Fractured

There was a buzz, then an audible click as a lock released and the front door groaned open.

She waited for a well-earned sarcastic comment. All he did was indicate that she should go into the building ahead of him.

The lobby was empty, but the smell of young men was overpowering. Faith didn't know what happened to boys between the ages of fifteen and twenty, but whatever it was made them smell like gym socks and Tiger Balm. How on earth she had never noticed this when she was a teenager herself was one of life's great mysteries.

'Cameras,' Will said, pointing them out. 'What was the room number again?'

'Three-ten.'

He headed for the stairs and Faith followed. The way Will moved made her think he was probably a runner. That would certainly explain why he seemed to have less body fat than a greyhound. Faith quickened her step to follow him, but by the time she reached the top floor, Will was already trying the key in the lock, using the plastic bag to keep his prints off the metal.

He opened the door, but didn't go in. Instead, he walked down the hallway. Three-ten was conveniently located next to the kitchen and across from the bathrooms. Will knocked on the door to 311. He waited, but there was no answer. He went down the hall and tried the next door.

Faith turned her attention to Adam's room, hearing distant knocks as Will tried each closed door. Like Jeremy's, the room was around fifteen feet by eleven, basically the size of a prison cell. A bed was on either side with desks at their respective ends. There was a wardrobe and closet for each student. Only one bed had sheets, but the other had a pillow on the end opposite the television. It looked as if Adam had been using both sides of the room in the hopes that Harold Nestor would never show up.

Will said, 'Nobody seems to be home right now.'

She checked her watch. 'Give it about twenty minutes. What do you want me to do?'

'My gloves are in my jacket. Do you have an extra pair?'

Faith shook her head. She had long ago gotten out of the habit of carrying a purse on the job and the one pair of gloves she normally kept in her front pocket had been used at the Campano crime scene. 'I have a box in my trunk. I can-'

'I'll get it,' he said, patting his pockets, a gesture that was quickly becoming familiar. 'I left my phone in the pocket, too. I'm batting a thousand today.'

She handed him the keys. 'I'll make sure no one touches anything.'

He sprinted back down the hall toward the stairs.

Faith decided she might as well see what they were up against. She walked over to the first desk, which was overflowing with scraps of paper, used textbooks, mechanical pencils and a small pile of magazines. They were all back issues of Get Out, which seemed to specialize in hiking. The other desk held what would be considered college necessities: an LCD television, a PlayStation console, several games and a stack of DVDs with handwritten labels. She recognized the titles of some recent Hollywood blockbusters as well as several that were simply labeled 'porn' with stars to indicate, she supposed, their level of pornography.

One of the desk drawers was partially open, and Faith used a pencil from the other desk to pry it the rest of the way. Inside was a Playboy magazine, two foil-wrapped condoms and a stack of well-thumbed baseball trading cards. The juxtaposition made Faith sad. Adam Humphrey would forever be caught in the stages between being a boy and being a man.

She knelt down. Nothing was taped under the Formica desktop or shoved between the drawers. Faith checked the other desk, too. She saw the corners of a plastic bag hanging down. She craned her neck, holding back her hair as she went in for a closer look.

Adam Humphrey probably wasn't the only boy at Tech who had a bag of pot taped under his desk. Hell, he probably wasn't the only boy on this floor who had one.

She stood back up, scanning the room-the Radiohead poster on the wall, the dirty socks and sneakers bunched in the corner, the stack of graphic novels by the bed. His mother must have been feeling indulgent when she let him pick out the black throw rug on the floor and the matching bedspread and sheets.

Faith imagined what it would be like for the Humphreys to pack up their son's meager belongings and take them back to Oregon. Was this all that they would have left of their son? Worse for Faith, who would have to tell them that their child was gone? Will had assigned the Kayla Alexander notification to Leo. Was he going to put Faith in the unenviable position of telling the Humphreys that their son had been murdered?

God, she did not want to do that.

'Who are you?'

Same accusatory tone, different boy. This one stood in the doorway, a hard look on his face. Faith turned toward him, giving him the full benefit of her gun and badge, but his expression did not change.

She asked, 'What's your name?'

'None of your fucking business.'

'That's a really long name. Were you adopted?'

Obviously, the joke fell flat. 'Do you have a warrant?' He rested his left hand on the doorknob. The other one was covered in a cast that stopped just below his elbow. 'Does campus security know you broke into his room?'

Strange way to put it, she thought, but told the kid, 'I had a key.'

'Good for you.' He crossed his arms as best he could with the cast. 'Now show me a warrant or get the fuck out of my friend's room.'

She made herself laugh because she knew it would irritate him. He was a good-looking kid-dark hair, brown eyes, well built and obviously used to getting his way. 'Or what?'

Apparently, he hadn't thought that far in advance. His voice wasn't so sure when he said, 'I'll call campus security.'

'Use the phone in a different room,' Faith told him, turning back to the desk. She used the pencil to push through some of the papers, which were filled with mathematical equations and notes from class. She could feel the kid staring at her. Faith persevered. This wasn't exactly the first time she'd had an eighteen-year-old stare at her with burning daggers of hate.

'This is so wrong,' he said, more for attention than effect.

Faith sighed, as if she was annoyed that he was still there. 'Listen, this isn't about the pot, or the porn or the illegal downloads or whatever else you guys have been up to, so get your head out of your ass, understand that your friend must be in serious trouble if an Atlanta police detective is going through his things and tell me what your name is.'

He was quiet, and she felt like she could hear his brain working as he tried to think of a way around answering her question. Finally he relented. 'Gabriel Cohen.'

'You go by Gabe?'

He shrugged.

'When was the last time you saw Adam?'

'This morning.'

'In the hall? At class?'

'Here, maybe eight o'clock this morning.' Again, he shrugged. 'Tommy, my roommate, he snores. He's kind of an asshole. So I've been sleeping over here to get away from him.' His eyes widened, and he seemed to realize that he'd put himself right in the middle of things.

'It's all right,' she assured him. 'I told you, Gabe, I'm not here because of two ounces of weed and a bootleg of The Bourne Ultimatum.'

He chewed his lip, staring at her, probably trying to figure out whether or not he could trust her.

For her part, Faith was wondering what was taking Will Trent so long. Though she wasn't sure if his presence would help or hinder the situation.

She asked, 'How long have you known Adam?'

'About a week, I guess. I met him on move-in day.'

'You seemed pretty eager to take up for him.'

She was getting better at reading his shrugs. His main concern had been the illegal bounty-probably the downloads more than the drugs, considering that ripping off movie studios carried a much stiffer penalty.