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girl.
    Thomas emerged from the trees just in time to see a black sportutility vehicle tear out of the parking lot to the north. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialed 911. The dispatcher connected immediately.
    â€œThere’s been a kidnapping,” he said, breathless, finding his keys with his other hand. “It happened at the Botanical Gardens. They took a girl about ten years old. Her mother’s still here and she’s hurt. I saw a black SUV, but I didn’t get the plate.”
    He hung up before the dispatcher could reply. He threw open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. Mashing the clutch, he made a tight turn onto the entrance road. He swerved onto Eastern Boulevard with a squeal of rubber, heading in the direction of the Middle River Loop. He drove a mile along the highway at twice the speed limit, hoping to catch a glimpse of the SUV before it turned onto a secondary road. Traffic was light, but he saw no sign of it.
    He drove another mile toward I-95 without sighting the SUV. He pulled to the side of the highway, looking around in desperation. Every second that passed decreased his chances of success. The land north of the Middle River Loop was dominated by forest and rolling fields. He scoured the scenery on both sides of the road, looking for a flash of black against the background of green. A few cars passed on the highway, but he saw no sign of the SUV.
    Thomas gripped the steering wheel. The brazenness of the crime enraged him. The SUV had at best a minute headstart. Simple physics said it couldn’t be far away. But he didn’t know the area, and the kidnappers surely did.
    After a while, he turned around and drove back the way he had come. During his absence, the entrance to the gardens had been besieged by four squad cars and an ambulance, all with lights ablaze. Two police officers stood behind the ambulance, watching an EMT nurse tend to the child’s mother. Another officer was speaking into a radio and a fourth was taking photographs some distance away.
    Thomas approached the officer on the radio and waited. The man was long-winded and seemed not to notice him. Before Thomas could introduce himself, a hand gripped his arm. He turned and saw the girl’s mother. Her brown eyes were clear and imploring.
    â€œPlease tell me you saw them again,” she pleaded, pushing away the nurse who was trying to take her back to the ambulance. “Please tell me you know where they took her.”
    He shook his head, his failure weighing on him.
    â€œOh God!” the woman cried. “Oh dear God.” The pain poured out of her in words. “She turned eleven today. I was taking her to a movie, but she wanted to stop at the gardens.” Without warning, she thrust herself at Thomas and pounded on his chest. “I should have said no!” she shrieked, sobbing uncontrollably. “How did this happen?”
    Thomas had no idea what to do. He traded a look with one of the police officers who tried to intervene, but the officer’s entreaties were half-hearted and ineffectual.
    Eventually the woman collected herself enough to let go of him. “I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back. “I just …” She hugged herself. “Abby’s all I’ve got. I can’t lose her. I don’t know what I’d do.”
    Sensing an opportunity, the EMT nurse took the woman’s hand. “Come along, Ms. Davis. The police are doing everything they can. Let’s get you fixed up.”
    This time the woman complied without objection.
    Thomas stood stiffly, at once moved and disturbed by the exchange. The officer holding the radio began to ask him questions about the incident, and he answered, but his mind drifted to a different time and place—to a small hillock at Glenwood Cemetery, placing flowers on his daughter’s grave.
    It took him fifteen minutes to deliver his statement. Toward the end, an unmarked