Caitlin laughed. “How could they not?”

“Frodo spent the night driving drunks around and is accounted for until five AM. Where was I?”

“Kilroy’s Sports,” Caitlin answered. “Why’d it take so long to get there?”

Greenwood returned the screen to the text message spreadsheet. “Amireau and Michelson said they stopped for a street dog. Also confirmed by a text Chapman got from Anjale. She asks OK? Chapman replies, F’d up, Going to Sports, Gonna eat some SAUSAGE first. As you can see, these two were fast exchanges, both within the minute. No reply from Anjale until eleven twenty-one. She came back with, It’s ur body. Eleven twenty-three, Chapman replied with, We’ll talk 2mrw.”

He opened a video clip. “They entered Kilroy’s at eleven thirty-two. Second bouncer that day that didn’t flag Angela’s fake ID.”

The brief video showed Angela Chapman and her two male escorts walking happily into a crowded bar.

Maverick leaned against the wall near the TV. “They blend in until one fifteen AM, when our girl goes all Sleeping Beauty near the beer garden and hits the ground. Security kicks them out.”

Caitlin looked to Greenwood, but saw no action. “No video?”

He shrugged. “Witnesses said it happened too fast to get their phones out, and the security cameras pointed the other way. We’ve got them on the way out, though.”

He clicked another clip taken from an external camera. Michelson argued with a bouncer, while Amireau dragged Angela Chapman out the door, her arm draped around his shoulder, her eyes barely open. She might have been sixty sheets to the wind, but she laughed the whole way out.

Maverick pushed off the wall and sat on the edge of the table near Caitlin. “Okay, she’s drunk as hell, safe to assume coked up, and out with a guy she regularly had sex with and his coke-snorting friend. No car. What do they do?”

Caitlin checked her notes, didn’t see an answer. “Where do the boys live?”

Greenwood pulled up the map they’d started with. “Less than quarter of a mile from Chapman’s place. The Varsity Villas.”

Caitlin put herself in the same location twenty years earlier. “They walk home—unless they went to another party?”

Maverick tapped on the table. “Right on both counts. They walked to the boys’ place, hit the bathroom, then went two streets over to an apartment party. Other guests said they arrived around two.”

“Why do people remember that?”

Maverick reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of gum, and popped a piece in her mouth. “Amireau brought a bottle of vodka when supplies were low. Plus, there was a fistfight.”

“Do tell.”