She smiles like that’s the end of the conversation, telling me to leave my details with the secretary and that she will talk to her boss.

But I leave without speaking to anyone else, quickly running out of ways to find a girl who may not even exist.

Chapter 109

I call Lorraine, and when she doesn’t answer, I leave a message. Two hours later, she calls back.

I could explain on the phone, but it is harder to ignore someone face-to-face, so I ask if we can meet.

“Is everything okay?” Lorraine asks. “Have there been more Polaroids?”

“No,” I say, and you can tell by the sound she makes that she’s disappointed, unwilling to waste time on me unless it’s an emergency.

It already feels like the time I told her about the comment and the newspaper clippings, when she couldn’t care less. So I say the only thing that is guaranteed to interest her—the promise of an instant promotion.

“I’ve heard from someone who knows the Magpie Man,” I tell her.

-

I’m waiting outside when she arrives, and when she opens her car door, I shake my head and say, “Not here.”

I don’t want Dad hearing this conversation, because I don’t want to get his hopes up, so we drive five minutes down the street, then stop.

Lorraine faces me and says, “How have you been, Jessica?”

If she genuinely believed I knew something, she wouldn’t be starting the conversation like this. She would say, “So, what have you got for me?”

Instead, she’s making small talk because she thinks whatever I have is nothing compared to the photograph.

“I might have found an actual witness,” I say.

“How did you do that?”

I tell her about the episode with all the left behind family members, Clara’s phone call, and how she said she lived close by.

Lorraine writes everything down, but I quickly realize this is for my benefit, not hers.

“Okay,” she says. “We’ll look into it.”

“I can help.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“She doesn’t go to St. Anthony’s or Doveton Elementary. I’ve done some investigating.”

Lorraine sighs and touches my arm, and this is the moment I lose her completely, because she feels sorry for me.

“You shouldn’t be taking the law into your own hands,” she says.

“Do your job then!” I shout. “I’m telling you—this girl knows something. We need to figure out who she is.”

She sighs again, and it annoys me how she’s not even trying to hide what she’s thinking. She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.

“If she calls again, tell her she should be speaking directly to the police.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“We’ll continue to do our jobs. I promise we’ll look into it as best we can.”