The phone rang.
“Oh, hell!” Nick tossed the graphs aside and started frantically searching his desk, sending notes, charts, and articles flying. Just when he’d gotten everything laid out, the bloody phone rang! Off-campus, no less—if this was some stupid wrong number somebody was going to die. He finally uncovered the blaring instrument, cleverly concealed in a small bunker of magazines, books, and his lunch, and snatched the receiver up, narrowly avoiding knocking his apple into the trash.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Gordon?” A woman’s voice, vaguely familiar.
“Yes?”
“This is Detective Kanson—we spoke last week? About Amy Feldmar?”
“Right, right.” He leaned back in his chair a bit, careful not to squash the folder behind him.
“Is this a bad time?”
He glanced around at the small blizzard that had been his revised paper and sighed. “No, just getting some work done. How can I help you?”
“Actually, I thought you might like to know how the case is going.”
“Oh?” He sat forward, elbows crumpling papers, and ran a hand through his hair. “Have you come up with anything?”
“Well, we haven’t found her yet, if that’s what you mean. But we do have a lead.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, a student says he saw her that night, near the library, at around ten-thirty. She was talking to an older man in a dark coat. The two of them were headed toward Nichols Hall. Mr. Gordon, do you remember ever seeing Ms. Feldmar with an older man? The student said he had dark hair streaked with gray.”
“Hm?” Nick shook his head, trying to dispel a sudden image of Amy walking with Daniel. Something about directions . . . he remembered the phone and raised it back to his mouth. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t—mostly I saw her with other girls, either the sorority or from the cheerleading squad.”
“I see.” Something in her tone made him pay attention.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—it’s just that that’s what everyone else said, too. She didn’t have many male friends except for a few classmates, some of the kids at her church, and you. No one that fits the description, which makes it harder to pin down.” She sighed. “Well, thanks for your help. If you think of anything let me know, and I’ll do likewise.”
“Okay, sure. Thanks for calling.” Nick hung up the phone, sending the apple spiraling into the garbage can, but didn’t move to retrieve it. His head was spinning, images dancing within, and he couldn’t tell if they were figments of his imagination or bits of Amy’s memory. Had she really met Daniel and given him directions to Nichols Hall? The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. That would explain how Daniel had found him when he had passed out, and it might have been why Amy had come here instead of going to Gregors—Gregors was actually a little closer, but if she had led him to Nichols she would have gone ahead and gotten a drink here.
He brushed the papers off his desk and stood up. Carmichael’s revision would have to wait a little longer—he was going back to the Club. Maybe there was a way to find what he needed without matching wills with Daniel again.