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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE GOFFMANS

“Chief McCray,” she says timidly into the phone. “It’s Alice Goffman from Dean Pratt’s office. I’m sorry to call this late.”

Alice hears some shifting around. She imagines the chief of campus police sitting up, clicking on the bedside lamp.

“Hi. Everything okay? Does the dean need—”

“It’s not official business. I’m worried about my son.”

She tells him about Felix not showing up at the dinner. About all of the kids standing up their parents. Not even responding to texts.

“I know it seems like I’m overreacting, but it’s not like Felix. He knew I was nervous about the dinner. He wouldn’t have left me alone. My son is a considerate boy, he wouldn’t…”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?”

Alice tells him about Felix’s visit to the dean’s office.

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No.” She’s pacing the apartment now. Her eyes land on the laundry bag. “He must’ve come home after stopping by the office. His laundry is here.”

“But he’s not responding to texts or calls?”

“I got a call from him at the dinner, but he didn’t say anything. It was loud at The Hut, but it seemed like a butt-dial.”

“And you said none of the other kids in his capstone showed up for the dinner?”

“No.”

“Well that could explain it.”

“What?”

“The frats are all holding parties—get-away-from-your-parents events, stuff like that. They probably went as a group.”

Alice is quiet. She knows how she’ll sound.

“Tell you what,” the chief says. “I’ll call the watch commander. See if they can check Felix’s entry swipes or if the cameras at the dorm show anything.”

She closes her eyes, feeling grateful. “Thank you. I know it’s a bother. But I just—”

“Not at all. We’re all on edge after Natasha Belov’s death, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

The chief is already taking some flak for how his office handled the missing person report for Natasha, though it wasn’t his fault. The chief followed the Clery Act protocol—contacted the Santa Clara police and Natasha’s parents right away. But everyone assumed Natasha was just being the wild young woman she was, which delayed the search. Not that it would’ve mattered, since she apparently got trapped in that sea cave and drowned two days before she was even reported missing.

“I’ll get back to you soon. And don’t worry, Alice. He’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” she says, then disconnects.

She considers going to bed. But there’s no way she can sleep. She tries Felix’s phone again. It goes right to voicemail. Alice peers in the refrigerator. She can’t eat. She could watch some TV, but decides to do some anxiety cleaning. She starts with the refrigerator, taking everything out, wiping down the shelves. Then she scrubs the counters.

After the small kitchen is spotless, she grabs the Clorox and heads to the bathroom. On the way, she eyes Felix’s room, the laundry bag at the entry, feels a twinge in her chest. Felix likes to take care of himself, insists on doing his own laundry, but this will be a nice surprise. She tugs the bag out and over to the tiny laundry area. She dumps the clothes on the floor and begins separating the items.

That’s when she sees the hoodie. It’s too small for Felix. Pink.

And the front is stained with what looks like blood.