Frank sketched a rough line across his paper napkin with a blue ballpoint pen.

“The water depth log from the dam authority came in this morning,” Frank told me.

He leaned in and tapped the tip of his pen on the middle of the napkin.

“The gauge at the upper ledge showed nineteen inches at three o’clock,” Frank said.

I looked at the number in his tidy blue handwriting.

“Nineteen inches,” I said again.

“A five-year-old doesn’t drown in nineteen inches of moving water unless somebody holds her down or drops her off the ledge into the deep channel,” Frank said.