Greenwood took over. “The party host, Genevieve, and our kids lined up for shots. Genevieve says Chapman’s eyes barely focused, and her balance was shit. She cut Chapman off, had her brother usher the trio out, but Amireau wouldn’t leave without his bottle of Stoli. Whole party ended up on the grass out front to watch big brother drill Amireau twice in the face.”

“Where’s Michelson in all of this?”

Maverick tilted her pack of gum in Caitlin’s direction. Caitlin reached for a piece, then declined with a wave when she read the label: Nicorette. From cigarette to coffee to nicotine gum, Maverick stayed alert.

Greenwood continued. “According to Genevieve, trying to help Chapman back to her feet after she fell down the front stairs.”

Maverick pocketed the pack and tagged back in. “Finally, Chapman makes her way to Amireau, stops any further fight, and she, Amireau, and Michelson stumble back to the boys’ apartment. First thing in the door, Amireau yells at Michelson for not having his back. Next-door neighbor confirms yelling between two and two thirty. No distinct words, just obnoxious, like most other nights that year.”

Caitlin could imagine the fun of having coked-up frat boys as neighbors. “What about Chapman?”

Maverick shoved off the edge of the table and stretched her neck. “They claim vomiting. Michelson says the whole time he hovered over her in the bathroom, she was talking about going home between hurls. That’s when he hears a crash from the main room. Have you seen Tommy Boy?”

Caitlin smiled and opened her palms to the sky. “You mean the Chris Farley-David Spade movie I know better than the Constitution of the United States?”

Maverick nodded. “You really are growing on me, Bergman. You know that scene in the frat house when Chris is talking about the future—”

Caitlin didn’t need a reminder. “And he passes out mid-sentence and shatters a glass coffee table?”

Maverick snapped her fingers. “Right. That’s what they say happened to David Amireau. He takes a header into their coffee table. It’s pressboard, not glass, but he flattens it. So Michelson leaves Chapman in the bathroom—which is right inside the front door—and goes to deal with Dave. After ten minutes, he goes back to the bathroom. Chapman’s gone, and the front door is wide open. He assumes she walked home on her own, goes back to tuck Amireau in on the couch. Neither wake until eleven the next morning.”

“Nothing more about Chapman?”

Greenwood shook his head. “Last person who claims to have seen her was Michelson, followed by Amireau. She didn’t make it home, and no one thought it was weird until the next day.”

“Michelson?”

“Guess again.”

“Lakshmi?”

“Bingo.” Greenwood went back to the keyboard. “She started texting around ten AM. They came every half hour.”

He showed the first: All right?

The second: Still alive?