“You made all that stuff up?” Helen replied, incredulous.
Jason nodded, his head hanging.
“I told the other guys what they wanted to hear.”
“The other guys on the forum? ‘PussyKing,’ ‘fillyerboots’—”
“Yes. I wanted to fit in. I wanted them to like me.”
Helen shot a look at Charlie. His loneliness was tragic and for the first time Helen felt an ounce of pity for him.
“When did you meet Angel?”
“Four days ago. One of the other boys told me where I’d find her, so I went out looking. And there she was.”
“What happened?”
“I picked her up. We drove toward the Common.”
“And?”
“She wanted to talk. Was asking me questions. Small talk, you know. Then... then she asked me if I was married. And I don’t know why, but it just hit me like a brick.”
“How do you mean?”
“It set me off. It was just a simple question, but...”
Jason paused, emotion at the memory ambushing him now.
“But I started crying.”
Finally he looked up. Helen was struck by the desperation in his expression.
“I told her everything. How I missed my wife. How I missed Emily.”
“What did she do?”
“Not a lot. She didn’t like me talking like that. She said a couple of things—‘you’ll get over it,’ stuff like that—then asked me to stop the car.”
“Then what?”
“She got out. She got out and walked away. And that’s the last time I saw her—I swear to God.”
Helen nodded.
“I believe you, Jason, and I know it’s hard to talk about. But the truth is you had a very lucky escape. Believe me, things could have been a lot worse.”
“And she’s been... all these guys in the paper?”
“Yes, which is why it’s so important we find her. So please take a good look at the picture and tell me—is that Angel?”
Jason picked up the sketch once more. He took a good look at it and then said:
“No.”
Charlie shot a look at Helen, a look pregnant with alarm, but Helen ignored it. She could feel the case once more unraveling in front of her.
“Look again. Lyra Campbell is our number one suspect. This is a very good likeness. Are you sure that’s not Angel?”
