”I looked at her, a husky Latina wearing bib overalls and thick work gloves. “Why did you notice her? Anything special?”“She looked ... sad. N...t crying, just sad. And so ... lonely-looking to be out walking by herself. Kept looking over her shoulder.”A whisper.The grim part of every search for a missing child was the dark side of the possibility ledger. For Emmy Morton, I had to check with hospitals, morgues, shelters. Pimps. Canvass neighborhoods where runaways were drawn to. Like the. " I've only done it a couple of times," she complained.Michael raised his eyebrows encouragingly."A couple of times after school," she confessed. "And once or twice, you know, when I was with my friends."Now his eyebrows pulled together. She squirmed again in embarrassment. "Overnights," she admitted. "Sleepovers. We'd sneak it into the room. Sometimes we'd uh, smoke a little pot or--" Stop!" her father said hurriedly. "No more. I'm still your father, you know. I don't want to ground you until. More

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