“Listen to me,” Morris says. He’s still pale, but his tone is firm. He holds up the bags of drugs in his hands, and Frank balks.

“Are those fucking yours, Evelyn? Evelyn! I thought you were— What have you done?”

“They’re not mine!” Evelyn refuses to relinquish her hold on Buster. “It’s not right! Frank, don’t even say that—”

“Well, they’re sure as fuck not mine!” he shouts, and Buster buries his face in Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Look, we all want the same thing here,” Morris says. “Of course we want kids to be with their families. Buster belongs with you. But for now it’s not safe for him. I need you to understand that my goal is to get him back to you as soon as possible. But you need to work with me here.”

“You’re planning on just walking out with him? You can’t do that! That can’t be legal!” Frank shouts, panic in his eyes now.

“You need to lower your voices,” I say. “The way you handle this today will impact Buster. You’re frightening him. I know this is horrible for you, but if you can try to stay calm, so will he.”

“But—where, where would you take him?” Evelyn looks wildly from face to face.

“We want the least intrusive measure possible,” Morris says. “Minimum disruption to Buster. The best choice would be if family was available to take him while we finish the investigation. Does your mom live nearby still, Mrs. Floyd? Could we get a hold of her?”

“My mom?” Evelyn is crying.

“It’s your best option.” Minerva manages a small smile. “Let’s call her, shall we, Frank? While Evelyn packs a bag for Buster? Let’s stay calm. If you can both do that, it’ll form part of our report. It’ll really help you get him back more quickly.”

Even though she’s still placating them, it’s the first time I’ve seen Minerva do her job properly. She’s taking the problem at hand seriously at last, probably because her reputation is now on the line.

“Alex, could you help Mrs. Floyd, please?” Morris has his phone out.

I guide Evelyn through to Buster’s room. She moves as if paper-thin, as if she might blow away in a breeze. Buster watches her face as she moves, nuzzles into her neck with little snuffles.

“It’s okay, Bust,” she keeps saying. “You’re going to see Nana for a few days. You’re going to have such a fun time.” She swallows hard, packs T-shirts and nothing else. Tries to stuff in the toy train and a blanket, but the grocery bag she’s using won’t stretch.

“Does he have a favorite stuffy?” I ask, picking up Buster’s grimy blue rabbit from the floor. “Should this go in?”