Officer Henderson met us at a round wooden table in the corner of the waiting area, near the water fountain, at one forty.

He was a broad, thickset man in a dark blue Phoenix police uniform, carrying a black leather notebook and a silver pen.

“Mr.

Morales, walk me through how you got your daughter out,” Officer Henderson said.

“Noah got to my job site on Thomas Road at eleven fifteen,” I said.

“I drove straight to the house, got to the garage at eleven thirty-four, and broke the lock off with an iron bar.”

“Who bought that padlock?” Officer Henderson asked.