In the MacIntyre living room, Leila sits cross-legged on the rug in her sister Bessie’s Chris Lisacker T-shirt. Her brown hair, usually pulled back neatly into a ponytail or braids, hangs messily around her face. A smear of red jam sticks to her chin. Late morning sunshine pours through the sheer window curtains that are being lifted slightly by a humid summer breeze. Mouser has his head in her lap.
Sophie Moreno, in a smart champagne pantsuit, crouches down on her heels to stroke the old dog’s head. She gazes across at the solemn young girl for a moment, asking, “Where’s your father?”
Leila doesn’t look up. “Meeting with the detective.”
“Oh yes, with Gianni, too. A good lead, I pray to God,” Sophie adds. Her hand lifts up one silky, golden dog ear before gently laying it back down agai
