White fence.
Fresh-cut lawn.
A swing moving slightly in the dark.
Maria went to the door first.
Daniel stayed half a step behind her.
It took too long for someone to answer.
When the door finally opened, a tall man in his forties stood there in a gray T-shirt and a calm expression that felt rehearsed.
“Evening, officers.”
“911 call from this address,” Daniel said.
The man frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
Then Daniel added, “A little girl called.”
The change on the man’s face lasted less than a second.
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