How an Eight-Year-Old Girl Named Emily Reached Out for Help on Maplewood Drive
The amber box turned into a deep red bar across the top of her screen.
Wayne straightened up.
“You need a second dispatcher to confirm that.”
“I know exactly what it takes.”
“Then go get one.”
“You confirm it,” she said, without looking up at him.
“Put it on my log either way.”
His jaw worked.
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