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during the summer. If you don’t have a roommate going in, it can be a crapshoot. But he’s okay. Quiet guy, never really here. As long as I let him sleep, he’s cool with pretty much anything. Doesn’t mind me bringing over girls. It’s not like we’re friends, but it works. We kept the room for fall, saved a little money. It’s weird he’s gone this long though.”
    “His grandfather said he talked to you a few days ago.”
    “Um, yeah. That’s right. He seemed okay.”
    “Why was Raymond always gone?” Cherabino asked, following up. “You said he was never here. What was he doing?”
    George shrugged. “He’s a poli-sci major, involved in all those studies with Professor Klaidman, plus he parties. And his internship was intense; he had to stop the work-study. It’s full-time hours even though he’s got a full course load. Too much for me—that’s intense.”
    “Parties?” Cherabino said.
    “Internship?” I said.
    George looked back and forth between us. He shrugged, and looked down. “He works for a state senator. Billy Oden or somebody. The guy’s bad news if you ask me.”
    Billy Oden the Incorruptible? Swartz actually liked him, and my sponsor didn’t like any politicians. “Why do you say he’s bad news?” I asked.
    “Other than the fact he’s getting Raymond to work for him around the clock without paying him? He says dance, Raymond does a jig, and the whole time Ray’s going into debt. Had to call his grandfather for money a couple of times earlier in the semester. It’s not right. And lately he’s been worried. I think there’s something going on. Maybe Raymond found something he didn’t like and split.”
    “How long has he been gone?” Cherabino asked.
    “Like, more than a week,” George said. “It’s been a couple days before, and he’s got clothes missing. I didn’t worry about it. But—his grandfather called, seemed worried. He said I should report it, so I did, but the campus police don’t seem worried either, says it hasn’t been enough time. You think something happened to him?” George asked. “He’s not on campus. Nobody’s seen him.”
    Wow. Seemed like Raymond’s case had gotten thrown about in a bad way for days. If the judge hadn’t strong-armed us into it . . . would anybody have found Raymond? If the rain hadn’t kept the construction crew from emptying that dumpster, would I have?
    “George,” I said.
    “What?”
    “I’m sorry to inform you that your roommate, Raymond Datini, was found dead yesterday on campus.” I waited.
    George’s immediate reaction was scorn, and anger, then he looked down. Took a breath. “I guess I’m going to have to find a new roommate then.”
    Had they fought? Was George having to pay more of the money share than expected? There was something there he wasn’t talking about and without the telepathy I didn’t know how to get to it. Normally at this stage I’d be picking up flashes of guilt or shame or whatever he was feeling, and that telepathic read would help me figure out where to press. Without it, I was down to guesswork and prayer.
    “You said Raymond partied?” I asked, maybe to chase down the drugs angle. If George was involved, maybe that was Raymond’s connection. I’d been in the Guild school at this age, so I didn’t know firsthand, but a lot of the guys at the Narcotics Anonymous meetings talked about college parties as the places they first met their drug. “Tell us about the parties,” I said.
    “Some campus-wide hangout at the Plantation,” he said, then frowned. “Well, it’s not my scene. He went sometimes, but he did the frat party thing too. He liked to drink too much, if you know what I mean.”
    I looked at the guy, hyped on caffeine and almost certainly something else, and wondered why he’d felt the need to say something. But people could get real judgmental on other people’s habits, even if they had their own.
    “Did he have trouble sleeping much? Did he seem