He jumped back in the truck and threw it in reverse.
He made it to the end of the block.
The first police car turned the corner and blocked him in. The second one came up behind.
He tried to say he was “just saying hi to his niece.”
Then the officers looked inside the truck.
A booster seat. A pink suitcase with little girl clothes, tags still on. A printed map to a cabin in western Montana.
And a birth certificate with Daisy’s photo clipped to it.
The name on it was “Daisy Kell.”
It was fake.
The investigation took two months.
The prison had recorded every one of Travis’s phone calls. He’d been planning it with Tom since the summer. Tom had found Daisy’s school through a Facebook post from her class field trip.
For six weeks, Tom had been standing at that fence during recess, pretending to
