The address was a two-story house on a quiet street, paint peeling at the corners, a car in the driveway that hadn't moved in a while judging by the leaves pressed flat under the tires. Hunter knocked twice before the door opened.
The man who answered looked older than his file suggested he should be. Gray at the temples that shouldn't have been there yet. He looked at Hunter for a long moment without saying anything.
"You're not from them," he finally said.
"No," Hunter said. "My name's Hunter. I need to ask you about a case that was filed against you six years ago."
The man's hand tightened on the door frame. For a second Hunter thought he was going to shut the door. Instead he stepped back and let him in.
The living room was sparse. A couch, a television that wasn't on, no photogra
