“Such as?” Win said.

“Such as, suppose Nancy and Hunter killed both boys and hid their bodies. I know, I know, outrageous, but just for the sake of this thought experiment, let’s suppose it’s possible.”

“Okay.”

“So maybe to throw suspicion off themselves, they set out to bring a fake Patrick back. They find a teenager who’s the right age and right look. They send you those emails leading you in that direction. You find the teen at King’s Cross or whatever. You with me?”

“Not fully,” Win said.

“Right, because even the most outrageous scenario makes no sense. That’s my point. There was no heat on any suspects—not after all these years. No one was starting to suspect them. If they had killed the boys—again I’m just talking here; I don’t think that’s the case—they’d gain nothing by pretending Patrick was found.”

“True,” Win said. Then: “Of course, it could be another sort of con.”

“That being?”

“Let’s say the boy isn’t Patrick.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s say, though,” Win continued, “that someone is setting up Nancy and Hunter. They arrange to have this fake Patrick found. They know that Nancy and Hunter want it so much to be their son that they’d be easily fooled.”

“The desire for resolution,” Myron said.

“Precisely. It can be blinding.”

“But again: What’s the motive? Is this fake Patrick going to steal money or something?”

Win considered that. “No, I don’t think that would be it.”

“And the boy’s injuries were real. He was stabbed. We’re lucky he didn’t die.”

“At the hands of Fat Gandhi,” Win said. “Myron?”

“Yes?”

“We are doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Ignoring Sherlock’s axiom. We need more data.”

Win was right. They often quoted Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s beloved Sherlock Holmes: “It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.”

“Myron?”

“Yes.”

“What else is wrong?”

Myron let loose a deep breath. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Oh, then please stall and sugarcoat it for me.”

“More sarcasm?”

“More stalling?”

Myron dove straight in, telling Win about his visit to Neil Huber and the texts between Chick Baldwin and Nancy Moore. When he finished, Win went quiet for a moment. Myron could still hear the men shouting in a foreign—he assumed Italian—tongue.

“Why are you in Rome?” Myron asked.

“I’m getting close to Fat Gandhi.”

“He’s in Italy?”

“Doubtful.” Then: “Do you believe Chick when he says those text exchanges were innocent?”

“No,” Myron said. “But that doesn’t mean they have anything to do with the kidnapping.”

“True,” Win said.

“You want me to take a run at Nancy? Confront her about the texts?”

“I do, yes.”

“And what about Brooke?”

“What about her?”

“Do we tell her about the text exchanges?” Myron asked.

“Not yet.”

Myron remembered her reaction in London to not being told about the emails Win had received. “She’ll be angry you’re holding out on her again.”