A shout came from the willow trees fifty yards upstream, and a volunteer in a yellow vest held up a yellow cotton circle by its string.
It was Maya’s sun hat, the one she had bought at the church bazaar for two dollars.
Detective Harris walked over and took the hat, placing it into a clear plastic bag that smelled of fresh plastic.
“Is this hers, Daniel?” Harris asked, holding the bag out.
Daniel looked at the flat river stones near his boots, his jaw working as he clenched his teeth together.
“Yes,” he said.
“You do not want to look at the water?” Harris asked.
“It is just water,” Daniel said, his knuckles tapping faster against his thigh.
He turned toward his truck, his boots sucking out of the mud with a wet sound as he walked away.
I stood by the river bank for another ten minutes, watching the yellow vests disappear into the brush before Harris drove me back.
The kitchen was cold when I got home, and the light from the window was already starting to turn a dull gray.
