The neighbors called it in on a Tuesday. Said the crying hadn’t stopped in three days.
Not tantrum crying. Not “I want candy” crying. The kind of crying that makes you pull the curtains back and stare at the house across the street at 2 AM wondering if you should do something.
Patty from dispatch told me later she almost sent two units. “Something about the caller’s voice,” she said. “He was whispering like he was afraid someone would hear him reporting it.”
Officer Terrence Whitlow pulled up to the house on Greendale Court around 4 PM. Nice neighborhood. Trimmed hedges. A plastic tricycle on the porch. Nothing that screamed trouble.
He knocked. No answer. Knocked again.
The door opened about three inches. A woman, mid-thirties, dark circles so deep they looked painted on, peered out. “She’s fine,” the woman said before Terrence even opened his mouth. “She just misses her dad.”
