I came home eleven months early without telling anyone and found my wife sitting against a wall with her head shaved and her face bruised, while my mother shouted at me to throw her out. I didn't argue. I looked at what had actually been broken in that room, and then I asked my wife for the notebook.

The nineteen months themselves were mostly telephone calls, and I did about four hundred of them from the other side of the world at three in the morning local time, because that is when their offices are open.

I want to put one thing in here for anybody who ever ends up in this, because Ilsa Braddock told me and it is not obvious.

The single most important document in that entire case was not the notebook.

It was the emergency room record from the Thursday morning, with a date and a time on it, made by a doctor who had never met any of us.

Everything else could be argued about. That could not, and it fixed the timeline, and once the timeline was fixed my mother's version of the Tuesday stopped being available to her.

Tova did not want to go. She said it three times in the car and once in the car park.