“Leo,” Martha said, typing furiously, initiating a priority trace. “Has Mommy come upstairs at all in three days?”

“No,” the boy whimpered. “And Rick said she ran away to California while she was sleeping. But her car is still in the driveway. I can see it from my window. Why would she go to California without her car? And why didn’t she say bye-bye?”

“I don’t know, honey,” Martha said, her eyes locking with Dave’s. She mouthed the words: Possible homicide. Child on line. Dave grabbed his headset and started patching through to the patrol sergeant. “Leo, listen to me very carefully. Where is Rick right now?”

“He’s in the living room,” Leo said. “He’s having a loud party. There’s bad music. And men with loud voices. I’m scared, Martha.”

“You’re doing great, Leo. You’re so brave,” Martha said. “Where are you?”

“I’m in my room. Under the bed.”

“Is the door locked?”