10th Anniversary - James Patterson [26]
We used the same classroom to talk to three other teens, and by this time, they all knew why we were there. Not one of those kids admitted to knowing that Avis was pregnant until a week ago, and no one knew the identity of the father of her child.
We were told repeatedly that she was a quiet girl, intelligent, not popular, not an outcast, either. She got good grades and kept to herself.
Even the girls we interviewed, when implored to help us find the baby, said they didn’t have an idea in the world.
“You believe this?” Conklin said to me when the last kid had left the room. “A school like this. Avis was nine months pregnant, and no one knew nothin’.”
“Reminds me of something I once heard,” I said to my partner. “How do you know if a teenager is lying?”
“How?” Conklin asked.
“Their lips are moving.”
Chapter 31
AVIS AND KRISTIN BEALE had been bunking in the same room for more than a year. Logically, of all the people who knew Avis, her roommate, given their daily contact, should have had the most intimate knowledge. I figured she might very well know what Avis had been thinking, doing, and planning for herself and her baby.
Kristin Beale was our best hope — and maybe our last.
Conklin knocked on the paneled door in a corridor lined with them. A voice called out, “Come innnnn.”
We did — and the smell of marijuana came out to greet us.
The dorm room was just big enough for two beds, two closets, and two desks. It looked out over the Presidio, and I could see a sliver of the bay over the tops of trees.
In front of the view was Kristin Beale.
She was lying on her back in the window seat, her long legs bent, her bare feet pressed against the wall. She was pretty, with a wild mop of dark brown hair, and had on footless leggings and a man’s dress shirt. White wires were plugged into her ears.
The girl startled when she saw us, straightened her legs and sat up, and pulled out her earbuds. She was thin — too thin.
She said, “Who are you?”
As I did the introductions and told her why we had come, I looked the girl over. Even from fifteen feet away, I could see that Kristin Beale’s pupils were dilated.
I also took in the state of the room.
Kristin’s side had a post-tornado, morning-after look. The floor around her unmade bed was strewn with clothes, books, and candy wrappers.
The other side, Avis’s side, was as tidy as a banker’s desk. A pillow on the bed was embroidered with the letter A, and there was a picture of the Richardson family on her dresser.
Avis’s closet was open. I quickly went through her clothes and saw that she had them in two sizes. Size eight and extra large.
Her computer was turned off on her desk, untouchable without a warrant.
“Is Avis okay?” Kristin asked, in a tone that told me she didn’t care at all.
“She’s with her parents,” I said. “She’s doing okay, but she’s been through an ordeal. Kristin, has Avis called you or written to you? We’re trying to find her baby.”
“Baby? I don’t know anything about a baby.”
“Avis was nine months pregnant,” I said. “You saw her every day. Unless you’re blind, you must have known she was pregnant.”
“Well, I didn’t,” the girl said. “She was a pretty good eater and she didn’t work out.”
Turning to Conklin, I said, “You know, Inspector, I’m getting sick of these kids lying their faces off.”
“I don’t think they understand that we are homicide cops,” he said. “Maybe they think that because they go to a rich kids’ school, they’re outside of the law.”
The girl was staring at us now, eyes going back and forth between us and darting to a spot on the floor. I followed her eyes to a pile of laundry and saw the corner of a plastic bag under a sock.
I said to Conklin, “You’re right. They’re spoiled. They’re living in a separate universe. A universe where this,” I said, toeing the sock aside, “a few ounces of marijuana, isn’t illegal. But, of course it’s possession of an illegal substance, and in this case, given how much you have here, Kristin, I’m thinking it could even be possession with intent to sell.”
“That’s not mine. I never saw