Chapter 2 - THE FATHER WHO CRIED ON TVPolice arrived in less than seven minutes.
Detective Marla Hayes was the first through the trauma bay doors. She had silver-threaded hair pulled into a tight bun, sharp eyes, and the kind of face that suggested she had heard every lie a human being could tell and still hated every new one.
She took one look at Greg and said, “Mr. Carter.”
His face hardened. “Detective Hayes.”
That told me everything.
They knew each other.
Hayes looked at the sealed evidence bag. “Is that from the child?”
I nodded. “Hidden inside her rain boot lining. It was causing injury around the ankle. There’s organic leakage, possible contamination, and something hard inside.”
Greg pointed at me. “She cut my daughter’s property without consent.”
Hayes did not look impressed. “Your daughter was in medical distress.”
“She has anxiety,” Greg said immediately. “She exaggerates. She’s always making up stories.”
Lily flinched.
I saw Hayes notice.
“Interesting,” Hayes said. “Because on the news you described Lily as a brave little girl who never lied.”
Greg’s mouth tightened.
Hayes moved to Lily’s bedside. Her voice softened completely. “Hi, Lily. I’m Detective Hayes. I met you once at the police station. Do you remember?”
Lily nodded faintly.
“I’m not here to scare you,” Hayes said. “I’m here because something in your boot hurt you, and grown-ups need to figure out why.”
Lily’s eyes filled again. “Daddy said it was a treasure.”
Greg snapped, “Lily.”
Hayes turned. “One more word directed at that child, and I will have you removed.”
Greg leaned back, furious but silent.
Sarah gently covered Lily’s exposed leg while Chloe ordered antibiotics as a precaution. The skin around Lily’s ankle was raw, bruised, and broken in places from pressure and friction. Whatever had been hidden in that boot had been there for more than a few hours.
Hayes signed for the evidence bag. Another officer photographed the boot, the bed, Lily’s injuries, and Greg’s position in the room.
“Do you know what’s inside?” Hayes asked me.
“No. I stopped when I saw the pouch.”
“Good,” she said. “Chain of custody stays clean.”
Greg let out a bitter laugh. “You people are enjoying this.”
I faced him. “A child was hurt.”
“You don’t care about my child.”
“No,” Lily whispered.
The room froze again.
Her tiny voice cracked. “He doesn’t.”
Greg’s expression went cold.
Not angry.
Empty.
And in that empty look, I understood something that chilled me more than the smell from the boot.
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Greg Carter hadn’t panicked because his daughter was hurt.
He had panicked because she had finally spoken.
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