Then he sat on the little stool and ran his thumb along the edge of his badge.

“I told her mother she’d scratched herself,” I said.

“So we could have the bathroom to ourselves.”

“There’s no scratch on that child’s arm.

There’s nothing there at all.”

I took the hair clip out of my shirt pocket and turned it over twice.

One tooth was chipped halfway down.

“Does she have other marks?” I asked.