She handed him the keys. "I'll make sure no one touches anything."
He sprinted back down the hall toward the stairs.
Faith decided she might as well see what they were up against. She walked over to the first desk, which was overflowing with scraps of paper, used textbooks, mechanical pencils and a small pile of magazines. They were all back issues of Get Out, which seemed to specialize in hiking. The other desk held what would be considered college necessities: an LCD television, a PlayStation console, several games and a stack of DVDs with handwritten labels. She recognized the titles of some recent Hollywood blockbusters as well as several that were simply labeled "porn" with stars to indicate, she supposed, their level of pornography.
One of the desk drawers was partially open, and Faith used a pencil from the other desk to pry it the rest of the way. Inside was a Playboy magazine, two foil-wrapped condoms and a stack of well-thumbed baseball trading cards. The juxtaposition made Faith sad. Adam Humphrey would forever be caught in the stages between being a boy and being a man.
She knelt down. Nothing was taped under the Formica desktop or shoved between the drawers. Faith checked the other desk, too. She saw the corners of a plastic bag hanging down. She craned her neck, holding back her hair as she went in for a closer look.
Adam Humphrey probably wasn't the only boy at Tech who had a bag of pot taped under his desk. Hell, he probably wasn't the only boy on this floor who had one.
She stood back up, scanning the room—the Radiohead poster on the wall, the dirty socks and sneakers bunched in the corner, the stack of graphic novels by the bed. His mother must have been feeling indulgent when she let him pick out the black throw rug on the floor and the matching bedspread and sheets.
Faith imagined what it would be like for the Humphreys to pack up their son's meager belongings and take them back to Oregon. Was this all that they would have left of their son? Worse for Faith, who would have to tell them that their child was gone? Will had assigned the Kayla Alexander notification to Leo. Was he going to put Faith in the unenviable position of telling the Humphreys that their son had been murdered?
God, she did not want to do that.
"Who are you?"
Same accusatory tone, different boy. This one stood in the doorway, a hard look on his face. Faith turned toward him, giving him the full benefit of her gun and badge, but his expression did not change.
She asked, "What's your name?"
"None of your fucking business."
"That's a really long name. Were you adopted?"
Obviously, the joke fell flat. "Do you have a warrant?" He rested his left hand on the doorknob. The other one was covered in a cast that stopped just below his elbow. "Does campus security know you broke into his room?"
Strange way to put it, she thought, but told the kid, "I had a key."
"Good for you." He crossed his arms as best he could with the cast. "Now show me a warrant or get the fuck out of my friend's room."
She made herself laugh because she knew it would irritate him. He was a good-looking kid—dark hair, brown eyes, well built and obviously used to getting his way. "Or what?"
Apparently, he hadn't thought that far in advance. His voice wasn't so sure when he said, "I'll call campus security."
"Use the phone in a different room," Faith told him, turning back to the desk. She used the pencil to push through some of the papers, which were filled with mathematical equations and notes from class. She could feel the kid staring at her. Faith persevered. This wasn't exactly the first time she'd had an eighteen-year-old stare at her with burning daggers of hate.
"This is so wrong," he said, more for attention than effect.
Faith sighed, as if she was annoyed that he was still there. "Listen, this isn't about the pot, or the porn or the illegal downloads or whatever else you guys have been up to, so get your head out of your ass, understand that your friend must be in serious trouble if an Atlanta police detective is going through his things and tell me what your name is."
He was quiet, and she felt like she could hear his brain working as he tried to think of a way around answering her question. Finally he relented. "Gabriel Cohen."
"You go by Gabe?"
He shrugged.
"When was the last time you saw Adam?"
"This morning."
"In the hall? At class?"
"Here, maybe eight o'clock this morning." Again, he shrugged. "Tommy, my roommate, he snores. He's kind of an asshole. So I've been sleeping over here to get away from him." His eyes widened, and he seemed to realize that he'd put himself right in the middle of things.
"It's all right," she assured him. "I told you, Gabe, I'm not here because of two ounces of weed and a bootleg of The Bourne Ultimatum."
He chewed his lip, staring at her, probably trying to figure out whether or not he could trust her.
For her part, Faith was wondering what was taking Will Trent so long. Though she wasn't sure if his presence would help or hinder the situation.
She asked, "How long have you known Adam?"
"About a week, I guess. I met him on move-in day."
"You seemed pretty eager to take up for him."
She was getting better at reading his shrugs. His main concern had been the illegal bounty—probably the downloads more than the drugs, considering that ripping off movie studios carried a much stiffer penalty.
Faith asked, "Does Adam have a car?"
He shook his head. "His family's pretty weird. They kind of live off the grid. Real eco-minded."
That would explain the rural route. "What about this?" She pointed to the expensive television, the game console.
"They're mine," Gabe admitted. "I didn't want Tommy, my dormmate, fucking with them." He added, "But Adam plays, too. I mean, he likes to be outside and all, but he's a gamer, too."
"Does he have a computer?"
"Somebody swiped it," he responded, and Faith wasn't as surprised as she should have been. Theft was a rampant problem with this generation. Jeremy had had so many scientific calculators stolen from him at school that she had threatened to bolt one to his hand.
She asked, "Where does Adam check his e-mail?"
"I let him use mine. Sometimes he goes to the computer lab."
"What's his major?"
"Same as me. Polymers with a focus on spray adhesives."
That must have impressed the ladies. "Does he have a girlfriend or anyone he hangs out with?"
Gabe's shoulder went up in a slightly defensive manner. "We all just got here, you know? Not much time to hook up."
"Are you from out of state?"
He shook his head. "I went to Grady."
Grady was a magnet school, which meant they drew the top students from other schools in the Atlanta system. "Have you ever met Kayla Alexander or Emma Campano?"
"Are they at Grady?"
"Westfield."
He shook his head. "That's in Decatur, right? I think my girlfriend went there. Julie. She's been kicked out of a lot of schools."
"Why is that?"
He gave a shy half-smile. "We share a distrust for authority."