Never feel alone

Chapter 19

Stef

I parked my cruiser on the curb of an unfamiliar street and got out. As I walked down the sidewalk, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small, shabby house. It was locked up tight, the yard overgrown. I shuddered. So, this was Brian's house of horrors.

I passed it, and went up the front walk of the house next door. It hadn't been hard to get a hold of the transcript of the 911 call from the night of the shooting. From it, I learned the name and address of the neighbor who called.

Purposefully, I rang her doorbell, praying she was home. After Callie and Sophia had been questioned the day before, I'd made it a point to get out here and see if there was at least one more viable witness.

Finally, the door opened a crack. "May I help you?" a woman asked, peeking out.

"I hope so," I smiled. "My name is Officer Stefanie Adams Foster. Are you... Tracy Gonzalez?"

"Yes," she said, frowning. "Why?"

"I'd like to ask you some questions," I told her. "May I please come in?"

"Of course, officer," she nodded. She shut the door, then undid the chain lock and opened it again. Pushing a cat away with her foot, she gestured for me to enter.

Her home was drab, but clean. You could tell she tried to keep it nice, despite her bleak surroundings. This was a rough neighborhood.

Have a seat," she said. "Can I offer you something?"

"Coffee would be lovely if you have it," I smiled.

"I just made a fresh pot," she told me, turning to the kitchen. A few moments later, she returned, handed me a mug, and sat down across from me.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. There was a trace of fear in her eyes.

"No," I said quietly, hoping to calm her nerves. "I'm just hoping you could give me some information regarding the death of Brian Bowen. He lived next door to you?"

"Him," Mrs. Gonzalez grunted. "Yes." From what I could gather, Brian wasn't well-liked by her. I guessed a lot of people shared her feelings.

"My wife and I are fostering two sisters," I explained. "You may remember them. Their names are Callie and Sophia Jacob. Before they came to us, they were Mr. Bowen's foster daughters. Do you recall them at all?" I asked, hopefully. "I really need your help, and I know you called 911 the night Mr. Bowen was shot."

I told her about the girls, and what a hard time they've had, and the investigation they were under. Lastly, I told her about Lena's and my intention to adopt them. "We love them so much," I said, my eyes tearing up. "And we want to give them a safe, loving home. But to do that, we need to clear their names."

"I'll help you in any way I can," she finally promised. "I remember those girls."

"I'd love to hear what you remember," I offered, very interested in learning about what my daughters were like before their life became so dark.

"They seemed like normal, bright kids," Mrs. Gonzalez told me. "They always had a sad look in their eyes. But they were pretty girls."

"They are," I smiled. "They really are."

"I didn't see them too often," she went on. "They didn't seem to come outside much, but I saw them out in the yard once in a while. I can only remember actually speaking to them once. It was raining, and I saw them sitting on their front steps. I asked them what they were doing outside in weather like that, and they said they were waiting for Laura to come home. I asked them to come inside and dry off while they waited."