She signed on, typed quickly, sat back and waited, hearing voices in the corridor, a toilet flushing down the hall. When the report came up, she scanned it, hit PRINT. Behind her, the printer chattered. She looked toward the half-closed door, hoping no one would come in, ask what she was doing. The printer spit pages, went silent. She closed the file and signed off. She gathered the pages from the printer, went out into the hall, and closed the door behind her.   One call this morning, a lawn mower stolen from a shed in Libertyville, and since then the radio had been mercifully quiet. At ten thirty, she parked the cruiser on a dirt road that led down to the river, lowered the window, shut the engine off. The drone of cicadas filled the silence it left. She had a dull headache from the sleep she’d missed the night before. She had lain awake after Billy left, listening to the rain, wondering why she had let him back into her house, her bed. Not knowing the answer. She read the report again.
