Greywalker - Kat Richardson [24]
“Did I gross you out? Sorry. Nothing makes me queasy anymore. I’m premed. He was starting to look a little better about the time he took off, but he was still pretty pale, y’know?”
“You’re pretty sure it was the flu, then, not some other disease or drugs?” I asked, sipping my coffee.
He shrugged again. “Could have been something else, I guess—I mean, I’m not a doctor yet, so what do I really know?—but flu can be pretty nasty. People think it’s, like, just a little thing, but it can kill you, y’know. And there really isn’t such a thing as a twenty-four-hour flu. That’s usually mild food poisoning. Real all-out, balls-to-the-walls flu is a killer. The Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918 killed millions, and it’s just a different strain of the same old bug that makes the rest of us answer the call of the great white telephone. Pretty disgusting, huh?”
I agreed, nodding. “Disgusting. Did anyone come to see Cameron while he was sick? Girlfriend drop by, classmates, anything like that?”
“Nope. Didn’t have a girlfriend that I ever heard of—except for the sister thing, like I said. Nobody came around except a couple of my buds and the landlord. Nobody’s been around since, either.” RC shoveled a last bite of rice pilaf into his mouth and chased it down with a swallow of soda. “You just gonna leave that spanakopita?”
I looked down at my untouched plate. “Uh, I’m not that hungry. Why don’t you have it?” I offered, pushing the plate toward him.
He nodded his thanks and forked up a large bite. I watched him, bemused, as I sipped my coffee. I’d read a newspaper article once that claimed interns often suffered from malnutrition and sleep deprivation. Obviously, Richard Calvin was determined to get ahead before the medical profession had a chance to break him down. I wondered if he spent his days off sleeping.
“So you’ve never heard from Cameron again?” I asked.
“Nuh-uh. Not a word.”
“What did you do with the rest of his stuff, and what about the rent?”
“Well, his mom paid the back rent and bills, and she asked me to pack up his stuff and store it till he came back. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can get another roommate, ’cause I can’t meet the rent by myself. Cam’s mom said that was OK with her.”
“You talked to her on the phone recently?”
“Yeah, I called her and I told her I was going to be talking to you, ’cause, y’know, I didn’t know if you were really legit or not. But she told me I should tell you everything I knew, so, like, I guess I have. I mean, I don’t know very much about Cam, really. Is there anything else you want to ask me?”
“Not much. Was there anyplace he hung out, where he might have headed, or anyplace where he might talk to people about where he was going?”
RC grunted. I couldn’t tell if it was a thinking noise or appreciation of the food. “I don’t know exactly, but I do know he was kind of into music, and I think he said he was going to meet his sister downtown once, but other than that, I don’t know.”
“OK,” I said. “Let me give you my business card, and if you think of anything—like that guy’s name—or if something comes up, give me a call, OK?”
“OK,” he said, swallowing the last of the spanakopita. He ran his tongue over his teeth, eliminating any wayward bits of spinach, and guzzled down the last of his soda as I fished a business card out of my bag.
I handed him the card. “You’ve been a lot of help, RC.”
“I have? Cool.” He tucked it into the pocket of his shirt, grabbed his bag and headed for the door. “Hey, thanks for the food.”
I watched him go; then I headed down to the administration buildings. I rounded up a list of offices for Cameron’s instructors, then walked to the engineering building.
Only one of Cameron’s instructors was available. In answer to my question, he blinked and snapped at me, “No. I haven’t seen him in class or elsewhere. Haven’t heard from him, either. He’s failing, at this point. Hasn’t shown up in . . .” He flipped through a notebook. “At least a month. If he doesn’t make some kind of arrangement with me, he will not