“That’s the law.”

“Which means my department should have been notified immediately.”

Maureen Upchurch was the kind of person who believed everyone in the world was a potential member of a conspiracy against her. Always aggressive in attitude, defensive by nature, she had a chip on her shoulder the size of Iowa. Her mouth was carved into her doughy face in a permanent frown, and her eyes were perpetually narrowed in suspicion. Anne had run afoul of her from day one of her advocacy for Dennis.

“I alerted you myself, Ms. Upchurch,” Dixon said.

“I was on my way to a court date,” the woman said defensively. “I couldn’t do anything about it then.”

“Nevertheless, don’t say I didn’t call you,” Dixon said. “It’s hardly the fault of my office or my detectives that you were too busy to deal with the situation.”

“The girl was in a coma,” Upchurch said. “You told me she was in a coma. How was I to know she would come out of it so quickly?”

“Everyone in this room knows I am more than qualified to raise this child,” Milo Bordain announced, drawing the attention back to herself.

“But Lady Justice is blind, Mrs. Bordain,” Espinoza pointed out. “She can’t see that you’re wearing Armani and driving a Mercedes.”

“I knew I liked him,” Anne whispered. One side of Vince’s mustache twitched.

Bordain was offended by the judge’s statement. “It isn’t just a matter of money. I practically brought Marissa to this community. I set her up with contacts, gave her a place to live and work. I’ve done nothing but nurture and support her and her daughter.”

“And who called Mrs. Leone into the situation?” the judge asked.

“Detective Mendez,” Dixon said.

“Detective Mendez isn’t aware of proper protocol?”

“He has a connection to Anne through Vince. He knows Anne has a gift with children. When the little girl came out of the coma, she was extremely agitated. Detective Mendez called Vince, who is consulting with us on this case, and asked if Anne couldn’t come with him. He knew personally she could handle the situation.”

“Does it really matter now who was called first?” Willa Norwood asked, always the voice of reason. “Can we just get on with it?”

Upchurch glared at her. “Of course it matters, Willa. She came in here last night and convinced the child she’s her mother.”

“That’s absolutely not true,” Anne said, her focus more on the judge rather than her accuser. She knew from experience there was no winning an argument with Maureen. The woman was as tough and unyielding as gristle, as unmovable as a city bus.

She was also so red in the face she seemed in danger of having a stroke. “When I got here last night, she was calling you Mommy. How do you explain that?”