“There was a heavy brass padlock on the front latch,” I said.

“I had to smash the iron clasp with a pry bar from my truck.”

“Who owns that padlock?” Sarah asked.

“I bought it at the hardware store four months ago,” I said.

“I kept the key on my truck dashboard so the kids couldn’t open the lid.”

“And where was the key today?” Sarah asked.

“It was gone from the dashboard,” I said.

I brought Noah down the wide corridor to the ER waiting area at twelve forty-five.