"I think she had a stroke," I say. "You killed her with your boner."

Hank nods. "Armed and dangerous."

"She's not moving. Is that normal with a stroke?" I ask.

"I don't know. I've never had a stroke."

He walks us over to the little lady. She's about forty years old, and she's wearing a cotton dress and flats. Her hair is pulled back in a long ponytail. She's less than five feet tall, and she has tiny hands. Doll's hands. And she's not blinking.

Hank ...