2
Loyola Marymount University was a Jesuit university with a tough academic reputation. Krista had a full-ride scholarship for all four years that covered her share of a two-bedroom apartment only seven blocks from the campus, which was as far from downtown L.A. as possible and still on land-a mile and a half from the beach at the edge of Marina del Rey.
The World’s Greatest Mother and I took separate cars, picked up the I-10, and caravanned west across the city. Nita had phoned Krista’s roommate from her car, so Mary Sue Osborne returned home early from class and was waiting when we arrived.
Mary Sue was pale and round, with a spray of freckles, blue eyes, and small, wire-framed glasses. She wore a blue top, tan cargo shorts, and flip-flops, and her light brown hair was braided.
She peered at me over the spectacles when she let us in.
“Hey.”
“Hey back.”
“Are you really the World’s Greatest Detective?”
“That was a joke.”
Nita had filled her in on the drive. Krista and Mary Sue had been roommates for two years, and had worked together on the student paper for four. This was obvious as soon as we entered. Long neat rows of front pages from the weekly student newspaper were push-pinned to the walls, along with a movie poster from All the President’s Men.
I made a big deal out of their wall.
“Man, this is amazing. Is this your paper?”
“I’m the managing editor. Kris is editor in chief. The capo-di-tutti-capi.”
This was called building rapport, but Nita steamrolled over the moment.
“He doesn’t have time for this, Mary. Have you heard from her?”
“No, ma’am. Not yet.”
“Tell him about that boy.”
Mary Sue made a kind of fish-eyed shrug at me.
“What do you want to know?”
Nita said, “Did that boy convince Krista to marry him? Is he mixed up in some kind of crime?”
I cleared my throat.
“Remember when I said I’d rather come alone?”
“Yes.”
“This is why. Maybe Mary Sue and I should talk in Krista’s room. Alone.”
Nita Morales fixed me with a glare as if she had second thoughts about me being the World’s Greatest Detective, but she abruptly went to the kitchen.
“I’ll be out here if you need me. Texting Kris, and praying she answers.”
I lowered my voice as I followed Mary Sue through a short hall to Krista’s room.
“She doesn’t like him.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Krista’s bedroom was small, but well furnished with a single bed, a chest of drawers, and a well-worn George R.R. Martin paperback faceup on her pillow. An L-shaped desk arranged with a computer, printer, jars of pens and pencils, and neat stacks of printouts filled the opposite corner. Large foam-boards on the walls above her desk were push-pinned with pictures of her friends.
Mary Sue saw me clocking the pictures.
“The Wall of Infamy. That’s what we call it. This is me.”
She pointed at a picture of herself wearing an enormous floppy hat.
“Is Berman here?”
“Sure. Right here-”
She pointed out a close shot of a young man with short dark hair, thin face, and gray T-shirt. He stood with his hands in his back pockets, staring at the camera as if he didn’t like having his picture taken. All in all, Berman was in six pictures. In one of the shots, he was leaning against the rear of a silver, late-model Mustang. The license plate was blurry, but readable-6KNX421. When Mary Sue confirmed this was Berman’s car, I copied the plate, then took the close shot of Berman from the board.
“I’m going to borrow this.”
“I’ll blame Nita. Take what you want.”
“You think Nita is right?”
“About what?”
“Marriage.”
“No way. They’re definitely into each other, but she’s jazzed about moving to D.C. I’ve heard her talking with him about it on the phone. Lots of people do the long-distance thing.”
“So why isn’t she back?”
Mary Sue climbed onto Krista’s bed, and crossed her legs.
“Dude. The year’s essentially over. Yeah, Kris was due back Sunday, but she finished her classwork weeks ago. She was going to write a piece for the paper, but if they’re having a blast in Margaritaville, why not enjoy? That’s where I’d be if I had a hoochie boy to go with.”
“So you aren’t worried?”
She frowned as she thought about it.
“Not like Nita, but kinda. It’s weird she isn’t returning my texts, but they’re way out in Palm Springs. Maybe she can’t get a signal.”
I thought about it and decided the signal business was unlikely. You didn’t stay overdue and out of reach for a week because of bad cell service. I also considered telling her about the five-hundred-dollar ransom demand, but Nita had asked me to save Krista the embarrassment.
“Is Berman the kind of guy who would be involved in something sketchy?”
“I never met him. I don’t know, but I doubt it.”
I looked at her, surprised.
“Are you kidding?”
“If you knew Kris, you would doubt it, too. She’s the straightest person on earth.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant, how is it you’ve never met him? They’ve been together for over a year.”
She shrugged.
“He’s never been here when I’ve been here, and he never comes in.”
“Not even when he picks her up?”
“Parking here sucks. She goes out to his car.”
“He never hangs out?”
“She goes to his place. No roommates.”
Nita appeared in the doorway, looking tense and irritated.
“I can’t just sit out there doing nothing. I’m going to check her bathroom and closet. If she planned a longer stay, maybe I can tell by what she took.”
“Good idea.”
I didn’t really think it was a good idea, but it would keep her busy. She disappeared into the bathroom, and I turned back to Krista’s Wall of Infamy and considered the picture of Berman and his Mustang. Maybe they had returned on Sunday like she promised, only she had kept the party going by staying with him.
“You know where he lives?”
“Uh-uh. I think it’s in Brentwood or one of those canyon places, but I’m not sure.”
“Does Krista keep an address book?”
“Her phone, for sure. Nobody uses paper. She might have a contact list on her computer, but her computer’s locked. You need a password.”
