Larkin gently pried his hand free. “How long were you roommates.”

Doyle removed his notepad from his suit coat pocket and uncapped Larkin’s pen.

“I think a year? No, it’d been just over a year. I remember, because we signed the lease before spring semester of senior year, and had already renewed it before—what happened.”

“In your initial report, you said you had cause for concern when Andrew failed to show for a movie.”

“That’s right.”

“Why.”

“We were gonna see Grease,” she said simply. Jessica glanced at Doyle. “You can google that. Grease was being re-released in theatres, and Andy loved musicals. Is that a stereotype?”

“Not if it’s factual to his person,” Larkin replied brusquely.

“Oh. Well, Andy had been waiting all month. He was so excited. He wouldn’t have missed that night if he were on fire.”

“You said that on March 28, he had left in the evening to visit a friend.”

“That’s right.”

“I need the friend’s name.”

“He wasn’t a friend,” Jessica corrected. “If you get my meaning.”

“Andrew had a boyfriend?” Doyle asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if they were that serious yet. That’s why I said friend. But, God—that was over twenty years ago. I honestly don’t remember his name.”

“Did you meet him?” The level of curiosity in Doyle’s tone was notable.

Jessica nodded. “Once or twice, for, like, a hot minute.”

Doyle flipped the little pad shut, met Larkin’s studious gaze, then asked, “If I were to sit down with you and do a composite sketch, would you be able to describe him? I know it’s been a long time, and if you say no, that’s okay. But close your eyes for a moment, think about him, and tell me if you could describe Andrew’s friend.”

The doubt on her face was overt, but Jessica dutifully closed her eyes and was quiet for five seconds… ten…. Larkin counted thirty-seven long seconds before she blinked and said, “I think so.”

Larkin had switched places with Doyle, standing at the counter while Doyle took a seat. He removed his suit coat, apologized to Jessica when she cringed at the sight of his shoulder holster, made a wholly believable comment that he liked it about as much as her, and then flipped open the portfolio bag he’d dragged along. Doyle set a sketch pad on the table and sharpened a few pencils by hand as he began conducting one of the most casual, friendly, and impressive interviews Larkin had seen by another officer since making detective.

“So where’d Andrew meet this other man? Did he ever talk to you about that?”