Chapter 13: Page Nine

Wyatt's answer to the lobby reached us on Monday, at six in the morning.

Our lawyer read it to me over the speakerphone while Marit stirred oatmeal and pretended not to listen.

"It's an emergency motion," she said. "He attached a video."

"Carissa's video."

"A cut of it. It starts when Poppy says she doesn't want to go. It ends before the guard runs over."

I gripped the edge of the table.

"So it doesn't have 'You said four.'"

"No. It has you crouched beside her, saying 'You can tell me why.' His lawyer calls that coaching."

Marit set her spoon down very slowly.

"There's more," our lawyer said. "Photographs."

They had been taken from across a street at six in the morning, nine days ago.

I was on the steps of Jonas's building in the blue gala dress, with his coat over my shoulders.

The caption said the mother of the child was in an intimate relationship with the child's treating physician.

"He wants to strike Dr. Berglund as a witness," she said. "And he wants the court to weigh your fitness."

"We broke our terms once, and he had someone watching the door."

"Did you and Dr. Berglund begin before he treated Poppy?"

"No. He treated her the night of the fever. I didn't touch him until forty-six days after I left."

"Then the dates are yours. The photos are ugly, but they are not a crime."

Marit picked up the oatmeal pot and carried it to the sink, though it was still full.

"Eat something," she told me. "That's a medical order."

At nine o'clock my phone rang again.

It was the human resources office at St. Anne's, and they wanted me in the building now.

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