Kieran snorted. “I’ve got to ask, Kemosabe. Has your other half ever been online?”

I said, “If you can’t stand your own life, these days, you go online and get a new one. If everyone you’re talking to believes you’re a jet-set rock star, then they treat you like one; and if that’s how everyone treats you, then that’s how you feel. When you come right down to it, how is that different from actually being a jet-set rock star, at least part-time?”

The skeptical look had grown. “Because you’re not a bleeding jet-set rock star. You’re still Bobby Bollix from Accounting. You’re still sitting in your one-bed apartment in Blanchardstown eating Scooby Snax, even if you have the world thinking you’re drinking champagne in a five-star hotel in Monaco.”

“Yes and no, Richie. Human beings aren’t that simple. Life would be a lot more straightforward if all that mattered was what you actually are, but we’re social animals. What other people think you are, what you believe you are: those matter too. Those make a difference.”

“Basically,” Kieran said cheerfully, “people talk crap to impress each other. Nothing new there. They’ve done it in meatspace since forever; cyberspace just makes it easier.”

I said, “Those boards could have been the place where Jenny got away from everything that was wrong in her life. She could have been anyone, out there.”

Richie shook his head, but it had gone from disbelieving to baffled. Kieran asked, “So what do you want me to look for?”

“Keep an eye out for anyone who fits her stats, but if no one matches, that doesn’t mean she’s not there. Look for anyone who’s having serious trouble with another poster, anyone who mentions being stalked or harassed—online or off—anyone who mentions her husband or her kid being stalked or harassed. If you find anything good, call us. Any luck on the e-mails?”

Keys clicking in the background. “So far, just a bunch of fragments. I’ve got a mail from someone called Fi, back in March, wanting to know if Emma has the Ultimate Box Set of Dora the Explorer, and I’ve got someone in the house submitting a CV for a recruitment job in June, but apart from that it’s basically spam spam spam. Unless ‘Make your rod harder for her pleasure’ is some kind of secret code, we’ve got nothing.”

I said, “Then keep looking.”

Kieran said, “Chillax. Like you said, your dude didn’t wipe the machine just to show off his mad skills. Sooner or later, something’s gonna show.”

He hung up. Richie said softly, “Sitting out there, middle of nowhere, playing rock star for people you’ll never meet. How bloody lonely would you have to be?”

I left my mobile off speaker while I checked my voice mail, just in case—Richie took the hint and slid away from me on the wall, squinting into his notebook like the killer’s home address was in there somewhere. I had five messages. The first one was from O’Kelly, bright and early, wanting to know where I was, why Richie hadn’t managed to pull in our man last night, whether he was wearing something that wasn’t a shiny tracksuit, and whether I wanted to change my mind and partner up with an actual Murder D on this one. The second one was from Geri, apologizing all over again about last night and hoping work was all right and hoping Dina felt better: “And listen to me, Mick, if she’s still not doing great, I can take her tonight, no bother—Sheila’s on the mend and Phil’s practically grand, he’s only got sick the once since midnight, so you just drop her over to ours as soon as you get the chance. I mean it, now.” I tried not to think about whether Dina had woken up yet, and what she had thought of being locked in.