Outside, rain rattled the glass so steadily that it almost became part of the room.
Then the front door flew open.
It was not pushed open carefully, the way most people enter a police station. It banged against the stopper with a crack that made Miller’s head snap up.
A little girl stood in the doorway.
She could not have been more than five. Her dark hair was plastered to both cheeks, and her thin dress clung to her body from the rain. Her lips had gone purple from cold, and both of her hands were wrapped around the handle of an old rusty shopping cart.
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