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  Roiters came into the room first. Snowe had talked to Roiters before, but he was still clearly uncomfortable. He wiped sweat off his forehead. A moment later, Decker and McAdams introduced themselves and that made three against one. Even the kid remarked on it. “I thought you worked in pairs.” When no one responded, he said, “Whatever.”

  It had taken all morning to track the kid down and once he finally did call back, he wasn’t happy about coming down to the station house.

  Decker said, “Been in a fight?”

  “Huh?” The kid looked confused.

  “You’ve got bruising on your face,” Decker said. “A cut on your forehead.”

  Snowe waved it away. “Just some horsing around that got a little rowdy.”

  “More than rowdy. You look like you walked into a pole.”

  “I fell facedown on the floor. So what?”

  “No need to get defensive.” Roiters wore a white short-sleeved shirt that showed off hard muscle. “Been a hard couple of days for you, Cameron?”

  “It’s been a hard couple of years. I should have been done with college by now. I took a year off after it happened.”

  “Why’s that?” Decker asked.

  “Why do you think? Everyone was looking at me like I did something even though I clearly did not. I was with about six other guys that night. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  “You’ve been following the local news at all, Cameron?” Roiters said.

  “The bodies at Bogat Trail.” He looked down. “So you found her. God, it’s gonna happen all over again.”

  “What is?” McAdams said.

  “Everyone suspecting me of something.” He shook his head. “Shit! I knew I shouldn’t have come back here.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Credits. I didn’t want to start all over again someplace else, especially because I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  Second time he said that. Decker looked at the boy. “We’re giving the Occum case another hard look. You’re here because you were involved with the victim. That shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “No one said you did. We’re just asking questions. And we’re asking for help. Maybe you can help us.”

  “I don’t know how. I’ve told you everything I know.” Snowe was looking at Roiters, who said nothing. The kid drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I bet if I squeeze in a couple more econ classes in this term, I can graduate a semester early. I just can’t go through all that shit again.”

  Roiters said, “You want to go through that night again for Detective Decker?”

  “It was over three years ago. I’ve tried to blank it from my mind! Jesus!” He exhaled. “God, I didn’t have anything to do with it! How many times do I have to say it?”

  Decker said, “What was she like?”

  “What?” Cameron lowered his voice. “You mean Delilah?”

  “Yes, I mean Delilah. Who else would I be talking about? What was she like?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  Decker kept his voice even. “She’s a ghost, Cameron. I want to find her humanity. What was she like?”

  He looked chastened. “She was fun . . .” He looked down. “A lot of fun.” He looked back up. “It was nothing serious. Just a college thing . . . for both of us.”

  “So what did you two like to do together?”

  Snowe looked at McAdams. “Can you help me out here?”

  “I think Detective Decker is asking about attraction other than sex,” McAdams said.

  “If I had to quantify it, I’d say ninety percent was sex. The other ten percent was the stuff leading up to the sex. Drinking, partying . . . having fun. She was a party girl. She was good in bed. She was my consistent booty call.” He shook his head. “I know that sounds rough but like I said, it wasn’t serious.”

  Decker said, “If it wasn’t serious, what did you two fight about that night?”

  “I don’t even remember.”

  “That’s not true,” Decker said. “I’ve been doing this for a while, Cameron. Memories get hazy, but you wouldn’t forget the harsh words exchanged right before she disappeared.”

  The young man looked at the ceiling. Then he poured himself a glass of water and drank it. He plopped the paper cup down. “I just know that we fought about something. I don’t remember too well because I was drunk at the time.”

  “I’m waiting, son,” Decker said. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  A long pause. Snowe said. “You cannot judge me, all right?”

  “Fair enough,” Decker said.

  “I suggested a threesome. It pissed her off.”

  McAdams held up a hand as he rooted through his notes. “You were with a bunch of guys all night, it says here.”

  “Exactly.”

  McAdams looked him in the eye. “So how did you decide who the other guy was?”

  Snowe blushed and looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What I mean is a party girl may not balk at a threesome. But she might balk at a gangbang.”

  No one spoke. Finally Snowe said, “Whatever.”

  “No, not whatever,” Decker said. “He’s bringing up a pertinent point. Maybe one of your buddies got excited and didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

  “Look, Detective, all I know is that she left and I wasn’t about to go chasing after her. In retrospect, I wish I had. None of this would have happened if I had been there.”

  “Maybe one of your buddies went after her.”

  “Anything’s possible, but I don’t remember. I told you I was piss drunk.”

  “If you had to guess which one it would be, who would you name?”

  Snowe shook his head. “No clue.” When no one spoke, he looked down. “What a fucking nightmare!”

  “Tell me how you spent the rest of your night,” Decker asked.

  “It’s all there in the files.”

  “I make my own notes, son. What did you do the rest of the night?”

  “God . . . I . . . The group of us took the party back to Casey’s dorm.”

  “That would be Casey Halpern?” Decker said.

  “So you read the file. What do you need me for?”

  “Go on.”

