“The district attorney has already filed the formal paperwork.”

A second bailiff stepped out of the holding area and pointed toward the double doors at the end of the hall.

“Visitors need to clear the main corridor,” the officer said.

I turned toward the exit stairs without looking back at either of them.

By three o’clock that afternoon, a white box truck from a local moving company was parked beside the iron gates of Pinecrest Manor.

I stood on the gravel edge of the driveway, checking things off a handwritten list as two movers carried out Toby’s belongings.