“Getting there, yes,” Abe said. “The increased traffic to the website was what made me decide to do the CNN interview. My condition for doing the interview was that it would mention the website and hotline, and our info would be in the crawler as well as linked on CNN’s website. In the end, it was pretty perfunctory stuff. I was hoping to get into some depth, but they only used about three minutes. Still, I was able to confirm that the reward was still available for a credible lead that led to Suzanne. And that was it. Exchanged some pleasantries and went back to the office. Didn’t even bother to watch the broadcast. But the day after it aired, we were e-mailed this. Mike?”

A new photograph appeared on the screen. A pink Hello Kitty backpack sat on a wooden table. Off the edge of the table, Gibson could see dirty linoleum tile and the base of a kitchen cabinet. The backpack showed the wear and tear of a well-loved possession. The photograph itself was old or was staged that way—the resolution wasn’t as clear as modern digital cameras, but that was simple enough to fake. Clearly, the backpack was meant to be the one from the infamous Breezewood footage. If genuine, it was an astonishing lead.

“Was there a message?” Gibson asked.

Abe nodded. A blowup of an e-mail appeared on screen.

Nice interview, George. Very moving. You should have kept her safe. How much for the backpack?

Gibson winced and shot a quick glance at Abe, who sat stoically. It was a cruel taunt, but Abe kept whatever he felt about it well hidden.

“What about the e-mail address?” Gibson asked.

“[email protected]. We traced it to a privately hosted server in the Ukraine,” Mike replied. “The domain was registered to a ‘V. Airy Nycetri’ for an added screw-you.”

Gibson rolled his eyes. No real surprise, though. The fringes of the Internet were often hosted in places like Eastern Europe, where governments had more pressing concerns than shady web hosts. Spammers, illegal gambling sites, child pornography traffickers, and hackers all used remote server farms to grant themselves a layer of anonymity. Chances were good that whoever had sent the e-mail had never been within a thousand miles of the server that generated it.

“What do you think?” Abe asked.

“Of the backpack? Not much. I could probably find three dozen on eBay before lunch. Probably just someone trolling you because they saw you on TV.”

Abe nodded. “That’s what we thought too.”

“I assume you replied?”

Abe gestured to Rilling. A new e-mail appeared.

For a photograph of a backpack? Nothing. However, our investigators are very interested in talking to anyone with evidence in the case.

“And?”

“A day later, this.”