’s car wasn’t in the driveway. He could have parked in his garage, but there were no lights on in the house either, and when Faith pressed her ear to the door, she could hear no sounds coming from inside. No TV drone, no footsteps, no running water.
“Odds are he’s not home,” Faith said. “What do you think? Do we break in and search? Probable cause because of the threat?”
“I think that flies,” Michael said. “Let’s just try not to make a mess.”
Faith knelt in front of the door and used her bobby pin to jig the tumbler. She just managed to get the door unlocked when she heard a voice behind them.
“Hey! What are you two doing? I’m calling the police!”
She stood and turned while Michael lifted his ID toward a balding man in a wifebeater who leaned out of the driver’s window of an ostentatiously oversized diesel pickup and glared at the two agents. “Special Agent Michael Prince, FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Faith Bold and our K9 unit, Turk. We’re here on official FBI business.”
“You have a badge number?” the man challenged.
“F65837,” Michael said, “but you’ll want to contact the Bureau to verify that not the police.”
“What are you doing here?” the man demanded.
Faith and Michael started toward the truck. When they were close enough not to shout, Michael asked, “Are you the neighbor?”
“Lester Caine,” the man said. “What’s Richard in trouble for? This doesn’t have to do with his old man, does it?”
“Where is Mr. Hornfeldt?” Faith asked.
“He’s in Buffalo for his kid’s baseball game,” Lester said. “Won’t be back until late.”
“The game was today?”
“Last night,” Lester said.
“When did Mr. Hornfeldt leave for the game?” Michael asked.
“Not sure,” Lester said. “I haven’t seen his car since Friday. He usually parks in the driveway, but he could’ve parked in his garage. I’m out most days from five in the morning until five at night, so I might have missed him.”
“How is Mr. Hornfeldt?” Faith asked. “As a neighbor, I mean?”
“He’s wonderful,” Lester replied. “Always there to lend a hand when I or someone else here needs it. It was terrible about his father. I can’t believe a monster like that raised a class act like Richard.” He shook his head. “I feel even worse for his boy.”
“His boy?”
“Yeah, his son, Daniel. Good kid, nine or ten.”
“That the baseball player?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, shortstop. Great arm. Could have been a pitcher, but he hits for contact sweeter than Stan Musial. My nephew plays in the same league. Different team, though. They’re from Queens. My sister-in-law is.”
“After his father was indicted,” Faith asked, “did you notice a change in Mr. Hornfeldt’s behavior?”
“Well, he was angry to all hell,” Lester said. “Kept calling the jurors assholes and talking about what he’d do if he got them alone. I chalked it up to typical distress over his father getting the death penalty. Wait, he didn’t actually kill one of the jurors, did he?”
“I’m afraid I can’t comment about an active investigation,” Michael said. “Can you confirm Mr. Hornfeldt’s whereabouts two nights ago?”
Lester shook his head. “I can tell you I didn’t see his car, but like I said, sometimes he parks in the garage. Look, Richard’s a good guy. We’ve been friends for years. I know you guys have to follow up, but I’ll vouch for Richard. He’s not the killing type.”
“Right,” Michael said. “Well, thank you, Mr. Caine. If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
He handed Caine his card, and the neighbor drove off. He parked three houses down from Hornfeldt’s residence and gave the agents a friendly wave as he walked inside.
