chance to process my car?”
“Yes. Early on, the fire crew wouldn’t let us have access to the house site because of hot spots they were still trying to put out. David and I processed the carjacking site then. We worked the area around your car, as well as the area of the attempted Keith carjacking. Then I had your car towed to the crime lab and locked in the garage until we can get back to it.”
“Thank you, Neva. If I haven’t told you lately, I really appreciate the way you always come through when the going gets tough.”
“You know that if I can do it, I will. Please let me know about Star.”
“As soon as we know anything.”
“Process your car?” asked Frank after Diane had closed her cell phone.
“Long story. I’ll tell you later after we find Star.”
He was satisfied with that. It was unusual for him not to try to pry the story out of her if he suspected she had some dangerous near miss. But, focused on the snowy road ahead, he was quiet now as he drove toward campus. They were almost to the library when he spoke.
“How many… how many bodies have you processed?”
Processed. So cold and clinical.
“How many females have you processed of the seven?” asked Frank.
“Three,” she answered.
Frank was a math person. She wondered if he thought he could somehow figure out the possibility that one was Star based on the math. Of course not. Silly. He was just trying not to break down by asking questions that had a definite answer.
“Three,” he repeated. “If your sample is random, then of the thirty-two victims, thirteen or fourteen of them would be female.”
“We don’t know if they were randomly located in the house when… when it exploded-or randomly recovered.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m just trying to occupy my mind. Here’s the library.”
He parked his dark blue Expedition and they walked up the columned entrance to the library. Since 9/11, the entrance had huge concrete planters out front so that a vehicle loaded with explosives couldn’t get close to the front entrance. They walked past the planters containing spruce trees and up the granite steps.
The information desk was manned by a young woman who looked as if she might be a student herself. Frank asked if there was a way to page a patron in the library. No, there was not. From the sympathetic look they got, they were not the first to ask.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to go to each floor and look,” she said. “If you know what courses your…”
“Daughter,” supplied Frank.
“Daughter is taking, you might start where those books or journals are shelved.” She handed them sheets of paper stapled together. “This is a map of the library.” She gave them a sympathetic smile that seemed to say, “I wish I could do more.”
“Do you know what courses she’s taking this semester? Isn’t American History one?” asked Diane.
Frank studied the maps of the floors. “American History, Anthropology, English, Algebra, and Fencing.”
“Fencing?” said Diane.
“She’s pretty good. She’s thinking about joining the fencing team,” said Frank.
Extracurricular activities. She’s getting interested in college, just as Diane had hoped.
They decided to check the library floor by floor instead of going to the different subject areas. It seemed more methodical. The danger was over. There wasn’t a hurry to find Star, except for their own peace of mind. They wanted to be thorough.
Bartram University’s library was a rambling structure built in stages, forming an old central core and younger wings. Varying shades of red brick walls told of different periods of construction. The beige tile floors were kept shined to a high gloss. The tables and chairs were of a light-colored wood and the bookshelves were metal.
Small study areas defined by groups of tables and a few stuffed chairs and small sofas were scattered throughout the floor. Most of the patrons this evening were students who looked to be eighteen or nineteen, with a sprinkling of older people who Diane guessed were graduate students or faculty.
She and Frank split up. He searched the study areas, Diane searched the stacks-looking between rows of bookshelves for any sign of Star’s short black hair with its spiky cut. As Diane passed through the stacks of books, she heard snatches of conversations. “I heard there were fifty bodies.” And, “You could hear them screaming two streets over as they burned.” God, students were gruesome, thought Diane, and prone to believe rumors. “I heard they are canceling finals and giving us all
Diane heard Frank ask several students if they knew Star Duncan. They didn’t. “A freshman? No we don’t know freshmen.”
At the end of another row she saw Star-black spiky hair, pixy look. Diane all but ran toward her.
“Star?” she called a little too loudly.
Startled, the girl turned at the sound. It wasn’t Star. Disappointment almost made Diane sick.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. Do you by any chance know Star Duncan?”
“Star. I like the name. No, I don’t know her. Sorry.”
Diane mumbled an apology for disturbing her and moved on, looking. She met up with Frank and together they headed for the elevators to look on the next floor. They passed a couple walking toward the main entrance. Both wore jeans. He had on a baseball cap that said NEW YORK YANKEES. They didn’t look like students and they were frowning. Diane wondered if they were looking for a lost child as she and Frank were.
The elevator doors opened and they rode up to search the other four floors-Diane the stacks, Frank the study areas. They peeked in all the study carrels. Diane looked in the bathrooms. No Star. They didn’t find anyone who knew her. Finally they rode down, sick at heart and not knowing where else to look.
“You could try calling home again. She may have decided to go there and study-where it would be quiet.”
Frank nodded and took out his cell. “I’ll take Jin’s advice, too, and contact the company that made her phone to find out if it has GPS,” said Frank.
Diane nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. As they passed the information desk they heard a woman asking for Jenny Baker. Frank stopped.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I believe your daughter knows mine. Star Duncan. They study together.”
The woman turned and stared at Frank. She had the same desperate expression the mother in the coffee tent had, that Frank had, that Diane herself must have.
“Star? You’re her father? Jenny’s missing. Yes, she and Star study together. I told her Star is a bad influence. Jenny would never go to a party during finals. Never. Never. Not unless someone dragged her. She is a good girl.”
Diane was startled at the recriminations. She felt Frank stiffen, but his face had on his detective expression, which was no expression.
Jenny’s mother started to crumble. The young woman at the information desk, distressed and helpless, looked from one to the other of them. A brass pin fastened to her blouse said SHELLEY. Like the rest of them, Shelley didn’t know what to do. Just as both Frank and Diane reached for Mrs. Baker before she sank to the floor, a man rushed over from the direction of the men’s room, pulled her up, and put an arm around her.
“I’m Clyde Baker. My wife’s distraught. We’re looking for our daughter. Someone said she might be studying in the library. Her cell’s not working, but she is bad about recharging it.” He sounded out of breath and as if he
