“Did he blame Dr. Devane for having to transfer?”
“No, he was just generally down on everything.”
“Life, in general?” I said. “Or something specific?”
She looked up with alarm. “I know what you’re getting at, but it’s ridiculous. He’d never touch her. That’s not Kenny. And he wasn’t even in L.A. the night she was killed. He’s in San Diego except on weekends when he drives in to see me. He’s working hard to get his life together—he’s only nineteen.”
“He comes in every weekend?” said Milo.
“Not every, most. And she was killed on a Monday. He’s never in town on Monday.”
Milo looked down at her and smiled. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about his schedule.”
“Only after you called. We were really surprised, then we figured you’d learned about the committee and we said, Oh my God, unreal. Because you know, the system. You can get caught up in it, people get abused. I mean, it’s so absurd that anyone would connect us to what happened. We’re kids, basically. The last time I had anything to do with the police was when that guy came to class and told us about parked cars.”
She smiled.
“He had a parrot, that policeman. A trained parrot that could talk. Like, “Stop, you’re under arrest!’ and “You have the right to remain silent.’ I think he called him Officer Squawk, or something. Whatever. I really can take that bag.”
Milo handed it to her.
“I really need to forget all this, Detective Sturgis. I have to concentrate on my grades because my mom makes sacrifices for me. That’s why I didn’t go to private college. So, please.”
“Sure, Cindy. Thanks for your time.” He gave her a card.
“Robbery-homicide,” she said, shivering. “What’s this for?”
“In case you think of something.”
“I won’t, believe me.” Her small face puckered and I thought she’d cry again. Then she said, “Thanks,” and walked away.
“Cutie pie,” said Milo. “I just want to give her milk and cookies, tell her Prince Charming is coming soon and he doesn’t have a rap sheet.”
“She feels she’s found him already.”
He shook his head. “She’s a little intrapunitive, wouldn’t you say?”
“Very. Blaming herself for what happened between her and Kenny Storm, then for complaining.”
“Storm,” he said. “Smart kid like her hooking up with a dumb guy. What is it, low self-esteem?”
“More interested in Storm, now?”
“Why?”
“His academic career hasn’t gone well. Meaning he never got to receive the U’s concession money. Meaning he could still be angry and unresolved.”
“And maybe she’s willing to lie for him. Maybe despite what she said, he stayed over one weekend.”
“He could have borrowed Cindy’s bike,” I said. “Or he has one of his own.”
“Neither he nor his daddy have returned calls . . . selling real estate in La Jolla. Should be easy enough to find out which company, see if the alibi checks out.”
His eyes drifted upward. “Little Cindy. She looks like a fourteen-year-old but talks like an adult. Then again, the sweetheart who threw her baby to the dogs was pretty adorable, too.”
CHAPTER
9
We drove out of the Village, hugging the eastern edge of the campus and cutting past Sorority Row. Students jogged and strolled and jaywalked with abandon. The spiked tops of the cactus in the Botanical Garden stuck over the iron fence like supplementary security.
I said, “A picture of Hope seems to be taking shape. Brilliant, charismatic, good with people. But able to bend the rules when it suits her, and from what Cindy said, to change faces pretty quickly. Consistent with the little boxes.”
A laughing couple around Kenny and Cindy’s age darted across the street, holding hands, wrapped up in each other. Milo had to brake hard. They kept going, unaware.
“Ah, love,” I said.
“Or too many years on Walkmans and video games. Okay, I’ll drop you at home.”
“Why don’t you let me off here and I’ll try to see Professor Steinberger.”
“The quiet one?”
“Sometimes the quiet ones have the most to say.”
“Okay.” He pulled over next to a bus bench. Two Hispanic women in domestic’s uniforms were sitting there and they stared at us before looking away.