“You falsified the certificate,” Arthur said.

“Certificate,” Evans whispered, slumping back and covering his eyes with both hands.

“I filed the stillbirth report with county records.

Then I logged the baby out on a Jane Doe transfer slip and carried her down the laundry elevator to Paul at the service dock.”

The only sound in the room was the soft, steady click of the cassette turning in its plastic case.

I leaned across the table until I was looking straight into the doctor’s hollow eyes.