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the top of the property that was reached by a neighboring street, while Eli and Felix used the lower one that was accessible from Miner Road. Gabe wanted to check Susan’s Volvo wagon for any traces of his father. A grisly thought had crossed his mind: maybe his mother had used the car to transport his dad’s dead body somewhere. But upon inspection, the car yielded nothing out of the ordinary.
    “What are you doing?” his mother yelled out to him.
    “Nothing,” he called back. Gabriel was barefoot and shirtless as he walked down the steps to the cottage in an attempt to hide from his mother. With the main door locked, he went to another door that faced the house, entering through the galley kitchen and proceeding down the narrow darkened hallway to the balcony area that overlooked the living room. Shining his flashlight into the blackened space, he saw his father lying on the ground with blood covering his near naked body.
    The sight was too much for the fifteen-year-old boy, who quickly left the cottage and shut the door behind him.
    Gabriel’s heart raced as he returned to the main house. Without saying a word to his mother, he rushed to the bedroom, grabbed the cordlessphone and ran back outside, sprinting up the path that led to a hidden area of the property where the family kept the trashcans. He could hear his mother calling as he ducked behind the wooden carport that housed her Volvo. He dialed 911.
    Barely seven minutes had passed since he first called that number. He recognized the female dispatcher’s voice when she answered.
    “Uh, murder,” he blurted out.
    There was a moment’s hesitation, as if the dispatcher was processing the declaration. “Where at?”
    “At 728 Miner Road.”
    “Okay, what happened?” she asked, switching on the police radio to alert units in the field. Orinda is one of five unincorporated cities in the county that contracts patrol services from the Contra Costa Sheriff ’s Department.
    “Um, I think my mom…my mom shot my dad.”
    “You think your mom shot your dad?” the dispatcher repeated.
    “Yeah.”
    “Okay, stay on the phone, I’m going to connect you to the fire department. Do not hang up,” the officer instructed.
    There were several beeps, and then ringing, as the call was transferred to the fire department’s emergency line.
    “It’s a possible shooting,” the sheriff ’s dispatcher said, briefing her counterpart at the Contra Costa Fire Department.
    “Okay, what’s your name, sir?” the fire dispatcher asked Gabe.
    The teen spelled it twice.
    “Where’s your mom at now?”
    “She’s still in the house,” the teen responded breathlessly.
    “Does she still have the gun?”
    “I believe so.”
    “Where is your dad at?”
    “He’s dead,” Gabe shot back.
    “Where is he at, do you know?”
    “He’s in my cottage.”
    “In your cottage?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Does your mom still have the gun?”
    “I believe so.”
    “Do you know when this happened?”
    “No, no idea.”
    “Do you know where your mom is in the house?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “How do you know she’s still in the house?”
    “Because I was just in the fuckin’ house,” the teen’s voice was beginning to waver, as though he was fighting back tears.
    “Okay, where are you now?”
    “I’m outside,” Gabe’s voice grew softer.
    “Okay, what’s your mom’s name?”
    “Susan. She’s got a mental illness.”
    “What’s her last name?”
    “Polk.”
    “How old is your mom?”
    There was no response.
    “Gabe. Gabe? Are you still there?” The dispatcher asked.
    The line went dead.
    Gabriel’s attention had shifted to the sound of a door opening. He could tell it wasn’t coming from the main house. Peering around the carport, he was certain that it was his mother opening then closing the door to the guesthouse.
    “Hey, did you see that?” she yelled up to him.
    Gabe didn’t respond. He wanted to get as far away as possible. Bolting down the hill and onto