The officer had been standing quietly in the corner, notepad in hand, and he had heard every word. He wrote down the exact phrase Vanessa used. “My son fell in the bathroom.” Then he stepped forward and asked her a simple question. “Which bathroom, ma’am? At what time?” Vanessa opened her mouth, and for the first time her polished voice faltered.

Because the doctor had already come out. He pulled me and the officer aside, out of Vanessa’s hearing, and lowered his voice. The injuries on Cody were not from a single fall. They were in different stages of healing, some old, some fresh, in places a bathroom floor could never explain. The officer’s expression hardened. He looked back toward Vanessa, who was still clutching her expensive handbag, and I knew in that instant her story had already collapsed.