“People study in the library too,” said Marla, with enormous reserves of patience. “The SciLi is very quiet and has the best views in town.”
Sussannah remembered, also: “In December, I bet it was because Sri was helping his engineering friends set up their Tetris game.” Using colored Christmas lights, the students had made the grid of windows of the SciLi’s south face into a gigantic Tetris game that you played from the ground. What did they use as a controller? she wondered. Cell phone? She then decided the Brown lawyers were right: speaking less would be better.
“On the night before he disappeared, he signed in to the Sciences Library at 10:15, left the library at 10:56,” the detective said. “No ID, he signed in manually.” He showed them a slide with Sri’s recognizably teeny writing, Sri Patil 10:15, done in the special pen that could write from any angle, in any weather.
Sri was casual about his ID. Some people bought special holders to carry them around their necks via lanyard. He found that so sheeplike and summer-campish. At best, he put his in his pocket and forgot to take it out of the wash, or he just left it behind and signed in everywhere.
“Again, he didn’t check out any books. And it didn’t correlate with anything else.”
Sussannah stared at him. What was he implying?
“The only thing it even vaguely correlates with is Miss Park.”
She was startled to hear her name.
“You checked into the Sciences Library with him at 10:15 and left at 10:51.”
Sussannah stiffened. She pictured herself swiping with a flourish, maybe giving the attendant a bullish Hello! She’d been so—what?—happy that night. She didn’t look at Brent or Marla. Didn’t want to give anything away. What was there to give away? Was it a crime to go to the SciLi together? No!
“You were the last one to see him, correct?”
“Yes.”
Brent didn’t say anything in front of the detective. She felt grateful for that.
*
In fact, Brent didn’t say anything at all after the detective left. Marla did, though.
“Suse, you said dinner was the last time you saw him.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Could she say she’d just somehow spaced on the library meet-up? Or maybe they just happened to go around the same time. One could theoretically be on the stairs (if you walked fast) within sixty seconds. But why spend so much energy making up a lie? What would this new information add? This wasn’t about her—this was about Sri.
“Let me take the fifth—a friend-fifth on that,” she said.
“Self-incrimination,” muttered April. She’d been lurking in the wings the whole time.
*
Sri was not the bomber, he was not the bomber. Sussannah tossed and turned. But how well did she know him? she wondered. Could it be possible? Like that guy John Walker Lindh. He was some rich kid from Marin County who could have probably gone to Brown as easily as he’d gone all jihad. Sri did indeed hate the war. Could it be possible that he hated it enough to—
No. Not possible.
*
They had only two weeks left of classes. Brent was exhausted by his double concentration in bio and public health. He wanted to be a doctor. “After all, there’s already Dr. in Duarte,” he had joked, back when they used to joke. But he also wondered if he could pursue public health without spending four years and the six figures on an MD. For a few hours a week he shadowed Al, a fourth-year med student who was doing work for immigrants with obesity in North Providence.
Al was sitting at Environmental House’s kitchen table, his short blazer-style Brown University Alpert Medical School white coat flung across a chair, a cold Naragansett beading with condensation in front of him. “Med school is stressful,” he said, nodding toward the beer, his second.
“I promised Al I’d make him Portagee food,” said Brent, covering some pieces of fish in lemon, garlic, and about half a bottle of olive oil. “So you all will get Portagee food as well unless you prefer the Ratty’s Jambalaya-Is-a-Fancy-Word-for-Botulism Nite. Bom apetite!”
Sam brought Vinho Verde, Marla and Sussannah procured a mushroom cloud–shaped sweet bread from the Silver Star. It was like old times, eating, drinking, huddling close, happy just to be with each other. Nothing felt so right, and so forever.
Except. Sussannah could feel them holding back, like someone who never quite draws a full breath. Holding back, saving a little something. Like they’d never laugh as loud and with such abandon as they once did. Like they were each subtracting a little bit of their own life out of respect for Sri.