“He was looking for a baby girl born at Oakridge General forty-eight hours before the electrical fire in the nursery.”

“Did you hand him my file?”

“The file was gone,” Martha whispered.

“The index card was taken out of the drawer three days after the fire.

I told him the child couldn’t be traced.”

“Couldn’t I be traced?” I asked.

Martha reached out and touched the corner of her wooden desk.

“Somebody took your origin paper out of the ledger before the state took custody of you.