“That time his phone didn’t get the AirDrop when you were doing your fancy driving? He was trying to get your ass out, to make an opening, to make McGrath use him today. And when we stopped you with that dirty cash? We just upped and left you without so much as a DUI? That was because Eddie messaged us from McGrath’s john. Told us McGrath wouldn’t roll on this without you. All Eddie had to do today was lead us to the meet. That was all, so we could get McGrath for armed robbery. You had a tracker on your car. It would have been fine. Chopper was backup. Just to keep Eddie safe. Then you had to throw in your clever swap shit. Eddie had to message us all the way from Hamtramck, to where your ass got saved. Now you’re alive and he’s dead. That’s how I get to accessory.”

Spencer turned in his seat to stretch out his injured leg. His court-appointed attorney moved obligingly. He was a nice enough guy and honest; Spencer had virtually no chance.

Occasionally, the bald, bespectacled judge glanced Spencer’s way from his wood-paneled pulpit, framed on one side by the Stars and Stripes, on the other by the state flag. Spencer could see in the man’s eyes how he appeared: a bruised, shot felon with his state-funded attorney on one side and a cop on the other. The judge had been droning on for fifteen minutes, but now it seemed the final score was coming in.

“In view of all this information provided by CPS and the authorities, the court sees fit to decree full and immediate termination of parental rights. Abby Burnham is to be placed in protective custody until a suitable home can be found. Mister Burnham’s access and visitation rights I’m setting at zero. Mister Burnham, you will be entitled to appeal before this . . .”

Johnny Boy had been watching the proceedings from a back-row seat. He got up quietly and left.

Spencer leaned forward and looked across the courtroom to where Caitlyn sat with her colleagues. As far as he was aware, she hadn’t looked his way since his identity had been confirmed at the start of the hearing. She looked tired.

Spencer’s counsel made an attempt at commiseration and talked about appealing. Spencer ignored him. He worked his way along the row of seats, an awkward process on crutches with a burned hand. Caitlyn reached the aisle first. Their eyes met. Spencer deferred to her and her colleagues.

Scott stood waiting at the rear of the court. His eyes also met Caitlyn’s, but they failed to hold her gaze. And then Caitlyn was gone.

Scott walked beside Spencer as he limped down the corridor.