She sighed. “You think we’re naive. It’s not that we were unaware of the enormity of what Troy had done. But we recognized that he’d also been victimized. You met his mother, Doctor.”

“Where is she?” I said.

“Dead,” she said. Snapping off the word. “After Troy’s body was ready for burial, the Chino coroner’s office contacted us. They couldn’t find Jane and we were the only other people on his visitor list. We contacted Ms. Weider but she no longer worked for the Public Defender. Troy’s body sat at the morgue until our dean agreed to donate a plot in San Bernadino where some of the faculty members are buried. We conducted a service.”

She touched her crucifix. Suddenly, tears streamed down her face. She made no effort to dry them. “That day. My husband and myself and Dr. Wascomb— our dean. A beautiful, sunny day and we watched cemetery workers lower that pathetic little coffin into the ground. A month later, Detective Kramer called us. Jane had been found under a freeway ramp, one of those homeless encampments, wrapped up in a sleeping bag and plastic tarp. Which is the way she always slept, so the other homeless people didn’t think anything of it until she still hadn’t budged by noon. She’d been stabbed sometime during the night. Whoever killed her wrapped her back up.”

She shuddered, pulled out the tissue paper bookmark and wiped her face.

Milo said, “How long was that after Troy’s death?”

“Six weeks, two months, what’s the difference? My point is, these were lost boys. And now, Rand.”

“Any idea who’d want to hurt Rand?”

She shook her head.

“What was his mood like?”

“Disoriented, as I told you. Reeling from freedom.”

“Not happy at all about getting out?”

“To be honest? Not really.”

“Did he have any plans other than getting a job?”

“We were taking things slowly. Helping him settle in.”

“Could we see his room?”

“Sure,” she said. “Such as it is.”

* * *

We followed her through a compact, tidy living room; a dim galley kitchen and eating area; then a low, narrow corridor. One bedroom, the master, with barely enough room for the furniture that filled it. A single bathroom served the entire house.

At the end of the hall was a windowless space, eight-foot square. Cherish Daney said, “This is it.”

Cheap paneling covered the walls. Capped off pipes sprouted from the vinyl floor.

Milo said, “This used to be a laundry room?”

“Service porch. We moved the washer and dryer outside.”

A framed Bible scene— Nordic Solomon and two Valkyrian women claiming motherhood of the same fat, blond infant— hung over a foldable cot. A white plastic lamp sat on a raw wood nightstand. Milo opened the drawers. Well-thumbed Bible on top, nothing in the bottom.