I stepped in front of the window before I had decided to. “Ma’am, she is with me,” I said, and my voice shook. The woman lowered the flashlight, and her face was white. “Leonard, step aside,” she said gently. “That is Mia.” The girl sat up, wide eyed, clutching the blanket. Then the woman’s voice broke on a single word. “Mia? It is Aunt Claire.”

The two head office men looked at each other. I looked at the girl, who had begun to shake. “You have been looking for me?” Mia whispered. Claire Dunmore, the regional manager I had met twice in fourteen years, crossed the floor in four steps and dropped to her knees on the carpet. She was holding a small photograph, and she held it out.