THE HOSPITAL SAID MY NINE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER WAS GONE — AND MY HUSBAND BE.GGED THEM NOT TO LET ME SEE HER. TWO WEEKS AFTER THE FU.NERAL, OUR LOYAL DOG DR.OPPED HER YELLOW CARDIGAN AT MY FEET. IT WASN’T TORN. IT SMELLED LIKE HER SHAMPOO. AND THE SLEEVES WERE STILL WET WITH PURPLE PAINT.

She studied the windshield photo.

She looked through the shed window at the cast on Ruby’s wrist.

Then she turned to Meredith.

“Doctor, you understand you’ll have to answer for this.”

“I understand,” Meredith said.

“And the service.”

“Walt Mercer’s going to have some questions to answer too.”

“He knows.”

“He’s been waiting for someone to ask.”

Nguyen shook her head.

“Nine years I’ve been doing this,” she said.

“I’ve never seen a family bury an empty box to protect a kid.”

“It isn’t legal,” Meredith said.

“No, ma’am, it isn’t.”

Nguyen closed her notebook.

“But I’ve stood beside the real ones.”

“More than I want to count.”

“So I’m not going to stand here and call it stupid.”

She crouched in the doorway of the shed.

Ruby was on the cot with Scout.

“Hi, Ruby,” she said.

“I’m Carla.”

“Can I ask you one question?”

Ruby nodded.

“The man at your car door that Saturday.”