“It’s not Patrick.”

“What?”

“The boy we brought home. It’s not Patrick.”

“It is Patrick!”

“His name is Paul.”

“Get out,” she said.

“Why don’t you get a DNA test, Nancy?”

“Fine, if that will get all of you to leave us alone, we will, okay? Now, get out, please.”

Myron shook his head. “I need you to look at these photographs.”

She looked confused. “What photographs?”

He reached out a hand holding the two printouts Spoon had given him. For a moment Nancy didn’t take them. She just stood there. Myron moved his hand toward hers a bit more, holding it there until she reluctantly let him pass the pictures to her.

“I don’t understand.”

“The group shot was taken at a boarding school in Switzerland,” Myron said.

She stared at it. “So?”

“There is a boy in that picture. His name is Paul. We don’t have the last name yet. But we will get it. The second photograph is a close-up.”

“I still don’t understand.” Nancy Moore’s hands were shaking. She slid the top photograph under the bottom picture. “You can’t think . . . ?”

“Paul and your Patrick are one and the same.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“There’s barely a resemblance.”

“Do you remember me asking you about Tamryn Rogers?” Myron took the photographs back and put the group one on the top. “That’s Tamryn. The same girl Patrick met with yesterday.”

“We told you—”

“Right, they just happened to meet outside Ripley’s for the first time ever. I was there, Nancy. I saw them. There was no accidental meet. They knew each other before.”

“You can’t know that from just watching them,” she said, but her voice was weak now, defeated.

“I just emailed these photos over to a forensic anthropologist named Alyse Mervosh. She is going to compare the image of Paul to the tape of Patrick during that interview yesterday. She’ll be able to confirm that they are one and the same.”

She shook her head, but again there was nothing behind it.

“Nancy, let me help you.”

“You, what, think he’s an imposter? You’re wrong. A mother knows.”

“You said a mother protects her child,” Myron said, trying to keep his voice as even and gentle as possible. “Maybe that want, that need, can also warp perception.”

“It’s Patrick,” Nancy insisted. “It’s my son. He’s finally come home. After all these years, I finally have him back.” Her eyes lifted. She met him with a glare. “And then you scared him away.”

“Let me help you find him.”

“I think you’ve done enough. It’s my son. I know. I know. He’s not an imposter. His name isn’t Paul.”

She pushed past him and headed down the stairs. Myron followed.

“When he gets home, we can do a DNA test to shut all of you up. But right now, I have someplace to be.”

Nancy didn’t stop. She moved through the garage and out the door. She slid into her car and started it up.