“What’s the best phone number for him to reach you?”

“Six one four, five five five, zero one nine eight,” I said, repeating my cell number as Rachel unlocked the driver’s door.

“Keep that line open,” the dispatcher said.

“Officer Hale will call you the moment he pulls into the driveway.”

Rachel backed her midsize sedan out of the driveway before I even had my seatbelt buckled, the rear tires spraying loose gravel against the garage door.

The morning sun sat low over Route 40, throwing a harsh yellow glare across the windshield as she merged into the westbound lanes toward Interstate 70.