Favors and Lies Page 5

  He dodged students heading out the main entrance of the five-story Hughes dormitory and announced himself to the red-haired woman seated at the front desk.

  “My name is Dan Lord. Conner Lord was my nephew. I’m here to collect some of his belongings.”

  The woman, in her mid-fifties, slid a three-ring binder in Dan’s direction. “Sign in to the visitor’s log and I’ll need to see some ID.”

  Dan noted the gruffness of her tone and then put it down to dealing with unruly students who spent their waking hours trying to pull the wool over her eyes.

  Dan flashed his driver’s license to the woman named Ruth. “Your nephew was on the fifth floor. Room 513. Elevator to the fifth floor. Down the hall. South end.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, the DC police were here earlier in the day.”

  “The police?”

  “Yes. A detective. A man.”

  Dan looked down at the visitor’s log. “He didn’t sign in?”

  “A police badge doesn’t require a signature.”

  “Do you need to escort me to the room?”

  “No. My line of defense ends here at the door. I have a radio if I need legs for pursuit. This place isn’t Fort Knox. It’s a dorm. There are a dozen emergency exits, windows with no screens on the first floor, fire escapes on the backside. It’s impossible to keep track of four hundred students. Besides, you look honest. I have a built-in bullshit detector. Comes with two decades of dealing with students. Keeping an eye on a residence hall can be tricky. I spend most of my time trying to figure out who is sneaking in alcohol, who is selling weed, who is trying to get their pecker pulled in one of the lounges.”

  Dan smiled. “I’ll remember not to bullshit you.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Did you know my nephew?”

  “Knew the face. He usually said hi on his way out. But like I said, there are four hundred kids in this building. Sometimes it takes a while to learn all their names. I usually get there by the end of the fall semester.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  The elevator doors opened and Dan parted a group of four girls in sweatshirts, short shorts, and flip-flops. He turned right, following the arrow for the south side of the building. Music played from nearly every room. Most of the doors were open to varying degrees. He eyed the numbers above the doorframes as he made his way down the coed hall. Each glance left and right provided insight into dorm life that Dan had last seen two decades ago. In the third room on the left, a boy slept on the floor. In the next room, a girl changed her clothes, her bare back exposed towards the hall. Further down the hall, he eyed a young man staring at a closed book on his desk while two sets of feet protruded from beneath a blanket in the loft bed above.

  When he reached 513 he knocked on the open door.

  “Yeah,” a voice answered.

  Dan stepped into the room. The cinderblock walls were painted institutional gray. Two loft beds with desks beneath them stood on opposite sides of the room, robbing the room of light and space, giving it a cave-like feel. An air conditioning unit filled the lower half of the window on the far side of the room.

  “I’m Dan Lord. Conner’s uncle.”

  A young man in baggy shorts stood from the wooden chair at the desk. He wore an American University sweatshirt with bleach stains around the hem. His attempt at facial hair resulted in bald spots along the jaw-line where his follicles weren’t mature enough for the request to look older.

  “Josh McKeen.”

  A blonde stepped from the bathroom and Josh introduced her. “This is Krista.”

  “I guess you heard the news?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah, I heard,” Josh said.

  Krista ran her hand through Josh’s hair in soothing strokes before adding, “I gotta go.”

  When the girl left the room, Dan sat on the unoccupied chair underneath his nephew’s loft bed. The room was littered with electronic goodies: a cell phone, iPods, remote controllers, a flat screen TV, DVD player, video game consoles. Laptops. External hard drives. Digital Cameras. Flash drives.

  “You guys are wired.”

  Josh looked around the room, not sure what to make of the statement.

  “When I was in school we had a TV and a radio, and we barely studied. I don’t know how your generation finds time to open the books with all your toys.”

  “We’re multi-taskers. And a lot of the books are digital these days.”

  Dan looked around at the pictures on the wall, the clothes oozing from half-closed dresser drawers. “You mind if I ask you some questions?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Was Conner into anything I need to know about?”

  “Like?”

  “The usual. Drugs. Drinking. Gambling. The kind of stuff that gets people into trouble.”

  “Not really. Me and Conner have been roommates for three months, most of the first semester. We were friends last year in a different dorm and we got along pretty well. We don’t get in each other’s stuff or in each other’s faces. We drink beer together and watch sports. We’re roommates. We’re friends.”

  “You guys ever fight?”

  “Sure, but nothing serious. Nothing physical. Occasionally we piss each other off—a wet towel on the bathroom floor. Someone dropping a deuce and not flushing. But Conner was my buddy. He had my back. I had his. That’s all you can ask for in a roommate.”

  “What about drugs?”

  “We smoked weed a few times.”

  Dan felt like he had been punched in the stomach. “Conner smoked weed?”

  “A couple of times. But not here in the dorm. Never seen him do anything harder than that, but this is college and we are in DC; you can get anything you want.” Josh held up his hand and extended two fingers. “Two calls, two calls.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything is two calls away. Everything.”

