“I spoke to Lieutenant Dolan this morning. He’s been gracious about keeping in touch with me since he retired. He called, saying your name had come up with regard to Mary Claire’s disappearance. He tells me a young man named Michael Sutton has come forward with information that looks promising.”

“I don’t know what to say. May I call you Joanne?”

“Of course.”

“Michael was wrong about the date. This came to light yesterday and I’m still adjusting to the disappointment. He was a kid at the time, six years old, and the incident he remembered actually happened a week earlier, if at all.”

“I don’t understand. Lieutenant Dolan said he came across two men digging what appeared to be a grave two days after Mary Claire was kidnapped. You’re saying his report was false?”

“He made a mistake. There was no malice intended. He read a newspaper article and Mary Claire’s name triggered a vivid recollection. His story sounded reasonable. Detective Phillips thought it was worth pursuing and so did I.

“Yesterday, Michael’s sister came in with evidence showing he wasn’t anywhere near Santa Teresa on the date he claimed, so it looks like he conjured the memory out of whole cloth. Whatever he saw, it had nothing to do with Mary Claire. I wish we had more, but it’s not there.”

“Well.” She stared down at her hands.

“I know all of this is hard on you, and I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. I should be used to it by now. I should have detached years ago, but I’ve never found a way to do it. Something like this comes up . . . a scrap of information surfaces and even against my better judgment, I feel a flutter of hope. I can’t tell you how many people have come up with ‘clues’ in the last twenty years. They write, they call, they stop me on the street, all of them claiming to know Mary Claire’s whereabouts. Any reference in the paper and the ‘tips’ come pouring out. Some ask for money and some just want to feel important, I suppose.”

“Believe me, Michael wasn’t doing this for gain. He was hesitant about going to the police and uneasy when they sent him over to me. As odd as his story was, it seemed to hold an element of truth. In the end, it just didn’t hang together.”

“I’m not blaming anyone. It’s all just so endless.”

“Look, I know this is none of my business, but can you tell me what happened afterward? I can’t imagine what it must have done to your personal life.”