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Hoyt doesn’t elaborate, as I have found is common with most former soldiers. They are a humble breed.
He pulls a spotted drinking glass from the cabinet and fills it with tap water. I notice the sunspots and scabs that speckle his arthritic hands.
He sets the glass on the kitchen table, in front of me.
Neither of us sit, so I get to the point.
“Would you mind repeating to me what led you to go to the Kaings’ house tonight?”
I listen as Hoyt recites the exact story Kellan told me when I arrived at the scene—the old man became worried after the lights on the house had not been turned off in over two days, and he had not seen the homeowners a single time.
“Did you try reaching out to Alyssa before going over to her house?”
“Yes. I called her cell phone three, maybe four times. No answer.”
I make a mental note that Hoyt has Alyssa’s cell phone number, in addition to a key to the home. This implies that at some point Alyssa felt comfortable enough to give her neighbor her personal phone number and a house key. Both intimate, personal things.
“When did you start calling her cell phone?”
“I called yesterday morning and then again this morning.” He scratches his head. “And I think again this afternoon. When I laid down in bed tonight, I couldn’t sleep. I knew something was wrong. So, finally, I just went over there.”
“Did you go straight to the front door?”
“Yes, I rang the doorbell, then knocked a few times.”
“Is this when you used your key to enter the house?”
“Not at that point. I went around back. Knocked on the back door. When there was no answer, I used the key.”
“The key works for both doors? Or did she specifically give you a key to the back door?”
“I don’t know. I just inserted it and it worked.”
“The back yard is gated. Was the gate locked as well?”
“No. In fact, I think it was unlatched.”
Interesting.
“Did you hear anything when you walked inside?”
“No,” Hoyt crosses his arms over his chest and I spy a large tattoo of an anchor on his bicep. “The opposite, actually. I remember thinking how quiet it was.”
“No television? Music?”
“No. I checked the kitchen first, then the den and the sunroom—as she likes to call it—and then went upstairs. That’s when I found her. I called 911 immediately.”
“Did you stay in the room after you called?”
“No. I went downstairs and waited on the front porch. I’ve seen enough crime shows to know that I shouldn’t touch anything.”
“Good job. Did you touch her at all? Maybe to check for a pulse?”
“No. The smell was enough to let me know she was dead.”
“Understood. Mr. Hoyt, can you tell me about Mr. Kaing?”
Hoyt shifts his weight and for the first time, seems to hesitate. “I really don’t know him that well. I’ve only met him twice, I think. He was nice enough, polite. He’s not really a talker. Didn’t seem to have an interest in getting to know me, which is just fine.”
