It went straight to an automated voicemail.

“The officers are turning onto Maple Street right now,” the dispatcher said.

“Stay on the line with me till you get there.”

Michael cranked the wheel hard to the right.

The sedan’s tires skidded across a patch of gravel as he made it through the intersection.

Michael turned onto Maple Street at two twenty-two.

He pulled his sedan up right behind Derek’s truck.

A little yellow bike with a bent training wheel lay abandoned at the edge of the driveway.