“Can you tell the court about the system you and the defendant used to rate girls you’d slept with?” Alkins asked, delving into their sleazy rating system. He questioned Dwaine Richards along these lines until all the jurors had the same disgusted expression on their faces.

When they did, he told the judge that he had no more questions and abruptly sat down. Scott Blair had sat through his former roommate’s testimony stone-faced, occasionally whispering to his lawyer as if to imply that Dwaine Richards had said something untrue. Rachel noticed that the tips of Scott Blair’s ears were bright red by the time that Alkins was done.

Rachel took Hannah’s latest letter from her purse as Judge Shaw conferred with his clerical staff about an administrative matter. To the sound of squeaking chairs and hushed voices talking, Rachel smoothed out the pages of Hannah’s letter and reread it. She finished reading as Dale Quinn began his cross-examination.

Quinn started slowly with a few softball questions. Within minutes, Dwaine was visibly sweating when Quinn asked him whether he’d wanted to get revenge after Scott had unceremoniously kicked him out of the apartment due to his “unpaid rent and disgusting lifestyle” a few weeks after the incident with Kelly Moore.

“Isn’t it true that after you were evicted, you threatened my client, Scott? You said you were going to take him down.”

“I was angry when he kicked me out even though I was only a few days late on the rent. I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Dwaine, looking down at his shoes as he spoke.

“I have here copies of your text messages to Scott. You used very, shall we say, colorful language, and some quite specific threats,” said Quinn. “How about you read out your texts and we let the jury decide whether you meant them or not,” he added, handing Dwaine a wad of stapled sheets.

Rachel left court to the sound of Dwaine Richards reading out his angry texts. She had something more important to do. Rachel had found a possible lead in Hannah’s letter, and she was anxious to follow it up. She didn’t mind missing the rest of Dwaine Richards’s testimony to do so. If truth be told, she couldn’t stomach hearing another word from him.

* * *

Rachel ran all the way uphill to the City Hall building at the top of the boulevard, her arm aching from the weight of her laptop bag digging into her shoulder.

The social services office was on the third floor. It had a sitting area of chairs next to a table piled with old magazines. The reception desk was unsupervised. From behind a stretch of plaster wall that separated the reception area from the offices came the hum of people talking on phones and typing on keyboards.

Rachel pressed a button on the desk to summon the receptionist. A young woman dressed in a long patterned skirt and button-down shirt came out of the back offices, holding a mug of coffee and finishing off a last bite of food. Rachel had clearly interrupted her lunch.

“I’d like to speak with Mrs. Mason. She was a social worker who handled welfare cases in the early nineties,” Rachel explained.

“I haven’t heard that name before,” said the woman. “I’ll ask my colleagues. Maybe someone knows. I’m still quite new here.”

She left Rachel to pace around the waiting area as she disappeared back into the offices. Rachel checked her phone. Pete had sent her a text message to let her know that his friend, a white-hat hacker, hadn’t been able to restore the original emails that Hannah had sent months earlier, which had been deleted by the intern. Rachel was disappointed. She’d really hoped they’d be able to retrieve the original emails despite the passage of time. It was another dead end.

“I understand you’re looking for Barb Mason?”

Rachel whirled around to see a woman with a narrow chin and fine features. Her short dark hair was flecked with gray.

“Yes, I am.”

“Barb retired years ago. Last I heard, she lives in Canada with her daughter’s family. Is there something I can help with? I worked with Barb for a long time.”

“I sure hope so,” sighed Rachel. “I’m looking for a girl who was put into care here in the early nineties. Her name is Hannah Stills. I believe she was fostered out when she was around nine or ten. After her mother and sister died.”

“The records would be sealed,” said the woman, careful not to divulge any information. A flicker of recognition in her eyes suggested that she remembered the case.

