He’d been more than supportive of herobsession with the case, but this was it - no more, Kerri, please? Others haddone so much canvassing and interviewing and gathering witness statements. Whenhe could and up till now, Alex had helped. Today was the first time he’dstarted to grumble.
“This med student – what’s her name again?”
“Becca Milstein.”
“Okay Becca. What are we doing, really? Shedidn’t say anything concrete – just that she’d known Sasha and felt bad,felt she should call. That’s sweet – but the oldest story is runaways who finallycalled home after months.”
Kerri felt worse than she did five minutesago. Alex was right; this would probably be just another wild goose chase,another hopeful lead that would peter out like a stuck balloon and leave herfeeling about as effective as a busy fly in a jar. She sighed, pushed another Coketo him – they’d started with a six pack – and told him almost irritably to nap.She was driving because she’d slept an hour more than he had.
Alex did nap - a whole sixteen minutes ofpassed-out stupor with his head back on the seat till Kerri turned onto EastFourth, drove as far as Lafayette, and found a place in front of the girl’sbuilding. Fourth floor, naturally, no elevator.
No one at the P.D. was happy aboutdeclaring Sasha Perry a runaway, even though superficially it bore the signs: inher backpack she’d taken her cell phone, extra clothes and extra shoes includingher cherished new Nikes. She’d been last seen shortly after nine p.m. on June secondleaving her off campus apartment - but where had she gone? And why hadn’t shecalled one friend – or her stepmother with whom she was on pretty decent terms?Every pal and acquaintance said that wasn’t like her. Plus she was excited to bejust days away from graduation, and addicted to texting and gabbing constantlyon her cell phone. So why had her phone suddenly gone silent just hours aftershe was last seen?
Had she planned an overnight with some secretboyfriend? One tearful friend said that was a strong maybe. What the hell did“strong maybe” mean? Others were unaware of any boyfriend. Then a friend namedGrace had a stronger suspicion that Sasha was in love but wouldn’t tell who hewas. That was Sasha, said Grace; if she’d been sworn to secrecy she would haveenjoyed the mystery. Was he married? Grace claimed that she’d asked. Sasha hadshrugged coyly and said, “Well, taken.”
Which meant either married or in arelationship and cheating. Great. That really narrowed it down, especiallysince only friend Grace had said that, and then had gone back to Ohio, sad butwith no further ideas. Over a hundred statements led nowhere. They had a stronglysuspected homicide with no body. Resources and manpower were stretched thin andover two months had passed.
This was the end. What could they do? Andif this led nowhere, what could Kerri do?
10
Door 4C opened and BeccaMilstein greeted them wanly. She could have been pretty except that she was railthin, with limp, straw-colored hair and sunken features behind wire rims.
“Hi,” she said, looking downcast. “I’vebeen re-thinking my call to you. This may be crazy. I don’t know if it willhelp.”
“Try us,” Kerri said with an encouragingsmile, entering the book-crammed studio. “The smallest new detail can help.”
Jackets had been left in the car, which wasgood, because Becca’s little pit wasn’t air-conditioned. She had gotten used tothe heat, she said as she motioned them to seats facing herAfrican-fabric-covered daybed. Behind where she sat on the bed a small, airlesswindow was open, but Kerri rolled her shirt sleeves higher as Alex started thequestioning.
Becca explained that she was a year olderthan Sasha Perry – twenty-two – and that Sasha had been depressed when Becca lastsaw her. “When I left for Nigeria,” she said softly.
“When was that?” Alex asked.
“May thirtieth. I didn’t hear till weekslater that she’d disappeared two days after that. I got sick…”
Becca’s eyes wandered mournfully up to her Africanfabric wall hangings. Then she showed them a framed photo of her with friends,grinning and hugging in some airport terminal. In the photo she was full-facedand pretty; looked maybe twenty pounds heavier. She’d only lasted nine dayshelping the Doctors Without Borders bunch before coming down with high fever fromAfrican tick-bite disease; no vaccine or medicine can prevent it. “Five weeksin bed,” she said. “Just blotto, out of it.” When she recovered a friend in hergroup told her about Sasha. She had cried, but looking back her brain must have“still been shot or something” because only now was she starting to rememberthings. “From last spring, it seems like a million years ago.”
From an Ikea storage cube covered with healthdrink powders and multi-vitamins she took her laptop and cell phone. Swiped ather phone, peered at a photo, then handed it to Kerri. They’d alreadyestablished a rapport since it was Kerri who had taken her call; spent time talkingto her.
Kerri studied Becca and Sasha Perry’sselfie taken three and a half months ago. “Early May,” Becca said, watching her.“When Sasha was still happy.”
“When did she get depressed?” Kerri asked,handing the phone to Alex who studied the photo, then glanced back to her witha look that said, huh? Something seemed…off about the picture. The twofriends were hugging and grinning, only Becca looked still school-year worn outand pale while Sasha’s face was sunburned, her blond hair streaked lighter frombeing in the sun. The detectives traded looks again. Well, maybe some of them caughtspring rays between classes. And sunburns fade fast; why would anyone mention asunburn?
Becca leaned and pointed to a man, back inthe shadows and barely visible behind the two young women. Alex peered moreclosely; enlarged the photo; handed it back to Kerri who looked and
