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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE KELLERS

When Keller arrives at the Santa Clara University police station, she’s struck by the size of the media encampment. Outside the parking garage, she’s forced to walk a gauntlet of questions:

Does the FBI have any leads on the missing students?

Do you believe the man at the bridge is behind the disappearances?

Why did he attack one of the parents?

Some are saying what you did on the bridge was reckless… How do you respond?

How’s it feel to be a hero?

She ignores them all. Stan taught her years ago to pretend not to hear the questions. On-screen the audience can’t tell. And saying no comment only fuels the fire. She’s surprised by the speed at which they’ve gathered information. They know she’s with the Bureau. Know about the attack on Dr. Maldonado. About the rescue on the Golden Gate Bridge. She has plenty of criticisms of the media, but she’ll grant them one thing: They’re tenacious. The problem is that sometimes tenacity gets in the way of the facts.

The number of news vans and satellite trucks and primping TV reporters is matched only by the variety of law enforcement types crowding the station house. The story of five missing college students—whom social media have given their own hashtag, #TheFive—is getting a frenzied quality Keller has seen only a few times in her career.

The conference room is now too small to contain the law enforcement masses, and the task force is occupying the bullpen of the station. When she enters, there’s a smattering of slow claps that sound more like sarcasm than praise. A lean man with a military-style buzz cut takes note of her arrival. He comes over, sticks out his hand. “Richard Peters. Nice to meet you in person.” Her new boss, the ASAC of the San Jose office.

“Trouble appears to follow you, Special Agent Keller,” he says. “And internet fame.” He holds up his phone and she understands. The clickbait headline reads: Hero agent saves suspect in missing college student investigation.

She considers apologizing for the spectacle, but says nothing. One of Bob’s big rules: Don’t apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong. Shoot, she needs to call Bob before he sees the news in his feed.

ASAC Peters continues: “The director called—after he got another call from State. So I need to take point.”

“Whatever I can do to help,” Keller says. It’s not out of line, given the media attention and VIP parents of the missing students. Like Peters, she’d trust her own people before anyone else in a crisis. Regardless of reputation and references.

Still, what Peters says next surprises her: “We need you to take a lower profile.”

A polite way of saying she’s being sidelined. “Understood,” she says, knowing fighting it is pointless. “What can I do to help?”

He thinks on this. “The geofence data you wanted. Apparently there’s a problem.”

“Yeah?”

Peters explains that Google rejected their request for location data on phones in the vicinity of the spot where the students’ phones last pinged.

“They used to provide baseline reports without a warrant, so we assumed they would turn it over, particularly given the urgency, but they’ve changed their policy.”

Keller isn’t surprised. Geofence data requests have become controversial, with privacy advocates saying the government shouldn’t have access to the location of private citizens without probable cause they committed a crime.

“I can run point on getting a warrant,” she says as enthusiastically as she can muster.

Peters excuses himself without saying more, then stands at the head of the room and waits for the rumbling of the fledgling task force to die down.

He starts by identifying the task force subgroups: one on CCTV capture and analysis, one to coordinate ground searches, one to handle electronic forensics, one to handle the parents. He then reiterates the BOLO on The Five, the Mystery Machine van, and Blane Roosevelt’s father. Says the perp or perps have made no contact, no demands. Reminds them the clock is ticking.

“We also have a rumor-control team. To that end, the univer sity and Bureau have issued statements that private citizens should refrain from taking to social media. That any false information or accusations will be prosecuted to the extent permitted by law. We don’t want what happened in Idaho to happen here.” He’s referring to the murders of several college students a few years ago. Social-media sleuths fueled rumors, even accused innocent people of the crime, before the police arrested the alleged perp.

“The dean is losing his shit because it’s Parents Weekend and he’s already had a student die this week.” Peters rolls his eyes.

Keller feels someone edging next to her. It’s the student intern, Annie Hafeez. Her twinkling eyes hold Keller’s for a moment, then she nudges her head to the side to signal Keller to follow, and walks off.

Keller decides to humor her. She waits a moment, then threads through the crowd, following Annie’s swaying black hair. The intern steps into a tiny office. It probably was a broom closet until it was cleared out for interns. Photos of the young woman’s family are pinned to the wall: An older couple. Annie with two other young women who must be her sisters. Three photos of a golden retriever.

“I have more intel,” Annie says. “I couldn’t find the posts on Rizz about Mark Wong. They must’ve been pulled down. But I talked to some friends and—”

“You really shouldn’t be…” Keller lets the admonishment fade. “Did you tell your supervisor?”

“No,” Annie says. “Well, I tried. He told me to get coffee and was otherwise too busy gossiping about you going viral with all the bridge videos.” Her eyes are alight now. “I googled you and I saw those big cases you handled, and—”

Keller holds up a hand. She follows a few simple rules in her career: no showboating, no gossip, no complaining. Also: Loose lips sink ships. She raises her brows, signaling Annie to get to it.

“My friend Gigi is friends with the RA of the dorm.”

“Campisi Hall?”

“Yeah, and she knows all the gossip and drama in the dorm.”

Keller waits for her to continue.

“That kid Felix Goffman is a freak.”

Keller furrows her brow. That’s contrary to everything she’s learned about the son of the dean’s secretary. Though most of what she’s learned is from the interview notes with his mom. And mothers don’t always see their sons with clarity.

“Apparently he was, like, obsessed with Stella. Was basically stalking her or something.”

“Stella Maldonado?”

Annie nods.

“And get this,” Annie says. “Libby was into Felix and she’s furious that Stella doesn’t even like him but leads him on for the fun of it.”

It’s interesting college-kid drama but it doesn’t explain much. It’s consistent with the interview of Libby’s parents: Stella and Libby in a fight, Stella breaking Libby’s phone.

They’re interrupted by the sound of people running past the office door. Curious, they head back to the bullpen and the room, full minutes ago, is nearly empty, save for a guy in a campus police uniform.

“Where is everyone?” Keller asks.

“They found Blane Roosevelt’s father.”