Chapter 3

The photographing took forty minutes.

Mr. Bledsoe worked meticulously. He laid each page flat on the worn wood of the kitchen table, adjusted it until it was square with the table's edge, and photographed it with his phone. No flash. Natural light from the window. He did this for the case plan, the visitation log, the teacher's email, the altered date page, and a sheaf of correspondence between the court liaison and the family court clerk's office that Nadia had never seen before.

When he was finished, he placed the photographs in a new folder he produced from his bag, an innocuous beige manila folder with nothing written on the tab. He did not label it. He did not write his name on it. He just put the phone inside his bag, zipped it, and sat back in his chair.

That was when his phone rang.

It had buzzed six times during the photographing. Mr. Bledsoe had not answered it. He had only glanced at the screen each time, and now, as it rang for the seventh time, he looked at the caller ID and the muscle in his jaw tightened again.

"The court liaison," he said.

He picked up the phone and answered it. "This is Bledsoe."

The voice on the other end was female, clipped, and loud enough that Nadia could hear it from across the table. "Mr. Bledsoe, we received a report from Corinne Rell this morning alleging two missed visits. The judge's secretary has been notified. We need your determination before the end of the day."

Mr. Bledsoe looked at the folder on his lap. At the beige manila folder in his bag. At the papers spread across the kitchen table, still not filed back into his official case file.