“Loretta?” David said, his deep baritone coming through clear and immediate, completely awake.

“Is everything all right?”

“No, David,” I said, holding the phone tight against my burning cheek while I looked at the photograph on the nightstand.

“I’m not fine, and I need your help.”

“Tell me what happened,” David said over the speakerphone.

His voice was lower than usual, with the quiet, deliberate pace he used in courtrooms across Franklin County.

I sat on the edge of the narrow staged bed and held a cold, wet dishcloth against the side of my face.