  “You guys ever do heroin?”

  “Jesus, no. You don’t even see heroin. A lot of weed. A lot of ecstasy. Every once in a while you will see some magic mushrooms. You hear rumors about people doing meth and coke, but people try to hide that shit. Heroin? You go to prison for heroin. We’re students but we’re not crazy.”

  “Where were you on Monday night?”

  “In the lounge. We were watching the football game. Chicago versus Green Bay.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you?”

  “Half of the floor.”

  “And after the game?”

  “I spent most of the night here, with Krista.”

  “Didn’t go out?”

  “Did you see her?”

  Dan smirked.

  “Conner left on Sunday morning. Early. Didn’t see him after that. I figured he was at his girlfriend’s or his mom’s.”

  “Who’s his girlfriend? Anyone steady?”

  “Conner hooked up with a couple of chicks early in the semester, like we all do. Hell, there are more hoochie brothers here than anyone wants to admit.”

  “What’s a hoochie brother?”

  “You know, two guys who’ve banged the same girl. We call them hoochie brothers. And it’s better to be the older brother than the younger brother, meaning that . . . well . . .”

  “Yeah, I get the idea.”

  “Anyhow . . . Conner has been seeing a girl named Lindsay. Alpha Chi Omega. Nice girl. Real smart. A knockout. She came by last night after we got word from campus police. The floor held an emergency meeting and the university rolled out mental health counselors for anyone who wanted to talk. They handed out cards and gave direct numbers for the campus priest and rabbi. I have Lindsay’s number if you want. Or you can try texting her.”

  “Send me her contact info.”

  “What’s your number?” Josh opened his
cell phone, punched in Dan’s number, and sent the information.

  “Does she live in this building?”

  “No. She’s at the Alpha Chi Omega sorority house. Other side of campus. Near Nebraska Avenue. There are about seven or eight houses over there. Kind of like American University’s version of Greek Row, though it’s unofficial and not sanctioned by the school. It’s not much, but it’s all we have.”

  “You say this girl Lindsay is a hottie, huh?”

  “Smokin’. You’ll see.”

  “Do you mind if I take a few of the things here?” Dan asked, motioning at the desk.

  “No, not at all. Everything on the desk is Conner’s. The backpack too. His computer isn’t there. I assume he took it with him.”

  “What about his GPS? I didn’t see it in his car.”

  Josh looked around, cocked his head and said. “I don’t think I have ever seen him bring it to the room.”

  Dan scooped a variety of objects off the desk and put them in the backpack that was hanging on a hook under the loft bed. “I may be back for the rest of his things, or the university may box them up for me.”

  “I can box them up.”

  “I’m sure you have enough to deal with.”

  “I can handle it. The university is giving me a free ride for the first semester. All my grades are pass/fail and all my classes are pass. One of the perks when your roommate passes away.”

  “That’s a hell of a way to get out of studying.”

  “Only works once.”

  “What’s your GPA?”

  “Three point six.”

  “So you weren’t motivated to kill your roommate for the semester off.”

  “That’s a no.”

  “Just thought I would check.” Dan stood and threw the backpack strap over his shoulder. “What did the detective have to say?”

  “What detective?”

  “The one that was here this morning.”

  “There were no cops here as far as I know. I stayed at Krista’s last night. I got here an hour ago.”

  —

  Dan stopped by the front desk on his way out. “You said there was a detective here this morning?”

  “That’s right.”

  “A slightly built Asian guy?”

  “No. Caucasian. About your size.”

  “Gun?”

  “I don’t recall a gun. He could have had one under the jacket.”

  “Did you see him leave?”

  “No, now that you mention it. But I do have to use the bathroom on occasion.”

  Ruth thought for a minute. “We have a security camera running.”

  “I would love to see it.”

  “In the back,” Ruth said, flicking her head over her shoulder, happy to add sleuthing to her morning duties.

  Dan followed Ruth to a converted closet steps beyond the front desk. Two monitors sat on a metal shelf. Ruth took up position next to the open door, keeping one eye on her desk while she fiddled with the keyboard and monitors. “These are DVRs that run on twenty-four hour loops. The recordings are stored on a server for a week, and then they are dumped from the memory by campus police. Pretty high tech. Used to be all tapes. The building may be old, but the university likes to cover its ass.”

  “Can you show me the last two hours?”

  “Just give me a second.”

  Ruth ran the DVR recording in reverse. A girl walked backwards out the door and Dan followed a few minutes later.

  “That’s you,” Ruth said.

  A rush of students walked out the door backwards and Ruth continued her commentary. “Those are students with nine o’clock classes coming back.” She waited a few more minutes and the recording blipped. Then it showed another group of students walking backwards through the door and across the lobby.”

  “And that’s the nine o’clock class students leaving the building.”

