When I rung Dr. Rossi this morning I’d fully expected her to ignore the call—I don’t think either of us enjoyed our last meeting much. She’d ended the interview after five minutes, saying she couldn’t help me any further and that I was not, under any circumstances, to use her name or quote her in the article. My plan was to tell Cara that Dr. Rossi had canceled our meeting at the last minute, but that if she wanted to tell me anything about Grace and Meg I’d be happy to meet.

But Dr. Rossi had answered the phone.

“I have back-to-back patients for the next two weeks, Mr. Katrin, and frankly I don’t understand why you want to meet. I told you last time, Megan and I haven’t spoken in years.” Her voice was clipped, like she was in a hurry to get rid of me so she could begin her busy day.

“It was actually Cara Dorman, Megan’s next-door neighbor, who wants to meet. She has something from Megan and Grace she wants to give you.”

There was a pause at the end of the line, a breath held, and I knew that I had Dr. Rossi’s full attention.

“What is it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But it must be something specific to you. She thought you’d be interested in whatever it is.” She was quiet for a moment, a busy kind of quiet, like she was trying to figure out what to do.

“Fine. I can meet you in my lunch break, for ten minutes. I’ll be in the playground behind the office.”

I was stunned. Clearly Dr. Rossi was interested in whatever Cara had to give her. I still had no clue what it was, but—decision made. I was driving Cara to Plymouth whether I liked it or not.

Now, a few hours later, with Cara in the passenger seat next to me, I feel less wary about giving her a lift. With my beard and scruffy hair I look different from how I looked six months ago and the chances of us being recognized, especially miles away from Ashford, must be tiny. I’m here to help Grace, but I still feel the reporter in me sit up, pen poised, ready to take notes for any clues. We haven’t spoken much yet, which is fine, I don’t want to push her. She keeps flicking through the radio stations until she stops on a report about Grace’s disappearance. Sitting low in her seat, Cara keeps her eyes fixed straight ahead as she listens to information she’s probably heard hundreds of times already. She listens intently, as if there might be a secret, some code hidden in the reports.

The car fills with the voice of Simon’s neighbor. I’ve heard it a few times already: “Simon’s always been a quiet bloke, keeps himself to himself sort of thing. Looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but mind, it’s those ones that you . . .”

I feel uncomfortable listening to this stuff about Simon with Cara next to me. I don’t want her to associate me too closely with him, like everyone else does. I lean forward, changing the channel to a love song, before flicking to the local radio station, and a news bulletin.