The cops were still tarnishing Derek's mellow. Orlando sat in the cop car driver seat, typing onto the laptop mounted on a dashboard swivel. Atlas and Welsh were conferring on the lawn, standing where the porch light failed and shadows reclaimed property. Atlas was an unrepentant throat clearer. It sounded like a sprinkler on a hay field trying to blast water past a blockage of some sort in the line, likely a once inquisitive now mummified rodent.