At the Airport, My Child Warned Me About His Father. We Didn’t Go Home—and I Was Right Not To.

I’d say. It was past business hours. He probably wouldn’t even pick up.

“Chen,” a voice answered, clipped and professional.

“Detective Chen? This is Sarah Martinez. We met at a neighborhood watch meeting about five years ago. I don’t know if you remember, but you said to call if—”

“Mrs. Martinez,” he interrupted, and something in his tone made my breath continue reading …