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not required to double up. Zak had chosen to live alone. It was probably a mistake and it was probably my fault. In our talks, I used to prattle on about how living for years by myself was the best thing I had ever done. It teaches you about confronting loneliness. It teaches you about responsibility. You learn the downside of freedom. It never occured to me that he would listen. I guess I forgot to mention that I waited until after college to start down my solitary path.
    When I stepped inside I noticed that Zak’s Riversborough room had the same nouveau tornado look as his room at home. Someone was searching very hard for something he was convinced my nephew possessed. And whatever this guy lacked in the way of delicacy, he more than compensated for with raw determination. I put a call in to the best little police department this side of the border.
    The music remained the same, but there were variations on the lyrics. The Riversborough cops were still sure that nothing was wrong with Zak. They were sure another student had noticed Zak gone and took advantage of the situation.
    MacClough wasn’t too terribly surprised by the news. He said he would have been more shocked if Zak’s dorm room had been left untouched. He made me write down some questions for Kira Wantanbe. I asked what was going on on his end. He said he was reinterviewing as many of the Castle-on-Hudson friends as he could, but that all it had gotten him so far was a couple of cups of herbal tea and several dirty looks. He had one or two more friends to check out before calling it a night. He was staying up at Jeffrey’s place. Fazio had located a safe-deposit box key at Caliparri’s house, but couldn’t be at all sure it had anything to do with Zak’s disappearance or Caliparri’s murder. Fazio was going to track down the bank and get a subpoena.
    â€œWait a second,” I said. “What did you and Fazio do, kiss and make up or something? How do you know so much about what he’s doing?”
    â€œSergeant Hurley’s been helpful.”
    â€œHow did you get to her?”
    â€œI didn’t,” he said. “She came to me.”
    â€œThat old MacClough charm strikes again.”
    â€œIt’s not me she’s interested in, Klein. Can I help it if she’s got no taste in men?”
    â€œFuck you very much. Later.”
    â€œAfter noon. Maybe I’ll have something.”

    It had begun to snow as I made my way across campus. Once again, Kira Wantanabe was waiting. She didn’t notice me right away, so I stood in the shadows watching the white flakes landing on her lush black hair that fell well below the shoulders of her coat. She was slender as a blade of grass and not much taller than five feet, but she stood strong against the wind. The sharp lines of her calf muscles showed themselves through her thick wool leggings. Under the light, the skin of her triangular face was milky and translucent all at once like the outer layer of a pearl.
    When I stepped out of the shadows, we shook hands nervously and for too long. She smiled broadly and then, embarrassed by what it might have said to me, she made it disappear.
    â€œCome on,” she said and led me off campus.
    We did not talk. I was glad for that. I felt tongue-tied and awkward and seventeen all over again. I could smell her hair: jasmine blooming in the snow. It was odd that this girl should make me feel alive. It had been a while. My internal voice kept reminding me about Zak and my father and Detective Caliparri, but after several hundred yards all I could hear was our footsteps.
    The coffeehouse was downstairs, dark, and smelled like Fazio’s office. There was graffiti and drip paintings on the walls. Some clown in a beret was playing the bongos, snapping his fingers, reciting “Beat lite” poetry. It wasn’t half bad but I was willing to bet he knew the lyrics to Pearl Jam songs far better than he knew Mexico