“What about you?”
“No. I didn’t like Scott’s friends. I don’t even think Scott liked them much, but they hung together.”
“What I don’t understand is why no one contacted campus police immediately. Why they waited for so long.”
He reddened. “You’re talking about me.”
“Should I be?”
“I should have called, okay? But I didn’t think about it.”
“Even after the storm Saturday night and Sunday.”
“I just— Look, I’ve felt like shit since I found out he wandered off and died on that mountain. I wish I could have changed it, but you weren’t there, you don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Then tell me.”
He wanted to talk about it. She could see it in his eyes. He was torturing himself over something.
“Look, I didn’t think. Scott was out, I had a girl in, I figured he was hanging with his friends. We’re in college. It’s not like we keep tabs on each other. He said they were going camping for the weekend. When the storm hit, I thought he and the others might have gotten stuck getting out. But I didn’t think anyone was in danger. I figured if they were in trouble, someone else would have known about it.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the table. “I didn’t know Scott had gotten lost until Monday morning when campus security came by looking for him.”
Max could see it. A nineteen-year-old boy, on his own for the first time. Probably didn’t even think Scott was his responsibility. Maybe the instinct would have developed over the year; maybe not. But one thing was certain: Ian Stanhope felt guilty about his inaction.
But did Ian’s inaction cost Scott Sheldon his life? Any more so than that of the boys he went camping with? Max didn’t see that. It was the other three who should have done something, said something, sooner.
“Do you know why the other three didn’t tell anyone on Saturday that Scott was lost? Do you know why they waited so long?”
“You’ll have to ask them.”
“Do you know where I can find them?”
“You found me.”
“Because you were Scott’s roommate.”
He shifted uncomfortably. He looked like a man, but he wasn’t, and his boyish uncertainty shone through. “I didn’t like Scott’s friends. They were all weird, like him.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not jocks?” she suggested.
“Not anything. Like, put a dozen loners together and you have a dozen loners in the same room. They weren’t like a team, or a group, or even in the same major, or what.”
“So you haven’t seen any of them in the last six months.”
“One of the guys, Tom Keller, is in my math class. But we don’t meet today. Tomorrow at ten. Pike Hall, if you want to stake it out.”
“I’m here today.”
It took him a good minute before he said, “Jess Sanchez. She was a friend of Scott’s, she’s okay. She’s the only one who seemed to be worried about Scott at the time, anyway.”
“You weren’t?”
“Look, I said Scott was weird. Honestly? I thought he’d show up Monday and be all, like, why were you so worried? I’m really sorry about everything, but I don’t know what I could have done different.”
Max considered that. If she and Karen hadn’t become close friends while they were roommates, would Max have worried if Karen was out all weekend? Probably not. She might even have been relieved to have the room to herself.
“I’ll talk to Jess,” Max said. “Where can I find her?”
“She works at the bookstore on campus. You can’t miss her. She wears all black, has a nose ring, and is tiny. She looks like a freak, but like I said, she was the most normal out of all of them.”
Ian left and Max read over the police report again.
Jess Sanchez hadn’t been one of the group that Scott went camping with and Scott’s mother hadn’t said anything about a girlfriend. Was Jess a friend or something more? Why hadn’t she contacted campus police if she was worried, as Ian implied?
Time to find out.
CHAPTER THREE
Ian’s description of Jess Sanchez was accurate. She was indeed tiny in every way—barely five feet tall, not even one hundred pounds. Black hair, brown eyes, naturally tan skin, a nose stud, and multiple piercings in her small ears. She looked more American Indian than Hispanic as her name suggested. She agreed to talk to Max after Max told her she was a reporter writing about Scott Sheldon’s disappearance, but her tone was indifferent. She told the guy she was working with that she’d be back in ten minutes; then they stepped outside.
“It’s freezing,” Jess complained as she zipped up her coat and pulled a cap over her short hair.
“Is there a lounge where we can sit?” It was cold, but the sky was so clear, it looked like it would shatter.
“I’m fine. So why are you here after nearly six months? No one cared when he got lost.”