It was six-thirty when Mike arrived at Grant Newton’s home. The car in the driveway told him Grant was there, so he rang the doorbell and waited. When no one answered, he tried again, with no result. Figuring maybe Newton was in the bathroom, he waited ten minutes before trying one more time. He thought he heard movement on the other side of the door, but it didn’t open.
“Mr. Newton? I’m a police officer. I’d like to talk to you about Jonathan Watts,” he called out.
Nothing. Then he heard a door slam against something. It sounded as if it was at the back of the house. He raced around, getting there just in time to see someone disappear down the alley. He started after them, heard the roar of a car engine, and got to the alley in time to see brake lights as a car made the turn onto the st
