It will take a day or two, Barry tells me. Once he has the CCTV coverage we can go through it together. There’s no way he’s letting me take the disc away.

But what then? If Katie Collins is the missing Katie Collins, why was she visiting Oakridge? Was it my mom she was searching for all along, and not me?

I can only imagine the look on her face when she finally located Mom and discovered she didn’t even know her own name. Should I tell Detective Turner? No, I want to see the CCTV footage first.

Outside, the parking lot is dead silent. The only thing disturbing the peace is the crunch of gravel under my feet. Surrounded by tall oak trees that provide a shield against the outside world, this parking lot in the early hours of the morning is a perfect place to get mugged.

Suddenly I’m certain I’m being watched. When I go to open the car I drop my keys, and sense a presence behind me when I stoop to pick them up. Then a squirrel scurries past, a little grey, rat-like thing. Trying to escape from me, probably. Two seconds later it’s halfway up one of the oaks.

False alarm, Becca. Relax.

It’s hard to relax when you feel everything around you is on fire and you’re the only one with a hose, but this search is going nowhere if I frighten too easy. I need to be strong. ‘Toughen up, Becca,’ Mom would say when I came in from the street, crying again. ‘You can’t have Danny fight all your battles for you.’ But I did. And something tells me that, as much as I don’t want to, I’m going to be knocking on his door again.

The interstate is quiet, not much traffic at this hour. After a couple of minutes, I notice a car behind me. A white SUV, I think. Its headlight beams are very strong, blinding me when I glance in the rear-view. My hands grip the steering wheel like it’s trying to escape. I slow down, but it’s still behind me. Is this guy following me? Remember Becca; relax. I take the turn off the interstate and on towards the city. The SUV does the same. Fear comes squirming through my gut. I look in the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the face behind the wheel, but I can’t even make out a shape through the bright light. Who the hell is it? Should I stop?

No, don’t stop Becca, it could be anyone. Someone dangerous, it’s definitely not a squirrel this time. With the steering wheel slippery from my sweating palms, I ease my foot off the accelerator. If I slow down again, maybe they will pass by me. If it’s Katie Collins, she will pull up beside me and let me see her.