  “It was just the usual college shit. We were drinking in Casey’s room . . . his roommate, Marcus, was there.”

  “Marcus Craven,” Roiters said.

  “Yeah, Marcus Craven,” Snowe said. “It started out pretty crowded, but eventually it just wore itself out. People began pairing off. I was with Eloise Braggen until like five in the morning. She graduated, but she vouched for me then and she’ll vouch for me now. Can I go? No. Let me rephrase this. I have things to do. I’m gonna go now.” He stood up but didn’t move. “Really, this is a waste of—”

  “Sit down, Cameron,” Decker told him. “Bear with us. You owe Delilah that much.” Snowe remained rooted. “What did you think when you found out Delilah was missing?”

  “I dunno.” He was still standing, but the question caused him to wilt. He sat down. “I thought maybe she just had enough.”

  “Enough of what?” McAdams asked.

  Snowe looked at Tyler. “You know.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  There was a pause as Snowe tried to find the right words. “College is hard for some people.”

  “Did she tell you it was hard for her?”

  “Yes, she did, and more than one time. Deep down, she was a lonely girl. She missed home. When she disappeared, I thought she just wanted to get away. I felt guilty that I may have pushed her over.”

  He shook his head.

  “I know it sounds self-centered, but I was traumatized. I took a year off because I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking . . . like, how could this happen?”

  “Did you come up with any answers?” Roiters asked.

  “None then, none now.” Snowe was pens
ive. “But it affected me. I really got my shit together after it happened. I went home and started a business. Then I sold my share for fifteen grand and came back with an entirely different perspective toward my life. I’m not the same man who started college three years ago.”

  “What kind of business?” McAdams asked.

  “Huh?” He shrugged. “Oh. We started an emergency day-care service. I had a list of licensed day-care centers all over greater Atlanta and mothers would call me up in a panic. I’d call my sources and find a day-care center in their area that was willing to take the baby for the day.”

  “That’s a good idea,” McAdams said.

  “Yeah, I do have a brain.”

  “No one implied you didn’t have a brain,” Decker said. “Who was your partner in this homespun business?”

  “You’re really nosy.”

  Roiters said, “Just answer the question, Cameron.”

  Snowe’s smile was fleeting, but it was definitely there. “Her name is Priscilla Hardy. She’s a housewife with three kids. She lives on my parents’ block. We got to talking one day and a business was born.”

  Got to talking one day. Horny boy meets frustrated housewife? Decker would give her a call. Maybe the kid let something slip in pillow talk. Snowe was still bragging and whining.

  “. . . saying that I came back to Morse McKinley with goals. Something I was lacking when I first started. The whole mess really put everything in focus. I’m applying to Wharton and Harvard for an MBA. I don’t know if I’ll get in, but with all my experience, including my life experiences, I think I have something. I’d like to put this whole mess behind me so I can concentrate on the future.”

  Roiters said, “I would think the best way to put the mess behind you is to find out what happened to Delilah.”

  Snowe pinkened. “Yes, of course. But that’s your job, not mine. I have to live my own life. I have to push forward.” He checked his watch and drummed his finger again. “I really do have a couple of tests to study for. So if we’re done . . .”

  Decker looked at Roiters, who said, “We’ve got some leads with this new development. We’ll be in touch, Cameron. Don’t go anywhere without letting us know.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” The boy wiped sweat off his face. “You’re totally wrong if you think I’m involved. I had nothing to do with it. Just ask Eloise Braggen.”

  “I’ll do that.” Decker gave the boy his card. “If you do think of anything, give me a call.”

  Snowe flipped it over between his fingers. “Can I go?”

  Roiters gave him a nod and the boy left. A moment later, Decker turned to McAdams. “Go follow him.”

  “Now?”

  “Of course now. I want to see what he’s up to.”

  “What makes you think he’s up to anything?”

  “A group of buddies who are as drunk as you are isn’t an alibi. Go.”

  McAdams got up and left the room.

  Roiters said, “I always felt that the kid had blood on his hands.”

  “I hear you. But the thing is, Cameron wasn’t around when Yvette Jones went to Morse McKinley. If Delilah is victim number three, we can’t have three independent murders with all the bodies buried in the same location.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Roiters said. “We should wait until the newest bones are IDed. We might get surprised.”

  “Right.”

  “How many people do you have that were around when all three murders took place?”

  “Twenty, I believe. The list includes not only teachers at the colleges, but people who worked in the bookstore or at the local bar or in administration.”

  “So it’s not twenty students.”

  “No, no. Rina made some phone calls this morning. I’m going to talk today to an econ teacher named Hank Carter. He was on your list of Delilah’s teachers. You checked him off so he must have had an alibi.”

  Roiters paused. “I don’t remember him or his alibi.”

  “Delilah took his Intro to Econ class. So did Pettigrew. And Yvette Jones had attended his lecture the night she disappeared. Plus she had him for a teacher. After him, I have a potential interview with a guy named Jason Kramer. I talked to him initially regarding Pettigrew. He’s involved with the LGBT Center and he taught Intro to Psych. Both Delilah and Yvette had his class as well.”

