Otto stares at the photo for so long that he begins to believe Paige is his baby sister. He actually feels the grief as his eyes water and his cheeks burn with rage.

I’m not leaving this island until I know what happened to her.

Only then does he consider himself ready to mix among the locals, photo in hand.

“Have you seen my sister? Her name is Paige Ryerson, and she’s gone missing. Please help me find my sister!”

Otto focuses his efforts on the areas Paige visited during her short time here last week. Her hotel, the site of the beach party, the marina. Some people blow him off without looking at his face or the photo in his trembling hand. That’s fine; they’re not potential witnesses anyway. By now everybody on these islands has surely heard or read about the Case of the Missing American Girl. Those who don’t give the photo or name a second glance are either self-absorbed or new arrivals.

“Please help me find my sister!”

The ones who do pause fall into two groups. The vast majority are people who have heard about the case and see the tearful anguish in Otto’s eyes but truly know nothing beyond what they’ve seen on TV or read online. Some try to chat him up a little for some inside dirt.

“No, I haven’t seen her…but is it true that she didn’t drink at all before coming here to the island?”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea where she might be. How are your poor parents dealing with this nightmare?”

At which point Otto takes his grief into overdrive and suddenly becomes too choked up to possibly continue this conversation.

But a small group—a very small group—claim to have seen the girl the day of her disappearance. For these individuals, Otto gives his complete and rapt attention, gently pressing them for more details. A few are clearly lying, reciting details they saw in the media. Others, however, sound like they’re telling the truth.

“She looked like she was having so much fun. I still can’t believe what happened!”

“I was on that boat, too. There was a lot of heavy drinking going on. I was so hungover the next day, it’s not even funny.…”

“I saw her and that cop making out. My first thought was, uh, totally gross. But later I started to think about it, and wonder if he had something to do with it. What am I supposed to do, though? Report a cop to the cops? No way.”

And then come three eyewitness reports that rock Otto to his core. (And he’s about as jaded as they come.) Otto can write off the first instance as a case of mistaken identity. Maybe even the second, because false sightings happen all the time. But a third?

“I’m telling you, man, those reporters have been going down the wrong path. Your sister is still alive! I saw her yesterday! I was over in this little town about twenty minutes away, and I swear, it was her. I even called the cops, but they didn’t believe me.”