Jonathan Kellerman - Deception

No answer at Trey Franck's apartment. The hallways of the dingy building echoed.

"Probably in the lab," said Milo. "Mixing up his potions or whatever chemical engineers do."

We made the drive to Caltech in three minutes. The chem-eng receptionist studied Milo 's card. "Lieutenant?… one second."

She disappeared into an inner office. Her voice on the phone was a low buzz of anxiety. Moments later, a thin, white-bearded man in his fifties walked through the department's main door.

"Gentlemen? Norm Moon, I'm Trey Franck's dissertation advisor."

Milo held out a hand. "Professor."

Moon waved off the honorific as he shook. "You've located Trey? Please don't tell me something unfortunate has occurred."

"He's missing?" said Milo.

Moon tugged a beard hair. "You weren't aware, foolish of me to assume. Then I suppose you're inquiring again about that tutor he worked for."

"Elise Freeman, Professor. Trey told you about that?"

"A few days ago, he seemed a bit distracted in the lab and I asked him why. He told me he'd just had a strange experience: interrogation by the police."

"We call it interviewing."

Moon smiled. "Be that as it may, Trey felt interrogated. As if you suspected him of something simply because he'd known the woman."

"Contacting a victim's acquaintances is pretty much routine."

"That would make sense," said Moon. "Nonetheless I'm sure most people don't enjoy the experience."

"How long has Trey been missing?"

"He's been absent from the lab for two days and we haven't been able to reach him. One of Trey's virtues is reliability. We're preparing an important paper so his participation is especially important."

"Perhaps," I said, "the pressure got to him."

"What pressure?"

"The paper added to his usual responsibilities."

"Hmm," said Moon. "No, I don't think so. Trey has never been the anxious type."

"Cool under fire. But the interview bothered him."

"He seemed more disappointed than anxious. That someone would think him capable of such violence."

"He described the murder as violent?"

Moon wet his lips with his tongue. "I don't believe we got into details-frankly that kind of thing doesn't interest me. I suppose he meant homicide, in general. Isn't the malicious dispatch of another human being always violent at the core?"

"When you and Trey traveled to Stanford were you together most of the time?"

"That sounds as if you're confirming an alibi."

I smiled.

Moon said, "Contrary to what you might think of academics, we do work hard. That was a work trip, our days were pretty much nine-to-five."

Milo said, "So Trey had evenings to himself."

"I'm his advisor, not his babysitter, I have no idea what he did at night. You might try Juliet Harshberger. She and Trey appear to be a bit of an item."

"You haven't contacted her?"

"I avoid meddling in my students' personal lives but I was contemplating doing just that."

"Where can we find Ms. Harshberger?"

"Most likely here, Lieutenant."

"In this department?"

"Here on campus. She's a grad student in biology."

"Thank you, Professor. Is there anything else you'd like us to know about Trey?"

Moon said, "Obviously I've enjoyed having him in my lab. He's smart and an excellent long-range thinker. In my field, problems often take years, even decades, to solve. Some of the brightest students fade when gratification slows."

"Trey on the other hand…"

"Is able to keep his eye on the core of the problem as well as the eventual goal." Moon stroked his beard. "You don't really think he was involved in murder?"

"Routine questions," said Milo. "Also, we like talking to smart people."

When we were out of earshot, I said, "Nothing like a careful planner."

"I was thinking the same thing."

In the biology office, two students studied the bulletin board as if it were a shrine.

Pinned to the cork were items for sale, birthday greetings to a professor, summer fellowship opportunities abroad, and a clipping about recent advances in computer simulation of fruit fly neural transmission.

Milo asked the receptionist where to find Juliet Harshberger.

"She's not here today."

"Any idea where we can find her?"

"No, sorry."

"Try her apartment," said one of the students, his eyes still on the board. Tall, dark, shaggy-haired, with poor posture, he giggled. "It'll be a high-probability endeavor because she's there more than she's here. Hell, maybe she'll even get her own lab there, never have to come in."

His companion, bespectacled, unshaven, stocky, raised an eyebrow.

The receptionist frowned. "Brian, is there something you need?"

Shaggy said, "No, Nadine, just spending a rare free moment searching for a potentially interesting way to spend July financed by someone else." To us: "My apartment's five rooms less than six, the walls start to close in."

The other student said, "Bitch, bitch, bitch."

Brian said, "And then you die, die, die."

The receptionist turned to us. "Anything else?"

Milo said, "Juliet Harshberger's address, please."

"I'm sorry, we're not supposed to."

Brian cackled and rattled off a street name and three digits.

Maliciously helpful but unnecessary. The girl on the veranda, snuggling up with Franck.

Nadine said, "Brian!"

Brian slapped his mouth. "Oops, silly me. Guess that slipped out because my prefrontal lobes are clogged from long nights of actually doing work."

"You're a prince," said his friend.

The receptionist said, "That was totally inappropriate."

Brian said, "So is coasting through grad school in the comfort of your six-room apartment with no serious obligations other than showing up to seminars while everyone else has to R.A. and T.A. and do mind-eroding scut."

Nadine flushed. "Brian, please-"

He stomped out, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, reality bites, big shocker." His friend looked at us, shrugged, followed.

Milo said, "Grumpy fellow."

Nadine said, "He just failed his orals."

When we caught up with Brian he was smoking a cigarette under an oak tree. The stocky boy had departed.

He sucked in a lungful of poison. "Once again, the gendarmerie."

Milo said, "Thanks for the info, Brian."

"Lucky for you, I'm an asshole."

"She's a rich girl, huh?"

"Her old man's Harshberger Petroleum Exploration. Nice Texas girl."

"Not smart enough to get in on her own?"

Brian ran a tongue inside his mouth. "Should I be fair or just spiteful?"

"Fair would be better."

"How about first telling me why the police are interested in her."

"It's in regard to her boyfriend."

"Sir Coiffure?"

"Pardon?"

"Her squeeze, the chemist. Changes his hairstyle every month. I figure he's researching dyes." Dry chuckle. "What'd he do?"

"He's a potential witness."

"To what?"

"Brian," said Milo, showing teeth, "I really need to be asking questions, not answering them. Juliet's not smart, huh?"

"She's plenty smart, but that isn't the point. Dr. Chang-my advisor-has never accepted more than one student a year and sometimes not even that. This year he took two."

"You and Juliet."

"After she applied months past the deadline. I'm on fellowship, she doesn't need one. Are you conceptualizing a causal thread?"

"So now you've got to carry her."

"It's not that she's increased my workload, Chang would be a slave driver anyway. But she's apparently exempt from everything the rest of us have to hassle with. Like I said, reality gnaws out huge chunks of raw flesh on a regular basis, but if she had a modicum of class she'd try to pull at least some of her damn weight."

"Six-room crib," said Milo. "Nice."