Forty-Nine
Dennison glanced up from his desk and looked out through the office windows as Todd, his head bandaged, escorted a wild-looking brown-haired woman and a female toddler from the squad car. The woman appeared to be in her late twenties—hard to tell. Rough looking.
Once indoors, the woman shook Todd's hand from her arm. Blood streaked from her nose to her chin. One sleeve was bloody. "I don't need to be here. I can—"
Todd gave her a gentle shove toward the desk. "Ma'am, you just drove into a brick mailbox. You don't have a choice."
The woman limped to the counter, carrying the child. The child was bleeding from a cut on her arm. The side of her face might be bruised. Eyes were red.
Denny hustled to the door of his office. "Todd. Hospital?" He pointed to them.
"No hospital," t
