First Born(22)

‘I want to talk to her professor at Columbia. I left a message, told him it was urgent.’

‘Professor Crabtree? Philip Crabtree?’

‘No, I don’t know that one. I mean Professor Groot. Eugene Groot.’

‘OK, rings a bell. Why are you interested in Groot?’

I think back to Scott’s expression when he mentioned the professor. ‘KT said something in passing a few months back. That he’d been very friendly with her, very interested in her work. They had dinner out in some place called Nolita one time.’

‘Did they now?’

‘I remember because I’d never heard of Nolita before and it made me think of Lolita. By Vladimir Nabokov.’

‘Nolita’s down between the Bowery and Little Italy,’ he says.

‘I know. I looked it up.’

He glances down at his pad. ‘Scottie Sbarra, Shawn Bagby, Violet Roseberry, Professor Eugene Groot. You have a feeling in your gut about anyone else? Even just an inkling?’

I consider telling him about Dad. How he hasn’t really reacted or cried about KT. How something feels off. How he sometimes acts like he’s on vacation rather than in mourning.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Just those four.’





Chapter 12


Bogart DeLuca gives me his card. It has a kind of a shield on the back, like he hasn’t quite given up his police career just yet.

It’s cold on the walk back to West 44th Street and my hostel. I get a text from Mum as I open the door from the street. Where are you? I reply Here.

South African students pass me by in single file.

I knock on their door and Mum looks worried. She also looks like she might be taking sleeping pills again. She did this after Grandma died and Dad had to take control of her medication for a while, rationing it out, giving her a tablet before bed each night so she wouldn’t take three all at once to knock herself out.

‘Where have you been, sweetie?’

‘I met KT’s boyfriend.’

Dad stiffens and straightens at the mention of Scott Sbarra. ‘What did he have to say for himself? He hasn’t had the decency to introduce himself to your mother or me yet, or even so much as send a card.’

‘How would he even find you?’

‘Well,’ says Dad, flustered. ‘Did he give you a message to pass on to us? Anything?’

‘No, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t care about her,’ I say. ‘It’s not like they were married, Dad. Maybe we should cut him some slack.’

‘I’ll cut him something,’ says Dad.

‘Paul,’ says Mum.

‘I just want to hear his side of the story, that’s all.’

‘I heard it,’ I say. ‘They studied together the night before at the Butler Library at Columbia. He stayed over and left early the next morning.’

Dad snorts.

Mum says, ‘Did he seem like a nice boy, Molly?’

I shrug. ‘I guess.’

‘Molly has better taste,’ says Dad.

What he means is that I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin who has never even been on a proper date. I have carefully drafted profiles on three dating apps, one of which Mum even paid the subscription for as a birthday present, and I’ve never matched well enough to meet anyone in person.

‘He seems all right, Dad. He’s a rower.’

Dad stands up a little taller.

‘And I met a private investigator looking into KT’s case.’

‘A what?’ says Mum. ‘How did you meet him?’

‘What did he tell you, this private investigator?’ asks Dad.

‘He’s been hired by Columbia – or not by them, but indirectly, I think he said. Paid for by the foundation that funds KT’s scholarship.’

‘He’s paid by them?’ says Dad. ‘Why?’

‘I guess they’ve invested a lot of money into KT and now they’re annoyed they won’t get a long-term return. I don’t know, Dad. It all happened in the heat of the moment. He asked me who KT would hang out with, same kinds of questions Martinez asked us all. This investigator used to be a policeman, apparently.’

‘Used to be?’ says Mum.

Dad takes a call from his bank manager and marches down the hall.

‘He’s going stir-crazy in this tiny room,’ says Mum.

I look inside their room and it’s only about forty per cent larger than mine.

‘You should have stayed in the Best Western,’ I say.

‘I wish we could have.’

I look up at the stained ceiling.

‘Your father’s trying to negotiate a voluntary liquidation agreement with creditors. Some kind of payment plan. We shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He’s under a lot of stress, your dad.’

‘Not just him – you as well.’

‘We’re tougher, though,’ she says.

We hug. The carpet smells of bleach, and the silhouette of Dad backlit by the hall light grows as we hold each other tight.

‘I just want her killer caught,’ she whispers. ‘Locked away forever.’

‘Me too.’

‘Violet Roseberry emailed me asking for your contact details,’ she says. ‘She found us through the company website. I think she wants to get in touch. She said she has some of Katie’s things for you. I gave her your details, I hope that’s OK.’