“I understand,” said Rachel, disappointed but not entirely surprised the woman was strictly sticking to the rules. She wrote down her first name and her cell phone number on a blank piece of paper along with all the details she knew about Hannah. “Please ask Hannah’s foster mom, Kitty, to contact me. It’s urgent,” she said, as she held out the note.

“I’ll pass it on. I can’t promise you’ll hear back. It’s entirely up to her if she calls,” said the woman, taking the paper and disappearing back into her office.

Rachel arrived back in court during the testimony of a nurse from Neapolis General who’d done Kelly Moore’s rape kit. Rachel scooted into an empty seat near the back row. The nurse’s name was Tracey Rice. She was taller than average, slim, with shoulder-length light brown hair. She spoke confidently, clearly experienced at testifying in court. Rachel’s phone vibrated shortly after she sat down. The call was from a phone number that she didn’t recognize. She ducked out of court to answer it.

“Neapolis Social Services gave me your number,” said the voice of an obviously older woman. “My name is Kitty McLean. The woman from Social Services said that you want to speak to me urgently about Hannah. What do you want with Hannah? She’s not in trouble again, is she?”

“Not that I know of,” said Rachel, keeping her voice low. The hall echoed loudly. She didn’t want her conversation broadcast to everyone within earshot. “I’m trying to get hold of Hannah. I’m a reporter. I do a podcast and Hannah—”

“A pod-what, dear?” Kitty interrupted. “Speak up; I can’t hear very well.”

“It’s like a radio program on crime.” Rachel raised her voice. “Hannah wrote to ask for my help in looking into her sister’s murder. I’m trying to get in touch with her, as I have some questions.”

“Hannah’s sister wasn’t murdered, dear. She died in an accident.”

“What sort of accident?” Rachel asked carefully.

“Her sister went swimming at night. She drowned. Terrible tragedy, of course, but definitely not murder. I don’t know why Hannah says such things.”

Rachel asked Kitty for Hannah’s contact information. Kitty left her waiting on the phone line while she looked for her address book. It took a couple of minutes until Kitty’s frail voice was back on the line as she slowly recited Hannah’s phone number.

“I doubt she’ll answer you,” said Kitty. “She hasn’t answered any of my messages. In fact, I haven’t been able to get hold of Hannah for weeks.”

“You must be worried?”

“Not at all. Hannah’s a grown woman. It’s her way to disappear every now and again. Sometimes for weeks. Sometimes for months. The last time she disappeared, she went to India. Spent three months at a yoga retreat. Wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone the entire time. A vow of total silence. She came back a vegetarian. That didn’t last. Maybe she went back again. Always said she would if she had the chance.”

“I don’t think she went back there,” said Rachel. “I think she’s in Neapolis.”

“Neapolis?” said Kitty, her shock obvious even over the phone line. “Why on earth would Hannah go there? I’ve never heard her say a good word about the place.”

“I think it’s to do with her sister’s death.”

“Well, now that you mentioned it, the anniversary is coming up. Twenty-five years. Hannah does get into a mood at this time of the year,” said Kitty, weighing the possibility. “But she always swore she’d never set foot in that town again. I’m sure she’s in India at one of those places she likes. An ash-something. What are they called?”

“An ashram?” suggested Rachel.

“That’s right. One of those. I have your contact details, dear. I’ll ask Hannah to call you when she’s in touch. Bear in mind that it could take months. It’s how Hannah is.”

Rachel finished the call, but the guard outside the courtroom wouldn’t let her back inside. He told her that she’d have to wait for a recess. Rachel was disappointed. She’d been hoping to use the nurse’s testimony on rape kits for her next episode. She texted Pete and asked him to contact the hospital to arrange an interview with Nurse Rice.

Rachel sat on a bench in the hall outside the courtroom and rang the phone number that Kitty had given her. It went straight through to an automated voice mail. Rachel tried several times with the same result. Eventually she left a voicemail: “Hannah, this is Rachel Krall. I’d really like to talk to you. Please call me.” Rachel recited her phone number before disconnecting the call.