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you please let me know how things got to this point? So
I’ll
know he’s being straight with me.”
    Son stared at a window with a view of a black-bottomed pool.
    Moe Reed looked at Milo. Milo nodded.
    Reed said, “At eleven-thirty p.m. we received a call about a dead person in the Bird Marsh. The caller heard about it from someone who heard about it from Chance.”
    “How do you know that?” said Steve Brandt.
    “Our caller said someone had phoned the marsh volunteer office earlier that evening, talked to Chance, told him to look for a body. Chance thought it was a joke. Our caller took it seriously.”
    “Who’s the caller?”
    “We’re checking that out.”
    The boy’s posture remained slack but sweat had popped on his forehead.
    “Thirdhand gossip?” said Susan Brandt. “That doesn’t sound like much.”
    Her husband glared. She began fooling with a French-tipped thumbnail.
    Steve Brandt said, “Kids blabbing and fantasizing, that’s the sum total?”
    “Might’ve been,” said Reed, “except we did find a body. And mode of death was homicide.” Swiveling toward Chance. “We need to know
exactly
what happened.”
    The boy didn’t speak. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, thick fingers digging into white pique, nothing tender about the gesture. Chance squirmed out of his grip.
    “Tell them what you know and let’s finish with this.”
    “Like you said, someone called,” said the boy.
    Reed said, “Who?”
    “Some asshole with a weird voice.”
    “Language, Chance,” said Susan Brandt, in a defeated voice.
    Moe Reed said, “Weird how?”
    “Um… like hissy.”
    “Hissy?”
    “Whispery. Like one of those grinder movies. Some death-bot, whatever.”
    “Someone disguising their voice by hissing.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Can you imitate this person, let us know what it sounded like?”
    Chance laughed.
    “
Do
it,” said his father.
    “I’m not in Drama, Dad.”
    “You’ve caused plenty of drama in
this
family.”
    Shrug. “Whatever.”
    “
Do
it.”
    The boy’s lips formed an “F.” Steve Brandt’s knuckles whitened.
    Milo said, “Someone hissed at you, Chance. What did they say?”
    “Like… uh… there’s something down in the marsh. Something dead.”
    “What else?”
    “That’s it.”
    “Male or female?”
    “Male… probably.”
    “You can’t be sure?”
    “It was like… hissy. Bogus.”
    “Faking,” said Reed.
    “Yeah. I thought I was being pranked.”
    “By who?”
    “Whatever. Friends.”
    Milo said, “Prince Albert in a can.”
    Chance’s stare was uncomprehending.
    Milo said, “Something dead in the marsh.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “What else did this hissing person say?”
    “Nothing,” said Chance. “It sounded stupid, that’s why I didn’t tell it to the guy who came in right after.”
    “What guy?” said Reed.
    “Guy who runs the place, real tool. Always checking on me.”
    “What’s the tool’s name?” said Reed.
    “Duboff. He’s like a hippie you read about in History.”
    “Mr. Duboff came into the office right after you took the call.”
    “I didn’t take it. I just listened and hung up.”
    “How soon after did Duboff come in?”
    “Like
right.
”
    “Checking up on you.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And you told him…”
    “Everything’s cool.”
    “You made no mention whatsoever of the hissing call.”
    “I thought it was bogus,” said Chance. “Ethan or Ben, Sean, whatever.” Peering at us as he dropped the names. Trying to figure out who’d given him away.
    Reed said, “What time did this hissy call come in?”
    “Um… um, um — like um nine thirty.”
    “Like articulate,” said Steve Brandt. His wife looked ready to cry.
    Reed said, “Can you give a more precise estimate?”
    Chance said, “It was like… oh, yeah, before I looked at my watch and it was like nine twenty something, so it was after that.”
    “Nine thirty or so.”
    “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
    “Jesus,” said Steve Brandt, “it’s not rocket