Gray sits half swallowed in a brown velvet beanbag on the floor, his long legs up like a shield. He has a sketchbook in his hands, which he closes, looking up, his red hair combed into a pompadour, like a 1950s heartthrob, or like Duran Duran’s John Taylor in the poster taped to the inside of Gray’s bedroom door, from their first tour—moody eyes, popped collar, and all. Gray’s clothes are simple and everyday, though, a royal-blue hooded sweatshirt, soft khaki pants, and rubber-soled wool bedroom slippers. To me, he looks like someone caught between who he wants to be, and who he has to be.

“I don’t have anything new to tell you.” He fiddles with the closed sketchbook, not quite meeting Will’s gaze or mine.

“That’s okay,” Will says, and then turns to Mrs. Benson. “We’ll only be ten minutes.”

“I’m Anna Hart,” I say to Gray. “I’m one of the detectives trying to find Cameron.”

“I’ve said everything I could remember.”

“I know you have. I also know how hard it must be wondering every day what happened to her. I’ll bet you’re not sleeping. I’ll bet you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

He blinks. “I’m okay.”

Lowering myself to the floor so we can be at eye level, I say, “We’ve just been to Cameron’s house. Her parents have been going through a rough patch. Has Cameron talked much about that with you?”

“A little.”

Will and I exchange a quick look. It’s time to try another strategy.

“I’m just going to step out to make a call,” he says. “Be back in a few minutes.”

When he’s gone, Gray looks at me warily.

“You like Duran Duran,” I say. “ ‘Ordinary World’ is a great song.”

I’ve surprised him. Maybe that’s why he answers. “It’s the best song on the record.”

“Yeah, sad though. It’s about David Miles, right?”

His pupils flare. “Simon Le Bon has never said that.”

“He hasn’t. That’s why it’s a good song. He’s not giving everything away, but if you pay attention, you start to hear what he’s not saying.”

From Gray’s face, I can tell he’s following me. In that space, I decide to plunge ahead. “With the things that matter most, we guard them carefully. Sometimes we tell no one, and sometimes just one person, the one who knows us best.”

“I guess so.” Gray drops the sketchbook to the floor, and without it, his hands look empty and pale.

“Cameron’s parents say she’s been struggling lately. Is that how you would put it?”

There’s a long beat as he wrestles with himself. Then: “There’s been a lot of stress at home.”

“Seems like it. Too much to deal with maybe for someone as sensitive as Cameron.”