“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Daniel, where is she?”
“She is gone, Mom,” he said, his mouth twitching at the corner. “I tried to grab her.”
He stood there in his wet orange vest, the water pooling around his boots.
My eyes drifted past him to the bed of his truck, looking for any sign of her.
The red plastic paddle lay flat in the truck bed, its faded name facing the sky.
The plaster on the office wall was cracked in the shape of a dog’s leg, and the radiator in the corner hissed every few minutes.
I sat on the wooden chair with my hands wrapped around the paper cup of orange pekoe tea Detective Harris had brought me from the back breakroom.
The tea was too hot to drink, but the warmth of the paper was the only thing keeping my fingers from going stiff.
On the metal desk between us, a large topographic map of the county sat flat under two heavy glass paperweights.
Detective Harris clicked his silver ballpoint pen, the small plastic sound sharp in the quiet room.
