It swayed on its steel cord and knocked against the wall.

My throat tightened around a cough, and I pressed my hand over my mouth.

The court deputy met us on Julian’s porch at five, the property seal already cut.

Arthur was carrying a cardboard box and a roll of trash bags.

The porch light was on even though the sun hadn’t set.

Inside, two officers were working the living room, lifting cushions and slipping evidence tags under the lamp.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” the deputy said.