Dzinski walked out the double french doors and across the yellowed, brittle lawn towards the woman sitting as calm as a well fed lioness, in the shade beside an empty pool.
“Have you found my step-daughter?” the woman asked, sipping from a sweating, tall glass.
He stood looming, his shadow falling across her like a executioner’s blade.
“I haven’t,” he said. “Not alive, anyway.”
He wanted to say more, but the words were bitter, so he spit into the shallow end, and made his way back into the house. Dzinski nodded at the two arresting officers as they crossed paths.