Jeffrey returned his notebook to his pocket. He walked into the kitchen. He had to step over empty yogurt cartons and popcorn bags. The backpack was good leather with the initials BC monogrammed onto the flap. He assumed it was a graduation gift, because it wasn’t the kind of thing a poor college kid would spend money on.

Jeffrey carefully laid out the contents on the small square of available counter space. Pens. Pencils. Papers. Printouts. Work assignments. The flip phone was an older model. He opened it. The battery was almost dead. There were no missed calls. The recent calls were cleared. He checked the contacts. Dad. Daryl. Deneshia.

He asked Kayleigh, “Who’s Daryl?”

“He lives off-campus?” She shrugged. “Everybody knows him? He used to go here but he dropped out two years ago because he’s, like, trying to be a professional skateboarder?”

“Does he have a last name?”

“Like, I’m sure he does, but I don’t know?”

Jeffrey recorded Daryl’s number in his spiral-bound notebook. The phone would be logged into evidence, something Lena had failed to do yesterday when she’d talked to Rebecca Caterino’s dorm mates.

He reached into the backpack again. He found a textbook on Organic Chemistry, another on textiles, a third on ethics in science. The laptop computer was a newer model, judging by the weight. He opened the clamshell. The document on screen was entitled RCATERINO-CHEM-FINAL.DOC.

He paged through the exam, which was just as tedious and pedantic as every paper he had written in college.

He looked up at Kayleigh. She was still picking at the skin on her foot.

He asked her, “Can you come over here and tell me if there’s anything missing?”

She heaved herself up from the couch. She flounced over. She looked at the textbooks and papers and she told him, “I guess no? But, her banana clip would be by the bed?”

“Banana clip?”

“It’s, like, for your hair?”

Jeffrey felt his gut instinct send up a flare. Leslie Truong had been missing a headband. Now, Beckey Caterino was missing a hair clip.

He didn’t want to lead Kayleigh. He asked, “Is it still by the bed?”

“No, because that’s the point?” She seemed confused. “Beckey couldn’t find it? And then we all looked, and we couldn’t find it? I told the lady cop this?”

There was only one lady cop on the force. “Officer Adams?”

“Yeah, I told her that Beckey’s banana clip, the one her mom gave her, wasn’t on the nightstand where she always left it and at first, Beckey was mad at me, but then she knew I didn’t take it because I wouldn’t take something that was special like that because she had already told me the story about how her mom gave it to her, like it was the very last thing she gave to her, only it was to borrow, but then her mom died so she had it to keep forever?”

Jeffrey tried to parse the run-on sentence. “You told Officer Adams that Beckey was missing her banana clip?”

“Right.”

Now it was Jeffrey’s turn to do the irritating question thing. “The clip belonged to her mother?”

“Right.”

“And Beckey always kept the clip on her nightstand?”

“Right.”

“But the morning she looked for it, the clip wasn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“Show me?”

She took him down the hallway. He ignored the pungent odor of pot and sweat and sex that permeated the rooms. No beds were made. Clothes were strewn across the floor. He saw bongs and underwear and used condoms dropped beside trash cans.

“Here.” Kayleigh had stopped just outside the bedroom at the end of the hall. “We already, like, looked? To take it to her at the hospital? But we couldn’t find it?”

Jeffrey took in the room. Beckey wasn’t tidy, but she wasn’t on the same level of disorder as her dorm mates. He saw the nightstand. Water glass. Lamp. Book of poetry pressed open so that the spine was cracked. Jeffrey resisted the temptation to close the book. He got down on his hands and knees. There was nothing under the nightstand. He looked under the bed. One sock. A bra. Fuzz and the expected detritus.

He asked Kayleigh, “Does Beckey know Leslie Truong?”

“The missing girl?” She frowned. “I don’t think so? Because, she’s, like, older? Like, about to graduate?”

“Would they have run into each other in the library?”

“Maybe? But it’s a big library?”

