When my son sl:apped me for interrupting his video game, I just lowered my head and walked to the kitchen. I spent three hours baking his favorite triple-chocolate cake

kitchen island, accepting coffee with the grave politeness of men who had seen too much.

Officer Grant, broad-shouldered and calm, looked through the printed report. Officer Lewis watched the hallway.

“He’s upstairs?” Grant asked.

“Yes.”

“And the girlfriend?”

“With him.”

I placed the cake under the glass dome. My hands were steady now.

From upstairs, Evan continue reading …