Jo took a moment, spinning back to what Vale had said about the people Martina had worked with. If Jo could cross-reference the names Jessie or Jessica with girls who’d been in the same school year as Vale, it might be enough to zero in on who the caller was. Yet it was hard not to feel conflicted already: either Vale was one of the most frightening and confident liars she’d ever sat in front of, or the love he’d shown for his mom, the love he talked of having for his ex, the explanation he’d given for that night at Big Bear Lake, was all exactly as it looked and sounded.

Jo changed direction.

‘You ever heard the name Gabriel Wilzon, Adrian?’

Vale frowned. ‘Who?’

‘Gabriel Wilzon – that’s Wilzon with a zee.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Never. Why?’

She studied him for a moment. The eyes were normally where it began to break down first, where the rifts and fractures of a lie were initially exposed. But Vale’s eyes hardly strayed from hers at all and were still sheened with moisture from where he’d got emotional talking about Martina. Jo pressed him again: ‘Have you ever heard of the Star Inn?’

‘Is that a hotel?’

‘A motel. It’s out in West Hollywood.’

He shook his head. ‘No, never.’

‘You ever spend any time out that way?’

‘In West Hollywood?’ He glanced at his mother, who appeared as puzzled as he was. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Never. I can’t remember the last time I went that far across town.’

‘You weren’t there on the weekend of 20th and 21st of July?’

He frowned again. ‘No.’

‘Do you remember where you were?’

‘Two weeks ago?’ He paused, thinking. ‘I was probably just hanging out here. I haven’t done much since I’ve been home. The last semester at Stanford was pretty intense, so I’ve been taking it easy. Do you remember what we did that day, Ma?’

‘Days,’ Jo corrected. ‘Saturday and Sunday.’

Valeria’s expression mirrored her son’s.

Jo moved on.

‘You used to work at Caraca BuildIt, right?’

‘That’s right,’ Vale replied.

‘Any chance you might have somehow got access to a maroon VW Quantum that belongs to the company in the time since you got back for the summer break?’

He looked at her like she was joking with him.

‘I don’t work there any more,’ he said. ‘I haven’t worked there since I went to Stanford.’ He was frowning again, genuinely confused. ‘I haven’t seen Mr Caraca for a couple of years, so I don’t know how he does it now – but back when I was there, he was the only one who ever had the keys to the garage where all the vehicles were left.’

‘What about Donald Klein? Does that name mean anything to you?’

‘No,’ he replied again. ‘Nothing. Who is he?’