A black Mercedes arrived in front of a small house in Marine Park. Its windows were tinted, and its stylized license plate read "Washington". Passersby slowed to glance at the car, some staring curiously at the windows before moving on quickly.
Mary noticed this as she stared out her own window, but she paid it no mind.
The building had a waist-high fence of black metal bars that ran along the small yard from one end of the front wall to the other. A modest garden lined the walls—green bushes with neither fruits nor flowers—and a short flight of stairs led to the front door. Its tiled roof, a shade of brown darker than the walls, gleamed in the afternoon sun.
The driver-side window of the Mercedes rolled down, revealing Harold's face. He squinted at the white door in front of hi