  “And Pettigrew?”

  “No, but he knew Pettigrew, so that’s enough to put him on the all-three list. He was also checked off your list for Delilah.”

  “Sorry. I suppose I should have put the alibi next to each name but there were like what . . . a hundred names?”

  “I know. You want to be as concise as possible because the file becomes very long. You questioned them. I’m sure they remember you.”

  “I’m glad we’re looking into this again.” Roiters stood up. “You’re looking into it . . . a fresh set of eyes.”

  “Having identified bodies makes a huge difference.”

  “Yeah, it does. Look, Deck, I’m going to say this out loud. Don’t be concerned about stepping on my toes. If I fucked up, that’s my bad, not yours.”

  “I didn’t see anything missing in the file, Ben. We’ve all had open cases.”

  “Just do what you have to do, Deck. I’m not about the ego. I’m all about the solve.”

  Chapter 16

  “So what can I do for you?” Hank Carter’s face registered concern. His light eyes narrowed, and his forehead became a series of lines like windswept sand. He was in his fifties and lanky with thick gray hair. “I’m assuming it’s about Bogat Trail.”

  “It is,” Roiters said. “We’re asking for help.”

  “Please sit.”

  “Thank you,” Decker said. He gave a once-over to his surroundings. Carter had tenure and seniority and as a result, he had a decent-size office. The space was ample enough to hold a large desk, a couch, and scattered chairs. They were on the fourth floor of Barrett Hall, which held most of the econ/poli-sci/government classes. The window overlooked the Morse McKinley quad, students spread out on the lawn, basking in the last glows of summer. It was in the low seventies with a lemon sun in a perfect blue sky. It was three o’clock in the afternoon.

  “So how can I help?” Carter asked.

  Roiters said, “I was the primary investigator on the Delilah Occum case.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Carter nodded. “I remember you.”

  “We’re just going over all missing person cases in the area for the last ten years. Delilah Occum is the most recent. We’re reviewing every name in her file.”

  “Why am I in her file in the first place?”

  “Delilah took your Intro to Economics class.”

  “That’s probably the largest class in the school. I usually have around three hundred fifty students each term. I don’t recall her at all.”

  Decker said, “But you remember when she disappeared.”

  “Of course. How many times do students just disappear?”

  “Do you remember where you were the night she disappeared? We’re asking everyone we interviewed three years ago the same question.”

  “No, I don’t remember. I can check my calendar. It’s all online, and I’m sure it goes back that far.”

  “Please.” Roiters gave him the date.

  Carter swiveled his desk chair toward his computer, clicking the keys as he stared at the monitor, giving Decker a chance to check over his wall’s worth of diplomas. Penn (Wharton) undergrad, Yale grad with an LLD and an MBA in economics and business. He was a member of lots of professional societies. He had been given lots of professional awards.

  “Okay. I taught in the morning. I don’t know what I did between twelve and two. Maybe lunch. I had scheduled appointments at two p.m. and three p.m. . . . open door for students four to six. Then I had cocktails with one of my colleagues at five. Unfortunately, she is no longer with the colleges but her name is Nancy Halloran.” He looked up and swiveled toward them. “I
probably went home after that and stayed in all evening because I don’t have anything else on my schedule.”

  Decker was writing as Carter spoke. “As long as you have your calendar, can you look up this date for me? It’s around five years ago.”

  “Why?” Suspicion in his voice.

  Decker said, “Another Morse McKinley student disappeared, although he wasn’t a student at the time. He came up from New York City for a visit to the colleges and that was the last that anyone had heard from him.”

  “Who was this?”

  “Lawrence Pettigrew.”

  “And you’re asking me about him because . . .”

  “He took your Government and Ethics course.”

  “Okay.” Carter was quiet. “So you must not have identified anyone specific at Bogat Trail.” He paused. “But surely you know if it’s a man or a woman.”

  Decker said. “Could you look at your calendar, please?”

  “I thought you needed help.”

  “We’ll get to that soon enough. Can you bring up the date?”

  Carter moved like a reluctant man. But he cooperated, checking with his computer once again. “Yes, I do have my appointments for that date as well. I taught in the morning . . . student hours in the afternoon. Nothing scheduled for the evening, but that doesn’t mean that my wife and I didn’t go out for dinner or to the movies.”

  “How many students are in your Government and Ethics course?”

  “Around one hundred. I don’t remember Lawrence Pettigrew.”

  “He was distinctive,” Decker told him. “He was very tall and very thin and very dramatic. Long blond hair, loud jackets that didn’t match his loud pants. He also dressed with lots of scarves.”

  “Of course.” Carter hit his head. “He was a very smart guy. Despite the getup, he knew the material and asked very intelligent questions. If you hold on, I’ll see if I still have the roster for that class . . . no, sorry.” He looked up. “My rosters don’t go back that far. But you can check with the administration. I believe I gave him an A. Like I told you, he was bright.”