‘I never picked up anything weird about him. He always seemed really friendly, really nice. We used to play in his backyard.’
Ally could not believe that Mr. Haskell was a suspected child molester.
The police search had uncovered several mutilated dolls, boxes of children’s identity cards, animal bones, a single child’s mitten and a bunch of kid’s movies.
But he had been so gentle, bringing them lemonade and cookies, rushing over to pick them up when they fell, noticing when they wore new clothes, enquiring after them if they didn’t come out to play.
Everything that once felt endearing, now felt so dirty.
She really could not believe it.