The door swung open to reveal the tall, athletic form of a smiling Jeremiah Omondi. The smile slipped for a fraction of a second and a shadow crossed behind his eyes as his gaze passed from Sheriff Sam to Det. West. He recovered his smile so swiftly as he leaned his lithe body against the door frame and crossed his arms, assuming a relaxed position, that Sheriff Sam wondered if he had imagined it.

"What can I do for you today, Sheriff?" Jeremiah asked, his deep, rich voice laced with a Kenyan accent. Jeremiah's parents had immigrated when he was young and although he had few memories of his childhood in his home country, he retained the accent despite the years. His supple form bellied his Maasai heritage, however, and would have looked completely at home on the plains surrounding the Great Lakes of Africa, clad in the traditional red Shuka cloth with iron rod in hand.

"Jeremiah, this is Det. West. Can we come in for a bit? We have a few questions about the grey house," Sheriff Sam prompted. Again, that fleeting shadow seemed to pass over Jeremiah's face. This time Sheriff Sam was certain of it. He caught the slight twitch of Det. West's head in his peripheral vision. She had seen it to - that moment of hesitation before Jeremiah had schooled his features as he held the door open for them.

Jeremiah Omondi had been a resident of Credence for the past eight years and had owned the property next to the grey house for five of those. He had known the owner of the grey house fairly well and had even looked out for the elderly man over the last few years of his life, helping with odd jobs around the house and doing shopping for the aging owner as his health had slowly failed him. After his death, Jeremiah had kept an eye on the place and chased off the occasional unruly group of teenagers looking for a place to get up to no good. He had also been the one to report the odd smell and request the patrol that had led to the gruesome discovery.

Sheriff Sam and Det. West followed Jeremiah through the door to the medium-sized, modern home. The property looked as if it could be on the cover of an architectural magazine, with stone and timber accents offset against the solid planes of the plastered walls, broken by large windows that faced the beautifully manicured flower beds and lush foliage that framed the building. It was a far larger house than one person would need - Jeremiah was not married and had no children - and Sheriff Sam wondered if he had purchased the house with the intent of one day settling down and starting a family of his own or if he had just fallen in love with the beauty of property. Jeremiah offered to fetch them some iced tea in the kitchen as he ushered them into the sitting room just off the entrance area and indicated that they should make themselves at home.

As Sheriff Sam made himself comfortable on the settee while Jeremiah retreated to the kitchen, he surveyed the room around him. It was artfully decorated, much like the outside, but with hints of Jeremiah's African heritage. A large woven grass mat covered the warm timber floor below the seating area, the neutral tones offset against the vivid colors of the tribal print fabric that covered the single wingback chair and carried over to the cushions that lay artfully scattered on the black settee. A beautiful soapstone carving of a hornbill sat on the mantel piece below an intricately woven beadwork tapestry. A collection of tribal masks adorned the blank wall opposite the exquisite tapestry. Natural light filtered in through the large windows that looked out over a secluded portion of the garden, complete with stone water feature.

While the room could definitely be classed as tastefully decorated, Sheriff Sam noted the lack of personal momentos. There were no family photographs or personal knick-knacks anywhere. It was almost as if the room had been staged for a photoshoot or viewing, rather than a lived-in space. The whole house appeared to be more suited for a photoshoot than a bachelor. Sheriff Sam looked over at Det. West. She seemed to be noticing the same details, a slight, almost-unnoticeable frown etched on her face.

Jeremiah returned with the glasses of peppermint iced tea on a silver tray that he placed on the timber coffee table and took a seat on the wingback. He perched on the edge of the chair, his feet tucked partially below the edge of the seat and his arms resting on his legs as he clasped and unclasped his hands in front of him. As if realizing that his movements conveyed an air of nervous tension, he adjusted his position, sitting back on the chair and purposefully relaxing his shoulders and body. He smiled as he motioned for the Sheriff and Detective to help themselves to the tea, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Still that shadow seemed to be there, lurking somewhere in the depths.

"Jeremiah, the detective and I are following up on the discovery at the grey house, and we were wondering if you had seen anything unusual. Perhaps a car or truck? Or any people coming and going? Any movement at all?" Sheriff Sam enquired. He watched Jeremiah's face closely, searching for any deception in his answers, watching for the flicker of that shadow.

Jeremiah answered almost immediately in the negative, then paused, his face morphing from one of certainty to thoughtful reflection. "The garden service was here last week Tuesday. That was odd, but I assumed maybe they had another booking and switched days or something. They usually come on a Wednesday, but I remember seeing them packing up when I returned from the gym. I always gym on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays."

"And you're sure it was on the Tuesday and not the Thursday?" Sheriff Sam enquired.

"Definitely Tuesday. I had an appointment on Thursday, so I showered at the gym and went straight to my appointment. I didn't get back till late."

Sheriff Sam and Det. West stayed for a few more minutes, peppering Jeremiah with questions about the grey house, but there was nothing further that Jeremiah could offer. As far as he knew, there had been no strange comings or goings. No people, no vehicles, no lights burning in any of the windows at night, not even a blade of grass that seemed out of place. He did occasionally travel out of town for work, but his last trip had been four months ago, and he hadn't noticed any differences at the grey house upon his return.

Sheriff Sam was certain Jeremiah was telling the truth, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something. His belief in facts and truth was tempered by the feeling slowly brewing in his gut. Jeremiah was a standup citizen - he had never caused any trouble, always had a friendly smile and warm greeting for those he ran into and was known to lend a helping hand when any of his neighbors were in need. Still... That shadow. Sheriff Sam was certain he was hiding something.

"What do you think, West?" Sheriff Sam asked as they climbed into his patrol car.

"I'm not sure yet. There's something about him. Where's he from? Zimbabwe? I had a friend who went there once, and she wouldn't stop raving about the soapstone sculptures that they hand carve and sell."

"He's from Kenya, actually," Sheriff Sam answered. It was his job to know about all the people in his small town and while Jeremiah and him weren't exactly social, they knew each other well enough to wave a greeting in town and exchange pleasantries in passing on the street. Sheriff Sam had heard the stories about his Kenyan heritage and how he had come to settle in Credence more than a few times.

"I could have sworn some of those decorations and especially that soapstone sculpture was more Zimbabwean, but I am clearly not the expert on all things African," West mused. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and reflect on the conversation with Jeremiah as they drove to the next neighbor on their list.

"I don't want to commit to anything so early in the investigation, but I don't think Jeremiah has anything else for us. I believe him when he says he hasn't seen anything. Still... There's something cagey about him. He didn't seem all too pleased to have us at his door," Det. West finally concluded.

Sheriff Sam agreed. The whole interaction and the contents of that room had somehow seemed staged, but he saw no hint of deception in Jeremiah's eyes when he spoke about the grey house. Perhaps Jeremiah just preferred to keep to himself and valued style over sentimentality. Perhaps the shadow that Sheriff Sam had noted was nothing more than annoyance or an aversion to the possibility of being dragged into the investigation. Until anything certain could be established with regards to the case, Sheriff Sam would keep his eye on Jeremiah. There was always the possibility that he was somehow more directly involved or knew more than he was letting on. And something about Jeremiah Omondi just didn't sit right with Sheriff Sam.