The Select

Quinn sat with her cold hands clamped between her thighs, watching and listening and thinking this couldn't be really happening as Deputy Southworth of the Frederick County Sheriffs' Department sat before them filling out forms. The three of them clustered around his desk, one of four in a large open area. Quinn yearned for an enclosure. This was private. This was about Tim. But the deputy was cool, professional, and appropriately sympathetic as he quizzed Mr. Brown on what his department considered useful and relevant about Tim: Vital statistics, physical characteristics, scars, medical history, Social Security, driver license, and credit card numbers, hobbies, vices, a list of close friends, and on and on. Quinn noticed that Mr. Brown did not mention gambling. Perhaps he didn't know.

Most of all, the deputy needed pictures. Mr. Brown had come prepared with an envelope full of wallet-size graduation photos.

Next the deputy asked Mr. Verran if he could add anything. Quinn sensed a strained atmosphere between the two. The Ingraham security chief shrugged.

'Not much. I checked his record before coming down. He gets good grades and seems to be well liked by everyone who knows him. He does stay out all night rather frequently, though. More than any other student in The Ingraham.'

Quinn felt the flush creep into her face and hoped nobody noticed. She knew exactly where Tim went on those overnights, what he did, and with whom. She hoped no one else knew. And she wondered how Mr. Verran managed to keep such close tabs on Tim's comings and goings.

His father apparently wondered the same thing.

'Really?' Mr. Brown seemed genuinely surprised. 'That's news to me. How do you know?'

'The gate in and out of the student parking lot. Every kid with a car gets a card to work it. The card is coded with his name. The gate records the date and time and card owner every time it opens.'

'Do you know if he goes alone or with somebody?'

'The gate doesn't tell us that.'

Which isn't an answer, Quinn thought. She had a feeling Mr. Verran knew she'd been in the car with him most of those times— at least the times since Atlantic City—but was glad he hadn't mentioned it.

Wanting to swing the talk away from overnight jaunts, Quinn said, 'Do you think Tim's disappearance could have anything to do with the break-in at the anatomy lab last night?'

'A break-in?' Deputy Southworth said, looking sharply at Mr. Verran. 'I hadn't heard about that.'

'Nothing was really broken into,' Mr. Verran said quickly. 'Nothing stolen. More of a trespasser than anything else. I filed the incident report with the Sheriff's secretary yesterday. It would have been completely minor except that Miss Cleary wandered into the building when he was there and he frightened her.' His voice lowered to a growl. 'I don't take kindly to trespassers frightening students at The Ingraham. He'd better pray I don't catch him on campus.'

The deputy turned to her. 'Well, we haven't heard from you yet, Miss Cleary. What were you doing out at that hour?'

'I was looking for Tim.'

Suddenly she was the center of attention.

Quinn had been dreading this moment since Mr. Brown had asked her to accompany him here. How much should she tell them? Certainly not about their relationship, their intimacy. That was none of their business, had nothing to do with Tim's disappearance. At least, God, she hoped it didn't. She didn't know if she could be sure of anything anymore.

But what about the last time she'd seen Tim, that bizarre scene in the wee hours of yesterday morning when they'd sat there saying one thing while writing other things on the note pad passing back and forth between them because Tim thought the room was bugged? She didn't want to repeat it, any of it. It made him sound deranged. And he wasn't.

But Tim certainly hadn't been himself that night. Had he broken with reality? Was he crouched in the dark somewhere, cold and hungry, hiding from some army of imagined enemies.

The thought of it brought her to the verge of tears.

She had to tell them. It might offer some clue into Tim's state of mind at the time, and that might lead them to where he'd gone.

Deputy Southworth said, 'When was the last time you saw your friend Timothy Brown, Miss Cleary?'

Quinn told them all about it—the scribbled notes, waiting in the car, going to the anatomy lab, the intruder, Dr. Emerson. Everything.

The office was tomb silent when she finished.

'Bugged?' Mr. Brown said finally. 'He told you he thought the room was bugged? '

'He wrote it,' she said, her mouth dry from telling her story. 'On the note pad.'

'Do you still have those notes?' the deputy asked.

She shook her head. 'That's the weird thing. I went back to my room to look for them but couldn't find them. I was sure I'd left them on my bed.'

'Bugged?' Mr. Brown said again. He turned to Mr. Verran 'Where on earth would he get an idea like that?'

The security chief shrugged. 'I couldn't tell you.'

The deputy said, 'Did your son have any history of mental illness, Mr. Brown? Has he ever been under a psychiatrist's care?'

'No, never.' He seemed offended.

'They're under a lot of pressure at The Ingraham,' Mr. Verran said. 'Every once in a while one of the kids cracks.'

'This isn't the first time this has happened,' the deputy said.

'It isn't?' Mr. Brown straightened in his chair. He turned to the security chief. 'You mean other students have disappeared without a trace?'

Mr. Verran looked acutely uncomfortable. 'Two years ago we had a second-year student run off before finals.'

'Proctor, wasn't it?' Deputy Southworth said.

'Prosser.' Mr. Verran pressed his hand against his lips and stifled a belch. 'Anthony Prosser.'

'Did he ever turn up?'

'I'd heard that he did,' Mr. Verran said. His eyes were watching the scuffed tile floor and Quinn wondered what was so interesting there. 'The family doesn't keep in touch with me, so I couldn't swear to it, but I believe I'd heard something to the effect that he'd returned home.' He cleared his throat. 'So you see—'

'Listen to me, both of you,' Mr. Brown said. Quinn saw angry fire flashing in his eyes. 'We just had Tim home a few weeks ago at Thanksgiving. He was as sane and relaxed as could be, and happier and more content than I've ever seen him. My wife and I both noticed it and even mentioned it to each other. And one thing that young man has never felt is academic pressure. He's always been able to stand toe-to-toe with any course and take whatever it could dish out. Nothing like that was going to send him wandering off in some sort of fugue state. If he said a room was bugged, you can bet he had damn good reason to think so.'

'I'm sure you're right,' Deputy Southworth said. He rose and extended his hand across the desk. 'Mr. Brown, I'm going to get this missing person report out immediately. We'll put out an APB on his car and run a check on his credit card. I'll file it with the Feds because in a state this size it's a good bet he's already crossed the state line. I have the number of your hotel and I'll be in touch as soon as I hear anything.'

'Come on.' Mr. Verran rose from his own chair, speaking sorrowfully. 'We've done what we can here. I'll drive you both back.'

Mr. Brown didn't move. He stood by the desk like a statue. Quinn saw his throat working, his eyes blinking back tears. She fought the urge to throw her arms around him and tell him he had the greatest son in the world and not to worry because everything would be okay, that nothing bad could happen to Tim because she wouldn't let it.

But she allowed herself to touch only his elbow, and to say, 'Let's go, Mr. Brown. You never know. Maybe Tim's waiting for us back at the dorm.'

He gave her a weak, grateful smile. 'Yeah. Maybe he is.'