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firmer about his waiting for the ambulance and because a girl was dead. Each time I caught myself thinking about anything other than her I felt like a failure.
    While I was thinking about what I should or should not be thinking about, the twisting miles disappeared. I was at Angela’s home. The sheriff’s car was parked outside and I felt pride in the man. No one likes family notification visits, least of all someone who relies on elections for his job. The fact that Sheriff Benson made it a personal responsibility told all of us just what kind of man we were working for.
    I didn’t stop at the house. I went to the end of the street, where it dead-ended in a steel barrier and bare dirt. Parked there was a twenty-year-old Chevy Beretta. The old car looked burdened by the mass of kids sitting in and on it. Behind the wheel was a pockmarked boy with a sneer and a bad haircut smoking like he was the first person to come up with the idea of cigarettes. All the other kids looked younger. One girl, probably fifteen or sixteen, baby-fat pretty with straight hair and bangs dyed blue-black, had the look of queen to the pimply-faced king. Kids always run in groups and someone is always the first among equals.
    I pulled up and parked. Immediately the grumbling started. The half-loud smart remarks of kids showing off but not brave enough to go all the way. A couple of them faded back and started wandering off toward sagging homes with trash and toys littering the lawns.
    The girl stayed put on the car’s fender, her short skirt showing far too much leg for her age. Probably for any age, I thought, and wondered when I had become my mother. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t look away, either.
    â€œHi,” I said.
    Suddenly she changed and it was the second time that day I was struck by a smile. She had dimples and blue eyes that looked icy under all the black hair.
    â€œHi,” she said right back, like she was actually glad to talk. Her eyes drifted from my face down to my hips and I knew what she was looking for, but my weapon was holstered at my back just so it wouldn’t be that obvious.
    â€œI bet you guys knew Angela, didn’t you?”
    All the other kids looked at the ground. The girl looked back at my face. She let go of the smile, but something of it remained in her eyes. It was a strange look.
    â€œShe was our friend,” she said. “That’s why we’re here.”
    The kid behind the wheel leaned out the window, whispering something to another boy. They both covered their mouths and snorted behind their hands. They bobbed their heads like something was amazingly funny and the best secret in the world. Even before that I was ready to dislike them. It’s good to have an excuse, though.
    â€œYou boys have something to say?”
    They straightened up but didn’t bother to look contrite. Obviously they spent time in front of mirrors mastering their smug looks.
    â€œAre you really a cop?” the girl asked.
    I dropped my glare and nodded at her. “Detective,” I told her. “Detective Williams, with the sheriff’s department. What’s your name?”
    Pimple Face behind the wheel stuck his head out the window again and said, “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to show your badge or something?”
    I looked over my shoulder at the departmental SUV with the star on the side and Sheriff Taney County , in big, reflective letters. Then I turned back to him. “You think I drive that thing because I like the style?”
    â€œCan I see it?” the girl asked excitedly. I couldn’t tell if she was ignoring the boy’s rudeness or was just oblivious to it.
    â€œYou want to see my badge?”
    She nodded with a smile, then said, “I’m Carrie Owens.” As I pulled my badge she leaned closer and whispered, “Just ignore Danny. He’s mad because he got a ticket yesterday.”
    â€œDanny?”
    â€œUh-huh.