“Hang on,” D.D. called out.

The EMTs, one male, one female, paused as she approached.

“Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren,” D.D. introduced herself. “I’m the one in charge of this circus. You getting ready to transport Trooper Leoni?”

A heavyset woman at the head of the stretcher nodded, already turning back toward the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” D.D. said quickly. “I need five minutes. Got a couple of questions for Trooper Leoni before she goes on her merry way.”

“Trooper Leoni has sustained a significant head wound,” the female answered firmly. “We’re taking her to the hospital for a CT scan. You got your job, we got ours.”

The EMTs took a step closer to the stairs. D.D. moved to intercept.

“Is Trooper Leoni at risk for bleeding out?” D.D. pressed. She glanced at the woman’s name tag, adding belatedly, “Marla.”

Marla did not appear impressed. “No.”

“Is she in any immediate physical danger?”

“Swelling of the brain,” the EMT rattled off, “bleeding of the brain …”

“Then we’ll keep her awake and make her recite her name and date. Isn’t that what you guys do for a concussion? Count to five, forward and backward, name, rank, and serial number, yada yada yada.”

Beside her, Bobby sighed. D.D. was definitely toeing a line. She kept her attention focused on Marla, who appeared even more exasperated than Bobby.

“Detective—” Marla started.

“Kid missing,” D.D. interrupted. “Six-year-old girl, God knows where and in what kind of danger. I just need five minutes, Marla. Maybe that’s a lot to ask from you and your job and from Trooper Leoni and her injuries, but I don’t think that’s nearly enough to ask for a six-year-old child.”

D.D. was good. Always had been. Always would be. Marla, who appeared to be mid-forties and probably had at least one or two kids at home, not to mention how many little nieces and nephews, caved.

“Five minutes,” she said, glancing over at her partner. “Then we’re taking her out, ready or not.”

“Ready or not,” D.D. agreed, and sprinted for the stairs.

“Eat your Wheaties this morning?” Bobby muttered as he jogged up behind her.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Why am I jealous?”

“Because I always get away with this shit.”

“Pride goeth before the fall,” Bobby murmured.

D.D. pushed opened the front door of the house. “For six-year-old Sophie’s sake, let’s hope not.”

Trooper Leoni was still sequestered in the sunroom. D.D. and Bobby had to pass through the kitchen to get there. Brian Darby’s body had been removed, leaving behind bloodstained hardwoods, a pile of evidence placards, and a thick dusting of fingerprint powder. The usual crime-scene detritus. D.D. covered her mouth and nose with her hand as she skirted through. She was still two paces ahead of Bobby and hoped he didn’t notice.