There he is, I said, pointing at the man standing just beyond the schoolyard fence.

Gerard stood next to me in the faculty office that had been set aside for us months ago.

We were both peering out the window through slid blinds.

Behind us, sitting in the office, were the school principal and one other foundation agent by the name of Grady.

"'He doesn't look like much,' Gerard said.

It was the kind of answer I'd come to expect from him.

There was doubt in his voice.

To be fair, he was right.

The guy didn't look like much.

He was in his mid-tws, with strawberry blonde hair and clean-shaven freckled cheeks.

He wore a purple polo shirt and khaki slacks.

I pegged him as no taller than five-eight.

As he stood at the street corner, he made a show of looking at his phone impatiently,

like he was waiting to escort his kid home.

Even though the guy didn't look like much, I couldn't let Gerard's comment hang in the air.

What? You think all pedophiles have a certain look? I said.

Just because he doesn't look menacing, doesn't mean jack shit. I looked into

him. That's the guy. Principal Torres stood up and stepped over. I made room for him to look out the window.

I've seen him before. He started showing up last week. You ever seen him leave with any children?

I asked.

Oh, no, Torres said.

We run a tighter ship than that.

...