Copycat. Alex Lake

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       6

      Jean lived on the next street. To walk on the road was about a half mile, but there was a path through the trees which connected their backyards. Sarah called on her way along it to let her friend know she was coming.

      Thankfully, Jean was still up. Even though it was only half past nine, that was not a given: she was a single mom with two adopted kids, so early nights were the norm. Her former husband – father of the two kids she had adopted – had died three years ago in a hit-and-run car accident. They never found the driver; there was a stolen car, abandoned a few miles away with a dent in the hood, a web of cracks in the windshield, and an empty bottle of whiskey in the footwell. There was also a syringe on the passenger seat.

      The car had been stolen from the Rite-Aid car park in Barrow; the cops had CCTV footage of it leaving the car park but they could not identify the driver, who was wearing a hooded top. They assumed it was a petty thief looking to make a few bucks for their next fix of heroin, which was the drug of choice in Maine for those who could not get their hands on prescription opiates.

      She’d had a rough time of it, Jean, but she was one of those people who somehow managed to carry on. Even after Jack had died, she’d tried to focus on the positives. She’d said to Sarah that at least she had the kids – she couldn’t have any of her own – so they would be her family for the rest of her life.

      They were lucky to have her as a mom, Sarah replied. As she was to have her as a friend.

      Sarah opened the back door and walked into the kitchen.

      ‘Hi,’ Jean said. She was making sandwiches for her sons’ lunches. ‘What’s up?’

      ‘Well,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s been one of those days.’

      Jean raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

      ‘Did you hear about Rachel Little?’

      ‘Coming back to Barrow?’ Jean nodded. ‘She sent me a friend request.’

      ‘Me too,’ Sarah said. ‘Anything weird about yours?’

      ‘No,’ Jean said. ‘What do you mean, weird?’

      ‘Well, she asked me which was my true profile.’

      Jean pursed her lips and frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’

      Sarah passed her phone to Jean. ‘She meant this.’

      Jean put the knife down and swiped her finger over the screen. She studied it for a few seconds.

      ‘Holy shit,’ she said. ‘What the hell is this?’

      ‘That’s my question. And ten minutes ago I got a friend request. From this fake account. So someone knew I’d just found out about it.’

      ‘Oh my God,’ Jean said. ‘Who would know? And who was at all the places the photos were taken?’

      ‘Nobody I can think of,’ Sarah said. ‘Other than me.’

      ‘Right. And it wasn’t you.’

      Sarah paused. ‘Ben thought it might be Rachel. She knew I’d seen the account, because she alerted me to it.’

      ‘I guess,’ Jean said. ‘But I don’t know how it could be her. How would she have got the photos? She’d need to have been around Barrow for the last six months, which rules her out. She’s been on the West Coast.’

      They looked at Rachel’s profile to check; she had been working as a psychologist in San Diego, specializing in grief counseling and post-traumatic stress disorder. It made sense; there was a large military presence down there. That was all there was, though: her profile was only a few weeks old.

      ‘She’s new to Facebook,’ Sarah said. ‘So it could all be bullshit she put on her profile, when all along she’s been much closer to home.’

      ‘Maybe,’ Jean said. She looked doubtful. ‘But it seems a bit of a stretch. And you still have the question of why she would be doing this. You guys got along OK in high school, right?’

      ‘More or less. She was pretty quiet. I didn’t have much to do with her.’ Sarah paused. ‘Although there was one time we were kind of at odds, over that guy Jeremy.’

      Jean nodded slowly. ‘I СКАЧАТЬ