Marquez put the call on speaker.

A woman named Deborah from the lab’s client services department answered. Marquez gave her the case number from the report.

Typing.

-Yes, I have that case. Informational paternity test. Ordered June twenty-eighth. Samples received July second. Results issued July ninth.

-Who ordered it?

-The client of record is a Gertrude Vaughn. Paid by credit card.

-What samples were submitted?

-Buccal swab from the alleged father. Hair sample with root from the child.

-What was the result?

-I’m sorry, I can’t release results to a third party without—

-I have a search warrant for the case records. I’m emailing it to you right now.

A pause. More typing.

-Okay. I have it. Let me pull the report.

A pause.

-Here we go. Alleged father, Christopher J. Vaughn. Child, Chloe A. Vaughn. Combined paternity index, four hundred eighty-two thousand to one. Probability of paternity, ninety-nine point nine nine nine eight percent.

The room was very quiet.

-Could you repeat that?

-Probability of paternity ninety-nine point nine nine nine eight percent. The alleged father is not excluded. He is the biological father.

Marquez looked at me.

-Deborah, I have a document in front of me that says probability of paternity zero percent. Excluded. Dated July eleventh. Same case number.

-That’s not our report. Our report was issued July ninth. We never issued an exclusion on that case. We’d never issue an exclusion with those numbers.

-Thank you, Deborah. Please preserve everything. Someone from my office will be in touch.

She ended the call.

I looked at my sleeping daughter.

Ninety-nine point nine nine nine eight percent.

She was his. She had always been his. The test his own mother ordered had proven it.

And his mother had taken the true result, and printed a false one, and handed it to her son.

And he had believed her.

Because it was easier. Because it let him stop caring. Because it gave him a reason.

-Detective.

-Yes.

-I want to be there when he finds out.

Marquez looked at me for a long moment.

-Are you sure?

-Yes.

-Why?

I looked at Chloe. At the rabbit under her chin. At the small square bandage on her back, just visible above the hospital gown.

-Because he told me to leave her. At one forty-seven. He told me to let her cry.

-And?

-And I want him to know exactly who he left.

They were in a conference room on the third floor. Hospital security had moved them there at eight. Christopher. Gertrude. Two uniformed officers by the door.

Delacroix had come back at 8:45. He’d filed the emergency custody petition at 8:02. He looked very satisfied about it.

Renée Talbot was there with her binder. Detective Marquez. Officer Whitfield.

And me.

I sat at the end of the table. Across from my husband.

Christopher looked up when I came in. His eyes were bloodshot. He hadn’t slept. His good watch was gone. They’d taken it with his belt and his shoelaces.

-Cass. How is she?

I didn’t answer.

-Cass, please.

-She’s asleep. Her fever’s coming down. She asked for her rabbit. I brought it.

He closed his eyes.

-Thank you.

Delacroix opened his portfolio.

-Detective, as you know, we filed an emergency petition this morning. Supported by photographs of the child’s injuries and my client’s contemporaneous log. Given the circumstances, we’d ask that DCS—

Talbot cut him off.

-Counselor. The photographs attached to your petition.

-Yes.

-Do you know who took them?

-My client documented—

-Your client didn’t take them. Chloe’s preschool teacher took them. On school property. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Each one following a day when your client’s mother had sole care of the child. Your client solicited the photos from the teacher and instructed her not to report the injuries to DCS. We have her emails. We have her written notes of his phone calls.

Delacroix turned slowly and looked at Christopher.

Christopher didn’t look back at him.

-You submitted those photographs to the Superior Court under oath at eight-oh-two this morning as evidence that his wife abused the child.

Delacroix closed his portfolio.

-I’d like a moment with my client.

-You can have all the moments you want. After.

Marquez slid a plastic evidence bag across the table. Inside was the red velvet tomato pincushion. The strawberry dangling from its string.

Then a second bag. The paper needle packet.

Then a third. A specimen cup. The fourteen-millimeter fragment on its square of gauze. The tiny gold eye.

Gertrude looked at the bags.

Her face didn’t change.

-Twenty-five needles in a packet. Nineteen in the packet. Five in the pincushion. One in your granddaughter’s back. Gold eye. Elongated. English. Size ten.

-I have no idea how she got hold of one of my needles. She gets into everything. She’s a very disobedient child.