At console four in the emergency dispatch building on Jefferson Street, Claire Johnson kept her left hand flat on the laminate desktop.

The open audio feed from Maplewood Drive came through her black headset with a low, steady crackle of room noise.

“Go back to your room this minute,” Thomas’s voice came through the earpiece, sharp and clear even with the microphone so far away.

Claire picked up her yellow ballpoint pen and typed the sentence word for word into the main transcript box on her screen.

“He’s giving direct orders to the minor child,” Claire said into her desk microphone.