Now speed offered no advantage. Mia would not stop fearing a locked door just because Claire explained that David was in custody. A doctor could confirm the child's breathing had stabilized and still could not promise she would sleep through the night. Claire found herself sitting in the hallway outside Mia's room, looking at a little red backpack drying on a chair, and remembering how confidently she had once solved every other problem with a calendar.
The trust dispute had also exposed failures inside her own family. Peter had warned her before his death that David was generous with other people's money and careless with his own. Claire had wanted to preserve a relationship for Mia's sake, and for years she accepted strained birthday dinners and unpleasant meetings because she believed family ties could be managed through patience. The kidnapping proved how wrong that hope could become when a person treated a child's inheritance as something owed to him.
Her attorney urged her to avoid public comments about the case. Claire complied, though anger made the silence difficult. She imagined driving to the county jail and confronting David with each photograph of Mia beside the flooded ditch. She imagined demanding that all six motorists explain themselves on camera. Neither image gave her daughter anything useful.
At the hospital, Trooper Wells had told her the traffic footage could establish when vehicles passed and what lights they used, but not necessarily what the drivers understood. Claire resented that caution. Then she looked again at the photograph of the fifth vehicle and realized she could barely identify the shape beside the ditch herself.
The folder had answered a question she desperately needed answered: how many people drove past the place where Mia waited? It had not answered the question her anger was trying to force onto it: how many had knowingly abandoned a child? Claire decided that if she wanted the truth, she would have to tolerate the distinction.
She returned to Cole Roadside Service on Thursday afternoon in a black suit, a plain white blouse, and flat shoes more comfortable than the ones she wore at the hospital. The bruise at her temple was turning yellow. She came without a photographer or a public-relations staff member. In one hand she carried the preliminary roadway report and in the other a sealed envelope.
Evan was at a lift changing a wheel bearing, and Sophie was seated in the office finishing mathematics homework. Claire waited until he was clear of the vehicle rather than interrupting the work. She had heard enough stories about mechanics who were treated as if their time had no value.
"You're Mia's mom," Sophie said, coming to the doorway.
Claire smiled with a tired warmth that changed her face. "I am. You must be Sophie. Mia told me about your red toolbox."
Sophie glanced toward it. "My dad told me she liked it. Is she okay?"
"She has some hard days. But she is safe, and we're getting her help."