She Hid It in Her Shoe

The label had not been written for a child at all.

It had been issued to Lucian Fenwick, for himself, and the thing it named was something no child was ever supposed to be given, under any circumstances, for any reason.

The label itself said as much, in its own plain warning type.

He had taken something prescribed to him, that was never meant to go anywhere near a child, and he had arranged for his daughter to be given it — and then he had called the police to report her a runaway, so that when she collapsed, the story would already be waiting.

Cordell looked up from the torn scrap of paper.

Out in the lot, framed in the wet glass, Fenwick stood between two officers in his good dark coat, his jaw set, and his eyes found Cordell’s through the door, and for a moment the two men simply looked at each other across everything that had just come apart.