"Face up to it, Pete—you've run out of time. You can't solve that little girl's problem." "Which problem is that?" She sighed. "Oh, don't get pernickety, love. It's too early in the day." To demonstrate good will, he offered to put a slice of bread in the toaster for her. "I was only asking you to explain what you're on about. Which of her problems am I incapable of solving?" "The speech." "You mean the absence of it." She sighed, rested her chin on the bridge she had made of her hands and gave him a look that said he was being unreasonably reasonable. He told her, "I never expected to restore her speech. All I've been trying to do is find her people. I'm a policeman, not a speech therapist." "You're neither," she reminded him mildly. "An ex-policeman, then." "But you weren't dealing with abandoned kids." "I've been through the training. I know the procedures. Look, Steph, you know me well enough. I'm not giving up now." She got up from the table and carried her plate to the sink.
