“At noon, right? We’ll be done before then.”
Usually, for Max, the direct approach worked best. She didn’t like playing games or manipulating people into talking to her. But sometimes, she needed a gentle touch. She couldn’t tell if he was more upset or worried, but something was up with him.
She said, “How about if I give you twenty minutes to shower and change, and I’ll meet you at the student union? Coffee, brunch. My treat.” There was always the chance he would bail, but she knew where to find him.
“Is something wrong?”
“Other than your roommate has been missing for six months?”
“I mean, no other reporters have been around here asking about Scott. Like, ever.”
“I specialize in cold cases. Twenty minutes enough time?”
“Yeah—the quad has a food court,” he said. “I’ll meet you there. The student union is just vending machines. Gross stuff, really.”
She walked out, noting that Ian watched her before he disappeared through the locker room doors.
She’d definitely thrown him off, but she didn’t know why. Ian hadn’t been part of the foursome who’d gone camping, so what did he have to worry about? Unless he knew something he hadn’t told the police.
While she waited, Max checked her e-mail and text messages. Ben had sent her a message asking if she’d read his proposal. She didn’t respond. The truth was she had read it on the plane—and she still wanted to say no. The proposal was outstanding, and he’d addressed all her concerns, even though she hadn’t told him what they were. He even resolved issues she wouldn’t have thought to question, as if he’d known she’d come up with problems on the fly.
Ultimately, she had to decide if this was what she wanted to do with her life—or at least the next few years. Right now, she was very comfortable. She liked what she did; she liked her freedom.
It didn’t take long before Ian strode purposefully to her table and sat down. He had combed his hair back, so it wasn’t falling in his eyes as much. She smiled, pushed her papers back in a folder, and sipped her coffee. “What can I get you?”
He put a water bottle in front of him. “I can’t eat right after I work out. But thanks.” Ian looked around the quad sheepishly, as if he didn’t want anyone to see him talking with her. “I don’t understand why a reporter is interested in Scott,” he said.
“I specialize in cold cases. My Web site lists the articles and books I’ve written.”
His eyes widened. “You’re writing a book about Scott?”
“Not a book, an article. I spoke to his mother, Adele Sheldon, and she asked me to look into his disappearance.”
“Oh.” He stared down at his hands, not meeting her eyes. “I met Ms. Sheldon when we moved in. Her and Scott’s sister, Ashley. And then when she came to get his things. It was—uncomfortable. I felt bad.”
I felt bad. “Bad” didn’t cut it. Max had been much closer to Karen than Ian had been to Scott; the pain and rage she’d allowed to simmer were a dark fuel that drove her for the year after Karen disappeared. But Karen was not Scott; Max was not Ian.
“I understand that you didn’t know Scott before you became roommates.”
He shook his head. “We got paired up by the school. Same major, and like me, he’s neat. Some of the guys in my dorm—well, they’re slobs. I didn’t want a slob. So we got along.”
“I read the police reports. You told Detective Horn that Scott was quiet, you never saw him do drugs or drink, that he kept to himself. Is that accurate?”
Ian nodded. “He wasn’t a bad guy once you got to know him.”
That was an odd comment. “But before someone got to know him? Did other people not like Scott?”
“No, of course not.” He frowned, drank some water.
“Ian, no one’s perfect.”
He shrugged. “No one had a problem with him.”
Max switched focus. “You told police that he went camping with friends on Friday, October thirtieth. He didn’t return with the others, but you didn’t contact campus police.”
“It’s not my fault he got lost!”
“I didn’t say it was your fault.” She assessed him. He was upset, but why? “You didn’t go on the trip, did you?”
“No. I feel bad about the whole thing. I mean, if I thought I was supposed to call the police when he didn’t come back, I would have. I didn’t know the guys he went with, not well. Scott was—he was a little strange, okay? But one-on-one, he was cool, we got along. Not best friends or anything, but okay. He just hung out with different people.”
“Can you give me some names?”
“Don’t you have the police report? I’m sure they all talked to the police. He didn’t have a lot of friends.”
“Tom Keller, Arthur Cowan, Carlos Ibarra,” Max read from her notes, though she knew the names by heart. “Did he know any of them before?”
“Before what?”
“From high school, his hometown.”
“I don’t think so.”