She ignores me. “I want to be clear, this is not a protection case. It’s a follow-up.”

“Everybody’s on the same page,” Morris says.

“Yes, we’re just following up in case there’s another dead child we don’t know about,” I say. I can’t help it.

“Alex.” Minerva swivels in the driving seat. “That information was confidential and had I mentioned it, your view of the Floyds would have been totally biased, even more so than it—”

“Oh, I would have seen them as neglectful?” I say.

“Good God! Did you hear that, Morris? Alex, the death was ruled accidental.” She hits the brakes a little too hard, even though there’s no reason to slow down, and we all pitch forward against our seat belts. “I can’t work in these conditions.”

“Calm yourself down and keep driving,” Morris says. “Alex, Minerva’s right. I told you that already. Rocky Floyd’s death has no bearing on his brother’s situation.”

I shrug because I know Morris doesn’t really believe that. He knows it’s more serious, otherwise he wouldn’t have come with us today. Plus, he’s had the forethought to bring a car seat.

“Thank you,” Minerva says. Vindicated, her lips purse. “And perhaps if you’d stop running to your boyfriend at the police station every five minutes, your view of the case would be less warped.”

Don’t bite, Alex. Don’t bite. If everything derails on the drive to the Floyds’ house, we’ll never get Buster removed. I sit on my clenched fists and we drive in silence for a minute, to the point where I consider switching on the radio. Minerva turns to me.

“What were you talking about with Sully, anyway?”

“Nothing much. He was just saying hi.”

She swerves left. Behind me, I hear Morris’s head bump the window. “I hope you weren’t discussing any of our cases with him.”

“I wasn’t.”

“And by the way, you still haven’t given me his number.”

I pick at the stitching on my leather satchel. “It might be better if I pass yours on to him. He’s kind of private that way.”

“Is he?”

I want to push her head into the driver’s side window. Morris coughs. He doesn’t ask a thing about what is going on. He doesn’t want to know.

“Minerva, can we talk a little bit about the Floyds? How have they been responding to the supports you’ve set up?” he asks instead.

“I enrolled them in a We Can’t All Be Perfect parenting program, and they’re doing fabulously.”

“That’s good news.”

“If they’re doing so well, their house should be visibly improved today,” I say. “If not, I think we can agree it’s a bad sign. A month is more than enough time for them to get their act together for their child.”