  “There is nothing in between.”

  “It appears to be missing.”

  —

  The large Greek letters in the yards of the brick houses for a block near Nebraska Avenue provided every indication that Dan had arrived at Greek Row. Alpha Chi Omega was the third house on the right and the only one on the block that looked habitable. The fraternity next door had a sofa in the yard and another on the porch. The fresh coat of paint the fraternity applied every summer to spruce up the place was already under siege. Ten guys under a single roof aged a house like beer-drinking termites.

  Dan approached the front porch of the Alpha Chi Omega sorority house and suddenly he felt his age. Memories of college life flooded back to him. Nights huddled around a keg in some yard, drinking out of red Solo cups, keeping one eye out for the police and the other out for a girl better looking than the one you were currently chatting up.

  Dan knocked on the door and gazed at the Greek letters emblazoned on the ceiling of the porch. Under the letters the sorority’s slogan—Real Strong Women—was painted in bold strokes. Or as bold as strokes can be when stenciled in light pink.

  A young lady in pajamas and flip flops opened the door. At least these students aren’t killing their parents with expensive clothing bills, Dan thought.

  “Hi,” Dan said to the black-haired, blue-eyed girl. He guessed she was of Hungarian descent, but kept his opinion to himself.

  “Hi,” the girl replied.

  “My name is Dan Lord and I’m looking for a girl named Lindsay.”

  “We have two Lindsays, which one are you looking for?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What class do you teach? One Lindsay is a Psyche major, the other is International Affairs.”

  Dan brushed off his ego. If he needed further evidence he was no longer college-aged, the black-haired, blue-eyed junior had just provided it.

  “I’m not a professor. Or a student,” he quickly added. “My nephew passed away this weekend and I think he was seeing, or at least knew, Lindsay. Or one of the Lindsays.”

  “You’re talking about Conner, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That would be Lindsay Richer.”

  “She around?”

  “Yeah, I think I heard her fire up the shower a little while ago. Come on in. She’s been a mess since she got the news.”

  Dan followed the dark-haired girl into the living room. The room décor was a head-on collision of Ikea and Martha Stewart. “Have a seat, I’ll get Lindsay.”

  Dan nodded and sat down on the edge of the sofa cushion.

  “Man in the living room,” the black-haired girl yelled loud enough to be heard next door. She looked at Dan. “House rules on weekdays. Now if someone comes dancing through the living room naked, you’ll be innocent.”

  “Good rule,” Dan replied as the girl bounded up the stairs. He turned his admiration to the array of magazines on the table, none of them fit for male consumption. Each cover offered its own sex secrets comingled with the recurring themes of how to catch your man cheating and tips to lose weight.

  He heard footsteps above and a moment later a blond with wet hair wearing a white bathrobe came down the stairs.

  Dan stood.

  “Hi. I’m Lindsay.”

  “Lindsay Richer,” Dan replied, showing that he’d been paying attention. “My name is Dan Lord. I’m Conner’s uncle.”

  “He mentioned you,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I can’t believe it.” She looked like she had been crying, no small feat for someone who had just exited the shower.

  “You want to grab a seat? Talk for a minute?”

  Lindsay sat on the far end of the sofa and Dan returned to his seat a cushion away. Lindsay’s hair was wet and she had yet to apply her daily cosmetic layering, but Josh McKeen had been right. She was a hottie. An angelic face. She reached for a tissue from the box on
the coffee table and blew her nose.

  “How well did you know Conner?”

  “We’ve been dating for almost two months.”

  “Dating, dating?”

  “Well, we weren’t tennis partners, if that’s your question.”

  “Fair enough. You mind if I interrogate you a little?” he asked.

  “No. Go ahead,” she said, blowing her nose again and then dabbing her eyes.

  “Where was he on Sunday and Monday?”

  “Sunday he said he was spending the day with his mother, helping out around the house. I don’t know where he was on Monday.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “I talked to him on Sunday. That was the last I heard from him.”

  “You usually talk to him every day?”

  “Sure. Or at least a text or two.”

  “Did you hear where they found him?”

  “Yeah. Under the Promenade in L’Enfant Plaza. Word travels fast.”

  “The police seem to think that it was a drug overdose, probably heroin.” Dan paused. “Any thoughts on that?”

  “Just one. It’s not possible.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t do drugs. I don’t date guys who do drugs. I know Conner had smoked marijuana, but not since we started dating. I have a perfect 4.0 GPA. I’m planning on going to the Kennedy School of Government for my masters.”

  “Harvard.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was he involved with anything else that you’re aware of? Something that would piss off the wrong person? Maybe an old boyfriend who was jealous?”

  “No, nothing. You know, I don’t throw the word love around too much. It’s an abused word these days. But Conner was a good guy. A real good guy. And who knows where things would have gone between us. But every time he walked into the room my stomach did a tiny little summersault. Every time.”