‘Egg salad sandwich,’ she says finally. ‘On low-sodium bread. He comes in on Wednesdays and Fridays. Always gets a diet soda, too.’

Thistle and I look at each other. Witnesses aren’t usually this good.

‘You know his name?’ I ask, testing.

The woman shakes her head. ‘Sorry.’

‘Seen him since last Friday?’

‘Not here. Around the campus maybe.’

‘Maybe? You’re not sure?’

‘No.’

Thistle speaks up. ‘Did he usually eat with anybody?’

‘Yep. A younger guy. Ham and cheese sandwich on white bread.’

‘Seen that guy lately?’

The woman looks around. ‘He was here a second ago,’ she says. ‘Can’t see him now.’

I scan the room. The crowd has changed since we walked in. Six more people have arrived, and three have left. Only one of the missing people was male—the chisel-jawed guy. The girls he was talking to are still here, holding identical business cards.

‘Thanks for your help,’ I tell the woman, and walk over to the girls. They regard me much more suspiciously than the last guy.

‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘Can I have a look at that?’

I snatch the business card from one of the girls—a short redhead wearing a pink sweater and hoop earrings.

‘Hey!’ she says.

The name on the business card is Shannon Luxford. He’s a grad student/teaching assistant. Wondering what kind of narcissistic TA orders business cards, I memorise the phone number and email addresses, then I hand the card back.

‘Thanks,’ I say, and walk away before she can make a thing of it. I push through the doors out into a freezing courtyard.

Thistle catches up to me quickly. ‘How about you let me take point next time?’ She sounds annoyed. ‘You remember that you have zero qualifications, right?’

A few people are walking back and forth. I turn around and around, looking for the missing man.

‘What are you doing?’ Thistle asks.

‘I saw Biggs’s dining partner before he left,’ I say. ‘He’s a white guy with dark hair. Muscular build. Looks like Clark Kent, but without the glasses.’

‘So he looks like Superman,’ Thistle says dryly. ‘Was his name Shannon Luxford?’

I frown. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Because I’ve already interviewed him. He’s a TA in the math department.’

‘Well, I want to talk to him.’

‘Sure. Come on.’ Thistle starts walking. ‘But I don’t know what he’ll tell you that he didn’t tell me.’

As we walk past a vending machine, I note that the prices are high. ‘What does tuition here cost?’

‘About ten grand per year, or thirty for students from out of state.’

I whistle through crooked teeth. ‘A pretty good scam. Do these kids know they can just look stuff up in the library?’

‘Not if they want jobs at the end of it,’ Thistle points out.