“I need to do my part, Lonnie, so that other people can do their part. I’m just a cog in a machine. And what our machine needs is a way of getting Spencer out of the works.”

“Oh,” said Lonnie. And it was as if Detective Batiste, not a friend as such, but the enemy of her enemy, had drawn aside a drape and shown her the way.

“He has a DUI,” she said. “His daughter’s school reported him for driving her while under the influence.”

“That’s not going to cut it.”

“A DUI with a child on board, Detective, is deemed ‘Child Endangerment.’ A first child endangerment offense is only a misdemeanor, a second within seven years is a felony. It carries a jail term of one to five years. I’m a little surprised you don’t know this, but then I can tell you’re not a father.”

“But I wouldn’t know when—”

“Detective, I’m going to give you the name and number of someone who’ll be able to let you know where and when.”

Spencer might have wondered more about the driving “missions” he was being sent on if he hadn’t been distracted. Letters had started coming from CPS. Most were standard templates confirming things he already knew, like the reopening of Abby’s case. But they came fast, an unstoppable torrent, sent his way by Caitlyn Dunn. Spencer had a really bad feeling they were the harbinger of something worse. He couldn’t believe he’d lost control of the CPS situation so spectacularly. He’d crashed cars more slowly.

Chris actually seemed to be handling things better. One day, Spencer came back to news there’d been a home inspection by CPS. Zero warning. Chris maintained he’d handled that well too. Someone had to keep things together after all.

“I showed them she had her own bedroom,” he said. “The refrigerator was full, I work here all the time, all that stuff.”

“You told them how good her grades were?”

“Of course.”

“So, how did they react?”

Chris pondered for a moment. “Well I, now that you mention it, they didn’t seem too bothered, I guess.”

“Like they might just be going through the motions?”

“Which is good, right?”

Spencer looked at the CPS building through his windshield.

Marielle, talk to me.

Why?

I need to stop this happening.

There’s no point asking me anymore, Spencer.

What do you mean?

You don’t listen to me. You don’t listen to anyone.

I’m asking you now. They want to take her from us.

What do you do well, Spencer?

All I could ever do was drive.

You raced.

So what good is that now?

You said a race could be like a fight.

So what?

So then fight. Fight for our daughter.

“Ms. Dunn has no available appointments today, Mister Burnham.” The receptionist’s voice was gaining an edge.