"You hungry?" Ortiz asked.
He had to think a moment. "Yes."
"Hmmm, not sure what we have in the break room," Ortiz said. He thought about it and brightened. "You like Pop Tarts?"
"Maybe," the boy answered shyly.
"Well, we have chocolate and strawberry..."
"Chocolate!" Screamed the boy with sudden enthusiasm.
"You got it buddy," Ortiz said. He left, but he returned soon, toting a napkin wrapped around a fresh-nuked Pop Tart.
The boy juggled the hot pastry from fingertips to fingertips. "Thanks," he said, minding his manners like he had been taught.
But who had taught him?
Ortiz let the boy take a few bites. "Like that?"
"Yes," the boy answered.
"You think you might can answer a few questions for me now?"
The boy shrugged.
"A boy your age has to have family," Ortiz said. "Did you run away from home?"
The boy didn't answer. "Are you lost?"
The boy wrinkled his forehead in desperate concentration. "I...I don't know."
To the distress of the officer, the boy began to cry. Moved by the display, he hugged the boy into his big arms. "Now, no need to cry. We will find out where you belong."
The boy liked the hug and let the comforting gesture help ease back his tears of frustration.