I sit on my bed and balance my laptop on my knees to log on to the Wishmakers forum again. I’m curious to know more about GoodSam. Was he just a kid Grace helped, or was there something more going on between them?

I make a profile to access the forum. I choose the name StillSearching because it’s exactly the sort of name my tortured seventeen-year-old self would have been pleased with. In order to find GoodSam I need to behave as much like Grace as possible and hope the website treats me like it treated her, with the same pop-ups, the same suggestions for other users to connect with. StillSearching is a seventeen-year-old disabled girl from Cornwall whose interests include painting, the beach, and movies. She’s on the forum to make new friends and talk about life as a teen living with disabilities. I find a picture of a pretty but not too memorable teenage girl from the internet.

Welcome, StillSearching to the Wishmakers forum for teens!

CONNECT, CREATE, SHARE

I click on the CONNECT tab and type “GoodSam” into the search bar. It comes back with one result. GoodSam is still registered; I recognize his avatar immediately. The cartoon boy with floppy hair grins out from the screen in primary colors. His profile is hidden; he has to approve me before I can see anything more about him. All I can see is the date he was last active on the site. My mouth dries, my heart fizzes. The last day GoodSam was on the website was the third of June, the day Meg was murdered, the day Grace was stolen. It could be a coincidence of course, or perhaps he’s too upset to go back on the forum, knowing that Grace is missing. But what if it’s not? Grace never had a boyfriend, never really had any male role models in her life—what if this GoodSam knew how to manipulate that? What if he has her now? The thought makes me grab my phone, scroll through my contacts until I get to Upton’s number. But it doesn’t ring, immediately clicking through to her voicemail instead.

“DCI Upton, it’s Cara Dorman. Can you call me back when you get this? Thanks.”

I slip my phone into my pocket as I hear Mum’s key in the door and then her call: “Car?”

I come out to the hall to meet her. Her hair, although thick with spray, hangs defeated and limp around her face, wet from the rain. She hates it when her hair isn’t right, but she won’t care once I tell her about GoodSam. I rush towards her.

“Mum, you remember Grace used to chat with other kids on the Wishmakers forum?”

She looks up at me slowly. I can tell from the dark circles under her eyes and the lack of makeup that she’s been crying again.

“Just let me take my shoes off, Car.” Her voice is whispery, all the energy drained out of it. She uses my hand to balance as she slips her heels off her feet. I follow her as she pads into the sitting room and flicks on the TV; the news is always playing somewhere in our house now. “As well as intensifying the searches, the police are scouring hundreds of hours of CCTV footage in the hope it will help them find Grace Nichols. The public are reminded that if anyone has any information on the whereabouts of Simon Davis to please—” Mum mutes the news anchor.