“Self-interest,” Win said. “At the end of the day, it comes down to that always.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I see no motive for Fat Gandhi to lie here. I’m not saying he wouldn’t lie, is not a compulsive liar, is not a horrible human being who may not only be selling underage sex but participating in said rape and abuse. But I don’t see how this lie works in his self-interest.”

“Maybe he killed Rhys and is covering that.”

Win lifted his free hand and tilted it one way, then the other. “It is certainly a possibility, but I see no motive. It is also a possibility that he stored Rhys somewhere and hopes to use him as a pawn at a later time. But I don’t think so. Fat Gandhi was frightened.”

“You can do that to a person.”

Win tried not to smile. “I can, can’t I? Oh, and I had an old friend of ours with me.”

“Who?”

“Zorra.”

Myron’s eyes widened. “For real?”

“No,” Win said in a tone so dry it could have caught fire, “I’m making it up.”

“You and Zorra.” Myron took another chug. “Heck, I’m scared just thinking about it.”

“I offered Fat Gandhi an opportunity to rid himself of his issues with us by handing over Rhys. I believe that he would have snapped up that chance, if he could.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“We always knew this was a possibility,” Myron said.

“That Rhys was dead?”

“Yes.”

Win nodded. “Of course.”

“But we still have a long way to go. We don’t even know for sure that Patrick is Patrick.”

“We look at the beginning,” Win said. “And we look at the end.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. You should probably put that in a fortune cookie.”

“Zorra,” Win said.

“What about him?”

“I sent him to Finland.”

Myron thought about that. “To find the nanny.”

“Au pair,” Win corrected.

“I’m going to skip the eye roll.”

“Her name, if you recall, is Vada Linna.”

“I recall.”

“She doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Pardon?”

“She would be twenty-eight. There is no Vada Linna in Finland—or anywhere else, for that matter—anywhere near that age range.”

Myron thought about that. “She changed her name.”

“God, you’re good.”

“With all the press attention during the kidnapping, that’s not much of a surprise.”

“Perhaps,” Win said. “Except her father doesn’t exist anymore either.”

“He could have passed away.”

“No record of it. They both, it seems, vanished.”

Myron considered that. “So what’s your theory?”

“I don’t have a good one yet. It’s why I put Zorra on it.”

“Sure that’s wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Might be a case of using a blowtorch when all you need is a match.”

Win smiled. “I always use the blowtorch.”

Hard to argue.

Win sat back and crossed his legs. “Now let’s go through the rest of this point by point, shall we?”

Myron filled him in on everything—the visits to the Moore house, Mickey and Ema’s opinion, Ema stealing the toothbrush and the hairs for DNA (Win smiled broadly at that one), the texts, Chick’s reaction, Tamryn Rogers, all of it. They discussed, analyzed, drove down various dark roads that all led to dead ends.