Dressed in a purple turtleneck sweater, jeans, and white sneakers, nine-year-old Madeline Knapp laid on the basement's cold concrete floor, her unseeing gaze pointed at the recessed lighting checkered among the foam ceiling tiles. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her legs pressed together in a straight line. Her blonde hair fanned out behind her, a halo for a deceased angel.
"I checked for a pulse," Mr. Alderman said helplessly. "I touched her neck. To see if I could feel the carotid artery. She's cold." He rubbed his fingertips together as if he could still feel the chill of her dead flesh. He turned toward Blue, his face pale and his expression haunted. "Who would do this to such a sweet girl?"
