Greenwood brought her back to the moment. “Got another ten miles. Have any other Chapman questions?”

“You know I do.” She reached for her phone and started the voice recorder. “How many missing person cases are currently open in Monroe County?”

“Including Paige and Chapman, there are four. Two females and two males.”

Like the previous day’s meeting in the station, Greenwood’s answers came quick and professional. He had a media-ready polish Caitlin hadn’t expected to find in a small town.

“What about the surrounding counties?”

“Similar numbers, mix of teen runaways and probable battery victims who don’t want their exes to find them.”

“Any of them resemble Angela Chapman?”

“This Lauffer girl is five years older than Chapman was when she disappeared. That’s all I know so far.”

Caitlin guessed there weren’t more than one hundred and fifty thousand people in the whole county. “What about murders? How many per year?”

Greenwood glanced over, raised an eyebrow. “You kidding? Maybe two, sometimes none at all.”

Five minutes into the countryside, Caitlin saw more trees than buildings, more churches than subdivisions. They passed a farm where two ponies grazed in a bright green field.

“Time for the good stuff, Greenwood. What do you believe happened to Angela Chapman?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “Let’s go off the record.”

She stopped the recorder. “Is she dead or alive?”

He exhaled. “My guess is she died in the Varsity Villas.”

“Murder?”

“Can’t think of a motive. I think she overdosed or hit her head on the coffee table—the one Amireau supposedly went through.”

“And what? The frat boys disposed of her body? Could they do that?”

“Gets tricky there. Amireau’s good for a laugh, but definitely Michelson’s toadie.”

“And Michelson?”

“Top-of-his-class smart, despite the late nights and bar fights. Didn’t waste any time before he lawyered up, and didn’t have any financial blocks to the best representation in Indiana.”

Caitlin didn’t remember any mentions of Kieran Michelson’s parents in the articles she’d read. “Rich family?”

“Nope, and far as I could tell, Michelson found his own lawyer.”

Greenwood veered right at a fork in the road. Faded letters across a fifty-foot water tower read New Unionville.

“Any chance he called this lawyer before Angela was declared missing?”

“Neither his nor Amireau’s records show them contacting anyone, but these guys were known for having coke and pot. We never proved it, but I think they were dealing. They could have had prepaid burner phones we never found. As far as hiding a body”—he gestured to the thick woods lining the road—“we’ve searched forests, fields, quarries, and streams, came back with nothing but ticks and chafing.” He slowed, put on a turn signal. “I am one hundred percent sure those frat boys know what happened to Chapman, and I can’t prove a damned thing.”