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Detective Sorenson waited impatiently while the forensic team tagged and photographed each piece of evidence in the ruins of the Akerlund’s yard. The three mangled plastic flamingos tangled into the garden hose seemed to be watching the process too, painted eyes dark above twisted necks. For a moment he wondered if they knew what had happened to the vanished family, but he shook away the fancy. Might as well ask the collection of four unhappy garden gnomes, two large, two small, that were placed so carefully on the shiny new lawn chairs, surrounded by a million treacherous shards of plaster.