Jeffrey’s cell phone rang. He suppressed a curse when he saw the number. His mother had called him three times already. She was probably nursing her fourth drink of the day and mourning the fact that her only son was an uncaring jerk.

He silenced the call.

“Chief?” Lena was in the hallway. “I recanvassed the dorm. No one remembered anything new.”

He stood up from the floor. Fuzz covered the bottom half of his pants. He tried to wipe it away. “We’re needed back to the station.”

Lena stepped aside so he could pass. Jeffrey had already given Kayleigh his business card. He imagined the girl would avail herself of the number when she found out that her dorm mate had been the victim of more than an accident. He assumed word was already spreading around campus. Sibyl Adams was right about the school thriving on gossip. Maybe someone would say the wrong thing to the right person, because the way it was looking now, that was the only way he was going to break either of these cases.

Jeffrey looked for Brad in the main hallway. He had been assigned to canvassing the dorm for a second time. Jeffrey caught him coming out of one of the rooms. “Caterino’s backpack is in the kitchen. Log everything into evidence.”

“Yes, Chief.”

Jeffrey retrieved his notebook. He dialed the number for Daryl. The phone rang once, then he heard an operator tell him that the line was no longer in service.

He looked at the phone as if it could offer an explanation. He double-checked the number. He tried it again. The same message came back. The line had been disconnected.

Lena asked, “What is it, Chief?”

Jeffrey bypassed the elevator and took the stairs. There could be a lot of reasons that Daryl’s phone number was no longer in service. Most of the students were barely scraping by. Burner phones were not uncommon. Neither was running out of money to buy more minutes.

Still, the timing bothered him.

Outside, Lena double-stepped beside him to keep up as they walked across the quad. She asked, “Isn’t your car the other way?”

“Yes.” Jeffrey kept his stride long so she had to work for it. “Did you search Beckey Caterino’s bookbag?”

“I was—” Lena’s face told the story. “She had an accident, at least that’s what we thought, so—”

“I stood in that field twenty-four hours ago and told you that we always treat accidents like potential homicides. Didn’t I tell you that?” Jeffrey wasn’t in the mood for one of her excuses. “What about the hair clip?”

“The—”

“You didn’t think the missing hair clip was something that should be brought to my attention?”

“I—”

“It’s not in your official report, Lena. Is it in your notebook?”

She scrambled to unbutton her shirt pocket.

“Don’t put it in there after the fact. It’ll look suspicious.”

“Suspicious to—”

“We’re going to get hit with a massive lawsuit over this. You realize that?” He kept his voice low as he walked past a group of students. “Rebecca Caterino laid there for half an hour while we stood around with our thumbs up our asses. Can you put your hand on a Bible in front of a judge and honestly swear that you did everything you could from the moment you found her?”

Lena was smart enough to not try to answer.

“That’s what I thought.”

Jeffrey yanked open the door to the security office.

Chuck Gaines had his size twelves propped on the desk. He was eating an apple and watching an episode of The Office. Jeffrey had never seen the man leave his desk during working hours except to go to the toilet or the lunch counter. He didn’t even have the courtesy to stand when Jeffrey entered the building.

“Daryl,” Jeffrey said, giving the name from Rebecca Caterino’s phone. “He used to be a student. I need his last name.”

Chuck pushed a bite of apple into his cheek. “Gonna need more than that, Chief.”

“Skateboarder. Mid-twenties. Dropped out two years ago.”

“You know how many—”

Jeffrey kicked his feet off the desk. He slapped away the apple. He shoved the chair back against the wall. Then he got into Chuck’s face. “Answer my god damn question.”

“Jesus Christ.” Chuck had his hands up in surrender. “Daryl?”

Jeffrey took a step back. “Skateboarder. He dropped out two years ago. Everyone on campus supposedly knows him.”

“I don’t know a Daryl, but—” Chuck duck-walked his chair over to his desk. He found a stack of notecards in a drawer. “Might be something in here.”