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first. “It seems your neighbor”—he motioned toward Mrs. Finkle—“found Quinn in the middle of the street a block away from your home early this morning.”
    Brett scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned toward the chief. “What? Why? Is she okay?” He turned to Mrs. Finkle. “Why didn’t you call me?”
    Chief added, “Yes, she’s okay. Mrs. Finkle said Quinn told her Ali was asleep on the sofa, but she had to find Max because he ran away.”
    Brett fell back in his seat and exhaled. “Oh, thank God she’s okay.” He turned to the chief and back to Mrs. Finkle. “Where’s she now?”
    Chief waved his hand. “She’s safe.”
    Mrs. Finkle’s voice trembled, and she moved her thumb over her fingers repeatedly. “She was so upset. Poor thing.” She glanced at the chief and then to Brett. “I didn’t want to go into your home, so … so … I brought her here.” She looked at the chief as if wanting affirmation for doing the right thing. Her stuttering voice sounded shaky, and the loose flesh on her jowls jiggled as she spoke. “The child was distraught.” She paused like she was vamping up courage. “A young child shouldn’t be left to fend for herself like that. I’ve seen her playing outside before, too, unsupervised—in her pajamas, no shoes on. It happens all the time, and it’s just not right.”
    Brett hated knowing Quinn had needed him and he hadn’t been there. “I need to see her, let her know everything is okay. Did you see Max?”
    Mrs. Finkle narrowed her eyes at Brett. “No, but I saw your car at the house this morning. I figured you knew your wife’s, uh, condition.” She turned to the chief. “That woman isn’t right.” She glared at Brett. “And what kind of father would leave a child in her care?”
    Acid churned in Brett’s stomach. He gripped the arms of the chair before he turned toward her again. “Ali is my ex-wife, and, unfortunately, the courts decided to place Quinn with her. I didn’t get to decide.”
    Mrs. Finkle looked away.
    Brett sighed. It wouldn’t do any good for him to make an enemy of her. Maybe she could be a witness for his defense. He tried to mellow his attitude toward her. “Thanks for bringing her here, Mrs. Finkle. You’re right—the way Ali neglects Quinn is wrong. Would you be willing to tell the courts what you’ve seen?”
    Mrs. Finkle’s eyes widened and she nodded, seemingly surprised at Brett’s reaction.
    Chief motioned toward Clay. “Mrs. Finkle, Officer Rizzo will take you home now.”
    The old lady reached for the desk, gripping it with both hands, seeming to steady herself as she stood. Her face puffed and turned red as she lifted her large, sagging body. “I don’t need anyone to take me home. I drove here, and I can drive myself home.” She clutched her purse to her bosom.
    Clay moved to her side. “Then allow me to escort you to your car, ma’am.”
    “Thank you for helping Quinn, Mrs. Finkle.” Brett stared at the chief. Where was Quinn? “Clay, can you check at the pound to see if they found Max?”
    “Sure.”
    The lady shuffled out the door with Clay at her side.
    Brett turned to the chief, who had come around his desk to close the door.
    The chief carried his stout, muscle-tight frame back to his seat, plucked his unlit cigar from the ashtray, and met Brett’s eyes. “Obviously, something is amiss with Ali, but Quinn is safe right now. She’s with Peggy Turnball from CPS. She took her to a counselor for an assessment.”
    “Aw, come on. Why did you have to call them?”
    “I’m sorry, Reed, but according to state laws we have to investigate this. We have to make sure there hasn’t been any neglect …” He hesitated. “Or abuse.”
    Brett jumped out of his chair. “Abuse? Is she hurt? Did she say someone hurt her?”
    The chief motioned for Brett to pipe down. He spoke in his usual low, monotone voice, the cigar dangling from his mouth. “I don’t know if she’s been physically harmed, so