Greywalker - Kat Richardson [9]
“Is this Cameron’s girlfriend?” I asked.
“Oh, no. That’s Sarah. My daughter.” Her lips tightened a little; then she reached for her coffee and took a sip.
“Would Sarah have any idea where Cameron is?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. We don’t talk. Her address is on the sheet. Maybe you’ll have better luck with her than I do.”
I made a mental note while I sipped coffee and looked at the list. It was short. Each name was annotated “friend” or “relative,” followed by contact information—except for Sarah’s, which had only an address.
“I wish there was more for you to start from,” Colleen said. “Cameron didn’t socialize at home much anymore. He was always very independent, but he was never reckless. When I didn’t hear from him, I assumed that he was busy with new projects and studies. It wasn’t until he missed his birthday that I began to worry. He’s the one who always calls. He participates. He’s a good son.”
Her tone said someone else was not a good daughter. “How old is Cameron?”
“He turned twenty-one on the seventh of March.”
“And how long has he been studying at U-Dub?”
“Three years. Though it will take longer than four years to complete his degree.”
“Oh? What’s he studying?”
“Majoring in human factors engineering and minoring in Japanese.”
I made a puzzled face. “Human factors engineering?”
“Ergonomics,” she clarified. “He always knew what he wanted. He started college straight out of high school. I thought he would want to go to Europe for a while with some of his friends, but he said he’d rather ‘get a jump on them.’ ” She smiled her pride. “Who could say no to that?”
“When did you see him last?”
“The end of February or the beginning of March . . .” She flipped open a datebook and glanced through it. “The first of March. Yes . . .” Her mouth turned down as she paused, remembering.
“You said he had been ill,” I prompted.
“Yes. He looked very pale. Distracted. I remember he told me he was just getting over the flu and he didn’t want me to catch it. He kept his distance from me all night and picked at his food. He didn’t talk much, either.”
“I see. Do you have his class schedule?”
She flushed red. “I seem to have left that with the bank statement.”
“I’ll get them from you later. Can you think of any places he might hang out?”
“He is fond of Waterfall Garden Park, but it’s in such a grubby neighborhood. I can’t imagine him ‘hanging out’ there. Of course, he spent a lot of time around the campus and the U-district. He saw art films at the Grand Illusion once in a while. His roommate will be more help on that.”
I knew Waterfall Garden Park. It was only a few blocks from my office. Most of Pioneer Square was grubby, but so were parts of the U-district. The tiny garden was locked at sunset, so I wondered where Cameron was really hanging out when he went slum ming in Pioneer—especially since he’d been underage for the primary nightlife down there until March seventh.
“Does Cameron own a car? Do you know where it is?”
“No, I don’t. Richard said he hadn’t seen it in the parking lot, so he must have it with him.”
We could hope that was the case. I kept my mouth shut on the other possibilities.
Colleen continued. “It’s some horrendous old sports car, but I can’t remember the type.” She made a moue of distaste. “He and some friends went to California for a week after their high school graduation, and he drove back in the thing. A money pit.”
Colleen interrupted herself with a raised finger. “Wait . . . I may have that.” She flipped open her attaché case and riffled through some envelopes, then pulled one free and handed it to me. “Cameron’s registration” was penciled on the flap in a precise, copper-plate handwriting.
I took it, looked it over, nodded. “Dark green, 1967 Camaro, license: CAMSCAM.” I didn’t roll my eyes.
I shut my notebook. “I think I can get started with this. I’ll return the photos to you once I’ve made some copies. Tomorrow, if that’s convenient. And I can pick up the schedules and bank