Where do you live? — he asked, trying to stay calm.

The girl stretched out her arm and pointed to the house at the end of the street. A normal-looking house with a front garden. Quiet, tidy, curtains drawn.

The sergeant went inside. The door was slightly open.

He only took a few steps — and froze.

On the living room floor lay a woman. Her face pale, no breath, no pulse. Everything was clear, even without words.

It was later discovered: the girl’s father, in a fit of rage, had killed his wife. Hearing the scream, the girl ran to the bedroom door — but didn’t enter. Then a voice — her father’s — through the panic and horror, whispered:

— Go. Run now.